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officialscaramouche · 3 years

Note

PART 3 OF THE REMEMBERING FIC POR FAVOR,,,I BEG 😞🙏

Of course! And thank u for specifying which one bc I mix the two stories up all the time lol

pairing: Scaramouche x gn!reader

wc: 1,484

tw: none

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When you woke, you lay in the softest, and silkiest bed you’ve ever laid in. The room was elegant and ornate, the walls a deeply painted red with golden accents. You sat up with surprisingly less resistance from your wound, looking down and at the bandages that you were wrapped in. Where was your shirt? And who undressed you?

The door swung open with a click and you quickly covered yourself with the blanket, looking to the door. Your captain held a tray with dishes on it, presumably breakfast. “Good morning,” he said, kicking the door closed and making his way to your bedside. He placed the tray on the bed table and took a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. “Is your chest feeling better?”

You bring the blanket up further and glare at him. Was he the one who undressed you? How unprofessional of a captain. “Did you undress me?”

He took another forkful and held it in front of your mouth. “Yes.”

“Why? Why not the second grade medic?”

He rolled his eyes when you pushed the fork away, eating another bite himself. “What, you want Tartaglia to see you naked? You’re lucky I’m the one who did!”

“I wish none of you undressed me without my permission!!”

Scaramouche balled his fist around the fork tightly. You were getting on his nerves. Not eating, not drinking, only fighting. “Why not me?! I’m your fucking bo—”

The door to your room clicked open again except this time, your Lieutenant came in. “Whoa! Everyone can hear you yelling outside!” He walked up to the two of you with a smile. “It’s too early to be arguing like this. It’s like you never even forgot anything!” He laughed, gesturing to you.

You glared at him too, turning to look out the window. “Are we leaving yet? I want to get back to the harbor.”

“Not yet,” Scaramouche grumbled through the pancakes. “Because of you, we cannot leave until the day after the next.”

“Because of me?!” You shout, turning to face your captain and wanting to shove him to the ground. But you turn a little too quickly and you crumble under the pain of reopening your wound.

“Please, [Y/N], we need your wound closed before we can start moving out.” He pulled down the blanket to look at your chest. You instinctively grab his wrist to stop him, but the hand above yours that also tried to stop him was your captain. Why would he care if Tartaglia looked at you naked? It wasn’t his body!

You stared Tartaglia in the eyes. “I can look at it myself. I’m the medic.”

“Alright, comrade. I’m gonna snag breakfast before it’s all gone. And you,” he pointed at Scaramouche. “No more yelling.”

After finally getting you to eat, your mood brightened up. Scaramouche was staring out the window with his chin resting in his palm, every now and then his eyes flickering to look at you. You were the same, despite not knowing much of anything. You still ate your food with vigor and you still got happier and less snappy after you ate. “Oh god are these from Mondstadt?! There so fucking good!”

Scaramouche scowled, taking a strawberry from your plate. “Watch your fucking mouth!”

“Look who’s talking! I get it from you!”

You were right, though. After spending so much time with Scaramouche, certain words became more of your daily vocabulary. But wait…why did you spend so much time with your captain?

“Well hurry up so I can take your plates to the staff and you can change your own fucking dressing.”

“Why didn’t you just wait for me to wake up?” You asked, taking a big sip of your water.

“Because you asked me to.”

There was a pause. “I’ve been asleep though. Why’d I ask you?”

Scaramouche grinned like a little boy. “I don’t know, maybe it’s because you love me?”

You shoved your tray off of your lap and crossed your arms. “You are so not my type.”

Scaramouche laughed. “Bet I can change that.”

That evening you had another hydrotherapy session. This time, you weren’t going to fall asleep. It was the same as before; Tartaglia held pools of water over your ears and temples. After having the soothing water wash over you, it was as if you had melted into another existence. Your mind was free of thought, your body light and numb. You didn’t exist, and you weren’t anywhere.

Then a familiar voice brought you something to focus on. “Are you awake?” Your Lieutenant jokes.

You smile. “Yes, I’m awake.”

“Okay, I’m going to ask you simple questions. You should know the answers to these.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’m serious, please answer truthfully and to the best of your knowledge.” There was a pause as he wiggled his fingers, shifting the water in ways that you were sure had meaning. “What is your name?”

“[Y/N],” you say simply.

“Good! Who is your captain?”

“Captain Scaramouche,” you reply.

“Excellent! And who do we work for?”

“The Tsaritsa.”

“Good job. I’m going to ask you more subjective questions, you ready?”

You feel your mind beginning to fizz, like a glass of soda. You fight it, and nod. “I’m ready.”

“If you feel any pain, or are shocked by forgotten trauma, we can stop. Just say the word “starconch,” and I will cease the therapy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tartaglia sucked in a deep, nervous breath. “When you think of the Tsaritsa, what comes to mind?”

“Um…I think of her kindness. She’s so understanding and she accommodates my wishes.”

“If you didn’t work for her, what do you imagine you’d be doing?”

Your face contorts in thought. “Hopefully…living a peaceful, mundane life. Working everyday, being with the one I love everyday, for example.”

“Let’s say you live this life. Who is the person you’re living with?”

“I…don’t know. We’ve been together for two years now but I don’t know who it is.”

“Can you describe him?”

You cock your head to the side. “How did you know it was a man?”

“Nevermind,” he cuts off, not wanting to potentially ruin your memories with his incorrect words. “Next question. Do you enjoy being a medic?”

“It’s never fun to see my teammates get hurt. But I have confidence that I’d never let anyone die.”

Tartaglia hummed above you, and smiled. He admired your confidence and your ability to be strong and courageous when you needed to. “Is it hard being a medic?”

You smiled, and laughed a little. “Nothing is hard when you know what you’re doing,” you chided. “I think fighting is hard, but you do it wonderfully everyday.”

He observed you carefully, a thin veil of darkness washing over his face. “If someone taught you how to fight, would you?” The question was a little more self indulgent, hoping that if he could teach you, you wouldn’t get hurt like this again.

“No, because the man I love protects me just fine.”

You were right. The person that you loved was like a guard dog of sorts. If someone so much as had an ugly scowl on their face as they’re coming toward you, he’s there to step right in between. He was always there, always reliable. But the one time he wasn’t, you nearly met your fate by the time they got you back to camp.

Tartaglia shifted. “Is there anything you know about the man you’re with?”

“He’s handsome,” you sang, a little teasingly. “And he’s so intelligent. And he’s sweet to me, and he’s silly at times, and when we fight we have bad fights. Yelling at each other, saying awful things…but he’s so quick to apologize and do things to make me forgive him.” Tartaglia watched as you went on and on, feeling bad that you had all these things to say about him but he didn’t have a face or name. Just the feeling of love and happiness for a mystery man. “And he’s always there for me. I try to be there for him, but when I do I mess things up. Like right now, I’m only hurt because I—” You sat up suddenly, disrupting the therapy and turning to look at Tartaglia. “I was saving him,” you say with wide eyes, as if he didn’t know that. “I…only threw myself into the battle to save him. That means…it’s one of the guys here right?”

Tartaglia raised his brow and shrugged his shoulders. He wished he wasn’t a good person, because he would’ve taken this opportunity to tell you he was your boyfriend. “I’d tell you but that would ruin the fun!”

You glared, your brain feeling a little strange still from the session. You stared down at your chest wrapped in bandages. This was your love. You placed your hand over your heart to steady your heart rate. “Better me than him.”

Tartaglia disagreed.

#writing #part three: amnesia #Scaramouche #scaramouche x reader

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august-anon · 3 years

Text

Habit

y’all voted witcher, so here is some witcher! i feel like this has been in my backlog for months idk when i even wrote the first draft anymore lol

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Fandom: Witcher

Ship(s): Geraskier

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jaskier/Ler!Geralt, brief Lee!Geralt/Ler!Jaskier

Word Count: 1654 words

Summary: Jaskier has a little habit of tickling Geralt whenever the urge strikes. Geralt seems to have finally hit his breaking point, ready for revenge.

[ao3 link]

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Jaskier wasn’t sure when the habit started, but he did know that it was fun enough to make him not want to stop. Sure, Geralt always acted a little put-out afterwards, but he never told Jaskier to stop (and Jaskier would. The second he said the word, Jaskier would be done), so Jaskier figured he didn’t really mind.

Geralt was just so cute when he laughed. He really didn’t do it often enough (though even without Jaskier’s little habit, the frequency had increased exponentially since they started dating). Geralt’s eyes would crinkle up so much he’d struggle to keep them open, he would smile so wide, he had dimples! It really was no wonder that Jaskier had started up with his little ritual.

Tickling Geralt was just too fun.

It would be even better if Geralt would get revenge, Jaskier craved that almost as much as he craved being with the man himself, but it simply wasn’t meant to be. Not only did Geralt never even try to tickle Jaskier back, but Jaskier simply… wasn’t ticklish.

People had tried, sure. A squeeze to the side here, a tweak to his knee there, but Jaskier hardly felt a thing. Jaskier’s nerves didn’t light up like Geralt’s seemed to when he vibrated his fingers into his ribs, or blew a raspberry on his hips, or nibbled at his ears. Jaskier was cut from different cloth, he supposed, as disappointing as it was.

But despite all that, at least he got to tickle Geralt. Which was just what he happened to be doing right at that moment.

He launched over the back of the couch without warning, though Geralt must’ve heard him coming because he didn’t jump or flinch. Jaskier didn’t waste a moment before leaning in to press a chaste (though by no means short) kiss to Geralt’s lips, climbing into Geralt’s lap as he did so. Geralt hummed against his lip and pulled him closer by his waist. Jaskier teasingly hummed back and attacked, pulling away from the kiss to give Geralt a chance to breathe through his laughter.

His fingers dug into the muscles of Geralt’s sides, which were not very well protected by his muscle shirt. How foolish of him, not changing out of his pajamas when he knew Jaskier could strike at any moment. He grinned as Geralt yelped, toppling into quiet laughter and squirming underneath Jaskier.

“You beautiful man,” Jaskier murmured, leaning in to mouth at his neck. “Your laugh is the most melodious sound in all the world.”

And then Geralt did something that he’d never done before. He grabbed Jaskier and flipped them, pushing him down with his back to the cushions, and crawled on top of him. Jaskier gasped and his fingers stilled in shock. He felt something start fizzing in his chest.

“Save it for your songs,” Geralt growled, a smirk on his face. “What’s with this little game of yours?”

Jaskier gulped. “What do you mean?”

Geralt flicked some hair out of his face with a jerk of his head, leaning in closer. “All the tickling. I don’t really mind, but you do it a bit too often to try and be playing the cute and oblivious angle, right now, don’t you think?”

Jaskier fiddled with the hem of Geralt’s loose shirt, not looking him in the eyes. “Um, I just really like it when you laugh?”

“Was that a question or an answer?”

Jaskier bit his lip. “Both?”

Geralt sighed and backed off, sitting next to his prone form on the couch instead of looming over him. Jaskier stayed lying down, flinging an arm over his eyes.

“Jaskier, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

Jaskier snorted. “All sorts of things, my dear Geralt.”

Jaskier could practically feel the eyeroll from where he was laying.

“What’s going through your head when you do that?”

He’s your boyfriend, Jaskier, a small voice in his head said. You love each other. He won’t think you’re a freak.

“How beautiful you are. How much I love your laugh. How I wish I could feel like that, that you would return the favor.”

Jaskier felt the couch shift under them. “You… want me to tickle you?”

Jaskier nodded, feeling his face heat up under his arm.

Jaskier barely held back a surprised flinch when he felt a calloused hand slowly slide up his side, underneath his shirt.

“Why do you say that so sadly?”

Jaskier shrugged. “I’m not really ticklish.”

Geralt furrowed his brow. “Everyone is ticklish.”

Jaskier shrugged again.

“Let’s test it.”

Jaskier frowned. “Test it?”

“Maybe people did it wrong.”

“How do you tickle someone wrong, Geralt?”

“I don’t know! Maybe the way they did it just didn’t work for you.”

“Geralt, it’s fine I’m--”

Geralt squeezed his side, cutting Jaskier off. But he didn’t flinch, didn’t laugh, he didn’t even smile. Jaskier simply raised an eyebrow. Geralt scowled.

“Hm.”

“Geralt, I told you, I--Ah!!”

Jaskier yelped and jerked slightly as Geralt’s blunt nails gently skimmed against his bottom rib. Geralt’s face lit up with devious glee, and the fizzing, fluttering feeling in Jaskier’s chest returned. He held his breath when he felt Geralt’s fingers touch down again.

“You were saying, dear heart?”

“H-hey, that’s my--ah! That’s my pet name!” Jaskier said through gritted teeth, his voice strained as he tried not to squeak or squeal.

“You can’t claim a pet name, Jaskier.” Geralt said, rolling his eyes and stopping his fingers.

“Yes you can!”

“You can’t.”

The predatory look on Geralt’s face made his heart stop, but… in a fun way. After all, Jaskier did just say he wanted this. That fact did nothing to stop the blush from flooding his face. Geralt grinned.

“Adorable,” he said

And he didn’t give Jaskier even a moment to reply to that, his hands latching onto either side of Jaskier’s ribcage and repeating that same scratching motion. Except this time, Geralt didn’t let up. He kept going, even as Jaskier’s hands scrabbled to try and push him off. Jaskier pressed his lips tightly together to hold in his laughter, scrunching up his face with the effort.

“Come on, darling,” Geralt cooed, a mimicry of Jaskier’s own teasing voice. “Just let go and laugh, you’ll feel better if you do.”

And Jaskier knew those words. He murmured them in Geralt’s ears, devious grin on his own face, when he’d first tried tickling Geralt. He’d repeated them many times since, thanks to Geralt being stubborn enough to try and hold in his laughter each time. Oh, to have those words turned against him now… Jaskier, for all his writing skills and love of metaphors, couldn’t even find a way to describe how flustered that made him feel.

Jaskier decided that a better use of his hands was hiding his face, so he gathered all his strength to pull his hands away from fighting off Geralt and lift them to shield his red face from view. Geralt chuckled above him and dragged his hands down from the middle of Jaskier’s ribcage to his sides, right above his hips. Jaskier jerked forward and choked on a silent squeal.

“You shouldn’t hide such a pretty face,” Geralt said, and Jaskier felt the urge to kick him as he felt his face heating up even more.

Jaskier finally broke and cried out when Geralt scribbled those maddeningly-gentle fingers along his hips and pantline. Geralt chuckled above him, adding a little more pressure and finally making Jaskier break out into giggles.

“Damn,” Geralt said. “I can see why you do this so often, now.”

“Shut up!” Jaskier squealed, twisting his hips and trying to throw Geralt’s hands off.

“Why are you struggling so much? I thought this is what you wanted!”

“It is!”

Geralt just laughed again, vibrating his fingers into Jaskier’s hips and repeating the tactic all the way down the muscles between his hips and thighs. Jaskier’s laughter got louder and shriller the further down he went, the sensations becoming more and more unbearable, and Jaskier knew he was in trouble.

“Wait!” He cried. “Wait, no!”

Geralt slowed down, gently wiggling his fingers at just the tops of Jaskier’s thighs. “Do you really mean that?”

Did Jaskier mean that? No, absolutely not. It was torture, but in the best way. Did Jaskier want to admit that? No.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said warningly, his fingers slowing even more.

“No!” Jaskier broke, far faster than he intended.

“Good,” Geralt said.

And apparently Geralt wasn’t going to let him process anything today because, just like before, Geralt dove in before Jaskier could even consider what just happened. Jaskier practically screamed as Geralt vibrated his fingers into his inner thighs. He could no longer struggle, and instead he just went limp, his hands falling away from his face as his frantic cackling went silent.

“Oh, looks like you’ve got a place that holds up to my armpits.”

Jaskier couldn’t respond, though he did gather up the strength to slap at Geralt’s hands. As much fun as he was having, Jaskier felt like he was reaching a breaking point, despite just telling Geralt to continue.

Geralt slowed his fingers down and slid his hands up until he was simply gripping Jaskier’s hips.

“You okay?”

Jaskier let out an incredulous giggle. “Yeah--Yeah, I’m good, love.”

“Have fun?”

Jaskier nodded, reaching up to pull Geralt down until he was lying on top of him.

“You are now legally obligated to cuddle me,” Jaskier said, still catching his breath. “Your new job position is weighted blanket.”

“Oh, so I’ve been promoted from boyfriend, then?”

Jaskier hummed.

“How’s take out and a movie sound?”

“Then a nap after lunch?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Sure.”

And then Geralt was grabbing his phone so they could order in, and Jaskier was relaxing even further into the couch. There was no way he was lasting until after lunch for his nap.

#tickle fic #My writing #the witcher tickling #lee!jaskier #ler!geralt #ticklish!jaskier #the witcher #jaskier | dandelion #geralt of rivia #geraskier

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amintyworld · 3 years

Text

Sunset - Dream SMP Drabble

WATERFALL (Part one) - SECRETS (PART 3)

A/N: Okay, I’ve decided to make this a 3-parter, so yay! Third part should be coming out later this week. Hope you all enjoy! -Minty

TW: Arguing/fighting, character death mention(?) (Let me know if I need to tag anything else!)

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Ever since they met at the waterfall, Phil saw Sally around a lot more lately. Not to say he minded it, the girl was very nice and kind, but she fit right into his chaotic family, a little too well. He heard the normal loud crashing through the trees at nine in the morning - Techno sparred when he couldn’t sleep - as he walked downstairs for his morning coffee, yawning a bit. As he poured himself a cup, he took a second to smile as he mouthed ‘3...2...1…’, and then yelling began upstairs that made Phil’s head throb. He rubbed the spot with a sigh as he took another sip.

“STOP STARING AT ME WHEN I SLEEP, YOU WEIRDO-!”

“I’M NOT A WEIRDO, YOU’RE THE WEIRD ONE WHO KEEPS TRYING TO SLEEP IN MY BED!”

“YEAH, WELL I’M JUST TRYING TO PROTECT YOU FROM MONSTERS!”

“TOMMY, MONSTERS CAN’T GET IN HERE!”

The two boys yelled and called for their father, and Philza slowly meandered back upstairs, still half asleep, coffee cup never leaving his hand. He yawned. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Tommy keeps sleeping in MY bed,” Wilbur said harshly. “And I keep waking up to him clinging to me like some weird koala, it’s creepy!”

Tommy glared at his older brother. “Oh, I’M the creepy one?! You’re the one who I wake up to staring at me-!”

“Because you keep sleeping in my bed-!”

Before it broke out into another yelling match, Philza simply raised his hand and the two fell silent - Wilbur crossed his arms as the two brothers just looked to the floor. “Tommy, Wilbur wakes up before you, remember? He’s a light sleeper. When he wakes up and you’re holding onto him like a teddy bear, he can’t exactly move without waking you up, can he?”

Tommy’s eyes furrowed in thought. “Well, but he-”

“Wilbur,” Philza interrupted. “Tommy’s still young, he gets scared. We’re all getting used to sleeping apart, we’re all used to sleeping on the road and huddled together. He just wants to be near you because he loves you.” The two brothers looked at each other. “Now, can the two of you please move past this and try to understand each other?”

Wilbur slowly uncrossed his arms. “Do you really miss me that much?”

Tommy quickly scoffed. “Wha- no!”

“Oh.” Wilbur’s face fell.

“But,” Tommy said, crossing his arms as he stared at the floor. “I do miss hanging out with you and exploring like we used to. You and Sally are so busy now, and I get bored. So I guess, maybe, psychologically, some part of my mind just… subconsciously makes me sleep-walk over here…?”

“Aw, you DO miss me!” Wilbur said, smiling as he pulled Tommy in for a hug. Tommy struggled to get away from his strong grasp.

“I do NOT-!”

Philza smirked from the doorway at the scene, turning and walking off. “Come on down for breakfast when you’re ready-” He chuckled a bit to himself as the two began bantering again, and from the sounds of it Wilbur was trying to take a picture from the number of protests coming from Tommy. He walked downstairs to find Sally sitting at the kitchen table idly, and Philza would admit it was a weird sight, even with the amount of normal strangeness that came about in the house. “Uh, hi...?”

“Oh, hey,” Sally said, turning around a bit quickly. “You startled me.”

“I could say the same thing to you. How’d you get in here...?” He asked, confused, and trying to figure out what possible scenario let the girl wander in.

“Uh, the door was open,” Sally said. “You really need better security.”

No kidding. “Techno may have left it open. It’s kind of early, what are you doing here exactly…?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Didn’t exactly notice the time.”

“Ah, I see,” Philza said cooly, going on to lecture the teen on a proper sleeping schedule while grilling eggs on top of the furnace. The dad was surprised to learn how quickly she’d moved and set up shop in a nearby treehouse she constructed during the night.

“I’m just an expert at moving during the night, it’s the better cover for survival.”

“Smart. But not really healthy.”

“I guess, but safe is better than not in the long run, at least from my experience,” Sally said confidently,

“But you don’t have to run from anything, at least not anymore. This is the safest place to set up shop I’ve seen in miles.” Philza said matter-of-factly. “Now you finally have a home.”

“Home…” Sally repeated with a small laugh. “I haven’t heard that word in a while.”

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

“So, how’d you get that beanie?”

Wilbur sighed as he looked up at the sky, Sally next to him, both soaking wet from a splash fight they had earlier, and now decided to lay on the rocks and dry off in the sun, both of them tired. Wilbur instinctively reached up to touch the soft knitted hat in his hands, fingers fumbling through the fabric in a bit of comfort. “It was a gift... from my Mom. Or, at least, I think it was my Mom.”

Sally sounded curious. “What do you mean? Is Phil not…?”

“He is. I’ve known him for as long as I can remember, there’s no possible way he isn’t. But my Mom… I’ve never met her.” Wilbur said thoughtfully, recalling faded memories.

“Oh, so… how’d you get it if she…?”

Wilbur was quiet for a moment. “It’s not going to make any sense, it doesn’t even make much sense to me if I’m honest. It’s weird anyway-”

“Wil,” Sally said, giving him a comforting smile. “It’s okay. What’s the point of life if everything made sense?” Wilbur couldn’t help but smile.

“Don’t laugh?”

“Never.”

The teen took a breath. “The first thing I remember was a voice talking to me. I couldn’t see anything, it was so dark. The voice said it was my Mom, and that her name was Sam. Anyway, for a long time, I couldn’t see anything, but I wasn’t ever really worried. I felt safe as long as my Mom was there, you know? When it got colder she gave me the beanie and my old green sweater, and I know it sounds weird, but with the warmth - it felt like a hug, almost. That’s why I really love my beanie so much, it reminds me of her and her hugs. It’s like even if she isn’t here, she’s here. I miss her a lot, and-”

Sally pulled Wilbur in for a tight comforting hug as Wilbur’s voice hitched. A few tears slid down his cheeks as he returned it, and he mumbled a few ‘thank you’s before continuing.

“One day, she told me that she had to go, that I was going to go be with my Dad and everything was going to be alright. A door opened, and there was Phil. He pulled me close to him, and I remember hearing fizzing... smelling smoke, but he didn’t let me look back. He just grabbed me and left.”

“That must’ve been hard.” Sally said. “Do you ever talk to Philza about it?”

“Sometimes.” Wilbur said honestly. “Other times I feel like it’s something that he just wants to forget and move on from, and from the way he talks about it, I can’t blame him.”

“No wonder that beanie means so much to you.” Sally breathed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry and bring it up if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, no.” Wilbur waved off. “It’s nice to talk about it with someone other than Dad.” He turned to face Sally. “What about you? Anything you keep that means the world to you?”

“No. The way I live, or used to live, only had room for the essentials and nothing else. Putting so much value in an object like that, would only lead to disaster waiting to happen.” Sally said simply. “There’s no use in getting attached to anything when you could lose it.”

“That sounds lonely.” Wilbur said thoughtfully.

“Yeah, but that’s surviving.” Sally sighed, laughing a bit bitterly as she sat up. “Stupid logic, isn’t it?”

“It’s not, it’s not.” Wilbur retorted, sitting up as well. His mind wanted to ask who she was running from, but it seemed like she didn’t really want to talk about it right now. He gave her a comforting joking smile. “I bet you had the biggest emo phase-”

Sally’s face lit up in a grin and Wilbur felt his stomach begin to flutter uncharacteristically, a knot forming in his throat as she snorted slightly, playfully swatting. “Yeah, as if you didn’t go full emo - I’ve seen your poetry.”

“How’d you-?!”

“Your brothers know how to get a hold of blackmail like nobody’s business.” She snickered, and Wilbur cursed under his breath. “Awe, come on, I thought it was cute-”

“Cute…?” Wilbur repeated, and the unfamiliar fluttering feeling in his stomach grew more intense.

Sally laughed. “Yeah, like a little hissing kitten-!” The two friends burst out laughing, Wilbur feeling lighter, happier, but also extremely confused.

“Come on you two, dinner!”

“Coming!” Sally called, smirking. “Beanie Boy’s just embarrassed-!”

Beanie boy?

Wilbur could definitely feel the unmistakeable tingling feeling in his stomach as they began to race back to the house for dinner.

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Wilbur paced in his room as Techno intently listened, pausing to talk and get a word in before quickly realizing he had to wait until his younger brother stopped ranting. He focused on twiddling with his dagger as he listened, sitting on the bed facing a distressed and confused Wilbur,

“And, AND it just keeps getting worse, every time she smiles or laughs I feel like, really, really warm and I don’t know what’s going on because this has never happened before and I can’t talk to her about it because she’ll think I’m weird and I don’t want her to stop being my friend because she’s the only real friend I’ve ever had, and things would be so awkward but I just can’t stop feeling like this and it’s driving me crazy and I just want it to stop-”

Techno let out a breath as he sharpened a stick, not looking up. “Are you done?”

“Y-yes. I think.” Wilbur said as he tapped his foot to release some nervous energy.

“Have you considered, and stop me at any time,” Techno said calmly. “That you might like her more than just a friend?”

Wilbur’s voice was soft and filled with nervousness. “What… what do you mean?”

“Like,” Techno sighed. “Like you want her to be your girlfriend…?” At the mention of girlfriend, Wilbur turned red as a tomato, his mind racing. Did he want that? His mind imagined her snuggling close to him, holding her hand and leaning in to kiss her on the lips-

Wilbur’s face turned redder as he ran his hands through his hair quickly, trying to breathe with the large knot stuck in his throat. Technoblade smirked as he chuckled softly, looking back down at his work.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes.”

“Y-yes.” Wilbur managed to stutter, giving his brother a nervous smile. Suddenly, Techno’s ears perked up at quiet giggling outside in the hallway, and with a soft throw, he threw the sharpened stick hard against the wall next to the doorway, earning a loud yelp from the other side as Tommy appeared, angry.

“Aw, I missed.” Technobalde said, feigning disappointment.

“You almost stabbed me!” Tommy yelled, but Technoblade glared down at him, making Tommy’s protests quickly quiet.

“And you were eavesdropping on me and Wil.” Techno walked up to the younger, retrieving the stick and talking scarily calm. “Eavesdropping spies get stabbed, them’s the rules.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping, I was… listening.” Tommy defended. “Anyway, i was just trying to help my poor older brother with his ‘woman problems’.”

Wilbur smiled, his nerves beginning to fade away as his mind got distracted. “Yeah, what do you think I should do, Tommy?”

Tommy’s chest puffed out with confidence as he strolled over to the bed where Wilbur sat. “Now, Wilbur, in my many years of experience and research on women, I know exactly what you gotta do - you walk up and ask her who her favorite woman is. If she says anything other than the Queen, she’s not real.”

Techno and Wilbur burst out laughing, and Tommy smiled. “As much as I appreciate your advice, I don’t think Sally would like that very much. It’s gotta be romantic.”

Techno’s eyebrows raised. “You’re gonna confess to her…?”

Wilbur pushed down the nervous knot in his throat thickly. “Ye...yeah! It’s better to get everything out in the air, right? Whatever happens, happens. If...if she says no, at least I was honest.”

Techno’s warm smile met Wilbur’s nervous one as he sat down next to his brothers, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “And if she says yes…?”

A flicker of hope glimmered in Wilbur’s chest. If she says yes… His cheeks turned rosy as he took a deep breath. “If she says yes, I think I’ll faint.” He stated as he flopped backwards on the bed, trying to hide his lovestruck gaze and goofy smile at the thought.

“So, it seems we’ve got a date to plan.” Technoblade said as Tommy looked over at his flustered older brother, smiling.

“I knew she was your girlfriend-!”

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

Wilbur took a deep breath as he walked to meet up with Sally by the waterfall, wearing his nice yellow sweater and signature red beanie, carrying a few sweets he knew she liked from town. As he sat and set up the blanket on a rock overlooking the entire forest, a salmon leaped out of the water, shifting in the air and landing gracefully on the rocks, was Sally - her body and strawberry blonde locks dripping wet. “What’s all this…?”

“I have something I want to show you.” Wilbur smiled. “The perfect view of the sunset.”

“Sunset…?” Sally repeated, looking down at the picnic blanket and few torches lighting the area, the sun about to sink over the horizon.

“Yeah, I wanted to get you something special. I thought ‘what’s the perfect gift for a girl who’s seen everything?’ and I just knew ‘The things she hadn’t been allowed to stop and notice’.”

She sat down quietly, looking in wonder as the sun sank lower, turning the sky an array of breathtaking pinkish purples. “It’s beautiful. How’d you know I-?”

“Lucky guess, maybe a hunch?” Wilbur laughed, his heartbeat in his ears as Sally looked to the sunset in pure awe, the smile on her face the brightest he’d ever seen.

“I can’t believe all of this was just out of view, the entire time.” Sally breathed, looking relaxed and content as a cool breeze blew through her hair. Suddenly, Wilbur noticed a fluffy tail, and were those… ears…?

“Uh, are you shifting, or…?”

Sally went red as she realized what was going on, scrambling to hide her ears and squish them back in her head to no avail. “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing-! D-don’t look, okay?! You weren’t meant to-”

“No no, they’re cute!” Wilbur said before he chastised himself for calling her cute.

“They don’t… freak you out at all?”

“No, not really.” Wilbur responded. “I just can’t believe you hid them for this long, how did you even hide something like this-?!”

“It’s painful, but it’s safe. Animal ears and tail are telltale signs of a shifter. While people were chasing me, I had to blend into the crowd so I forcefully shifted them away. It’s exhausting and can hurt me a bit if I’m not careful, but it’s safe.”

“But, you’re not running anymore.”

“I thought you guys would think I’m weird. I wanted to show you, I did, but I just kept putting it off and making excuses so I wouldn’t have to admit I kept it from you at all.”

“You don’t have to hide from me, or anyone else here, I promise, we won’t judge.”

“Thank you.” Sally said. “For this, for giving me a place to be, for being so accepting.”

“Of course.”

Sally yawned a bit and leaned closer to Wilbur’s side, which made his heart leap to his throat as she started out at the sunset, beginning to purr a bit in content, which made Wilbur’s heart flutter. “You know, I’ve heard that the sunset looks like pink lemonade, but it looks more raspberry to me.”

“Raspberry lemonade?”

“Hm, that would taste good.” Sally murmured sleepily, letting out a laugh. “Sorry, all the exhaustion is hitting me, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I don’t mind.” His hands brushed over her ears amazed at how soft they were. He looked down at Sally, his heart seizing at the sight as the sunset’s glow radiated off her face, and he felt a heat flush his face at the sight as his heart beat loud in his ears. Sweat gathered at the back of his neck as he tapped his fingers nervously on his thigh, seeing the sun almost completely set.

It’s now or never. Don’t chicken out now.

He cleared his throat nervously as he scratched behind his neck. “So uh, I actually wanted to tell you something, something kind of important.”

“Yeah…?”

“I’ve actually been trying to find the right time to tell you for weeks now, looking back it seems kind of obvious and I don’t know how you never noticed, it’s kinda funny really-” Wilbur rambled, dancing around what he needed to say, not knowing if he really had enough courage to say it, could he even say it?

“Wil.” Wilbur looked down to notice Sally’s concerned gaze. “You’re shaking, are you okay?” Her hand squeezed his, and Wilbur’s nerves rose as any words he had began to die in his throat.

“I...I…”

“It’s okay, we’re friends. You can talk to me about anything and everything, okay? I won’t judge.” Her strawberry blonde hair swayed in the breeze as she talked softly and calmly, her usual cocky grin replaced with one that showed pure care. In that moment, Wilbur realized just how scared he was of losing that, of losing being with her and seeing her smile every day. What he was going to say was going to change everything, it was going to risk it all. Wilbur didn’t know if he was willing to risk it, risk losing her.

His mind told him no, told him to back down, that she didn’t like him like he liked her, and that he was going to lose her forever, that she’d hate him. That when he told her she was going to walk out of his life for good and leave him behind drowning in heartache. His heart whispered something else - maybe it was in her face or the way she gripped his hand just enough, or the way she laughed, the way she cared so much about him that it felt… it felt like…

...Love.

His body trembled in nervous fright as his hand rose up to scratch her ears softly, trailing down her face to tuck a bit of hair behind her ear just so, and softly cupped her cheek. The world around the two turned silent as Wilbur’s heart hammered in his chest. “I love you, Sally.”

Sally’s cheeks tinted pink at Wilbur’s words, before turning to a smile and she began giggling. Wilbur’s expression lowered for a moment. She’s laughing at me…

Then, suddenly he was pulled by his yellow sweater to crash their lips together, the movement unstable as they both fell off the rock and crashed into the river below. Though he was falling, Wilbur felt like he was on Cloud Nine. They both crawled into the beach, giddly giggling as their faces flushed with excitement. Wilbur pulled Sally in close and kissed her again, his heart drumming along as the tight nerves in his stomach finally faded. The shifter wrapped her arms around his neck as the two savored the moment, the moon rising behind them.

When they pulled apart for air, Wilbur smirked. “An ‘I love you too’ would’ve been fine-”

“Shut up, Beanie Boy. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” Sally’s cheeks flushed as Wilbur gently took her hand in his.

“Well, we can do it again...” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, as Sally’s face got redder. “My salmon.”

Needless to say, they kissed more than a few times that night.

#young sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois inc #dream smp #dream smp drabble #sally the salmon #wilbur x sally #dream smp fic #my writing #wilbur soot #philza #tommyinnit #technoblade

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ahsokasanity · 3 years

Text

Chapter Thirteen

A Court of Shadow and Ribbons Chapter Link

Oh, you’re gonna wanna read this one!

The house arranged a beautiful table setting and centre piece. The room was bathed in the orange and bright pinks of the evening sun. Azriel was already there. Dressed casually in black pants and a teal shirt with the cuffs rolled up nearly to his elbows. Cassian and Nesta wandered in, drink in each hand. Cassian passed his spare to Aziel, who took it gratefully and swallowed a large gulp. He looked up at them quickly

“sparkling water?”

Nesta answered for them “I’m not, you know drinking anymore so the house offers what’s best for every situation. Cassian agreed, a totally sober night for him and you will be best – especially with the work you have to do tomorrow”

Azriel nodded “I see, and I agree alcohol is not necessary, maybe I was looking to take the edge off, but I don’t need it”

Cassian laughed “You might, but we’ll back you up buddy”

Gwyn arrived taking the last step slowly and looking around furtively. She was talking to herself quietly “Are you Idisi? Is this scarier that fighting for your life on Ramiel? Can you chill out and have a quiet dinner with your friends and with Azriel? She sucked in a breath “Oh Mother, would you look at him”

Nesta stepped forward and took Gwyn’s hand, having left her drink on the table.

“You are so welcome Gwyn, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before” they hugged and walked to sit at the dining table.

“Please sit down Gwyn. Cass, Azriel we can eat whenever we are ready”

She turned to Gwyn “You know since the house was gifted to Cassian and I, we don’t venture to the kitchens. Every now and then I send a basket of treats or some blooming flowers of Elain’s to say thank you, but Windy does it all. It is an interesting way to live never knowing or bothering to think about what we should eat” she smiled and Cassian stopped talking to Azriel for a moment to appreciate that spirit. A year ago he could not have fantasised about this kind of hope and happiness for her.

Aziel noticed too but his eye was caught more by the slight giggle that Gwyn made, her curls bouncing either side of her face and the way her eyes sparkled with merriment.

“Windy” as Nesta had begun to refer to the house of Wind did not disappoint with dinner. Although you might think it was a Den Mother the way each person was served different amounts depending on their body’s requirements and tastes. It was all food on a theme, but no two plates were the same.

Gwyn was enjoying the food and the easy conversation ranging from training, to the mating ceremony, to singing and pranks that Azriel and Cassian had played on each other and Rhys growing up.

Dessert was served and when Gwyneth’s plate arrived bearing a colourful meringue pegasus, she burst out laughing. The house had remembered her request from the girls night months ago.

She really did not relish eating the work of art, but the dinner had been served in order and amounts to leave her room for this treat. Azriel had heard the story from Cassian about what the house had provided the three recovering females and was so pleased to see Gwyn relaxed and joyful. When she offered him some of her meringue, he took the tail.

“This is only so that we can tell people you did not eat an entire pegasus by yourself” and popped it into his mouth. Gwyn watched every move, caught by the idea of that melt in your mouth delicacy on his tongue, dissolving and fizzing and finally being swallowed. She consciously dropped her eyes to her plate, but hoped that he would not scent her want. A feeling that she just couldn’t stop, rising within her.

Suddenly she wished that she had not eaten all that the house had offered. Her stomach knotted and her heart beat was going to drown out the conversation. In fact, she noticed Cassian and Azriel had stopped speaking and Nesta was looking at her worriedly.

“Gwyn, what’s wrong? you’ve gone pale all of a sudden”

She abruptly stood, pushing the chair back and stumbled toward the dark doors leading to the roof.

“I just need some air.” She scrambled outside. The others too shocked to follow

It was dark outside, but she knew every corner and seat and railing here. She moved to a bench overlooking the city and it’s twinkling lights, with one wall of the house behind her. Gwyn sat and breathed. She counted to ten for each inhale and each exhale until the nausea stopped, then began the proper Valkyrie exercises to centre her mind. On purpose she did not try to find a reason for her panic. It was all too obvious.

Moments or hours later Nesta came out to her, carrying one of the house’s magical light sources so that she could find Gwyn. Although, she knew the layout better that anyone, Gwyn realised she was announcing her presence.

“I’m so sorry Nessie, I don’t know what happened” (even though she did and it scared her to death). Nesta sat beside her with one arm over her shoulders.

“Don’t mention it, you know around here, we’re all about do as you feel” She winked. Gwyn knowing full well about Nesta’s behaviour when she arrived up here, and about how many different rooms she and Cassian had enjoyed each other in. She just smiled and said

“Thank you. Really, I appreciate that, but I’m not sure what to do now. Do I sit here breathing or do I come back and face my trainers feeling embarrassed and silly?” She shrugged and Nesta could see the internal struggle for the female who always put on a brave face to cover the unforgettable trauma of death and rape that dogged her still.

“How about a compromise?” Nesta dipped her chin, “Azriel and Cassian and I could come out here to sit with you in the dark, then you don’t have to feel like you look silly because they won’t be able to see you!”

Gwyn huffed a laugh, then it broke to the surface and it came out properly. Nesta joined her and they pushed on each other’s shoulders making the other start up again.

It didn’t take long before Cassian and Azriel made their way out to see what was going on out there. They were talking loudly and teasing each other about who was the best trainer, Nesta blessed them for their attempt at subtlety.

“What’s your opinion Gwyn, who is the best trainer? Your General, OR the guy who helps out sometimes?” Cassian had arrived and dragged over a sunbed made for wings to lay on.

Gwyn looked at Azriel who stayed standing on the other side of Nesta. His silk shirt caught the moonlight and she could see the colour ripple as he breathed

“Well, General" She started and the others laughed

“You definitely make me work harder, Azriel seems to like stretching and cooling down best” Cassian made to accept his win.

“But….” Gwyn continued “The person who helps out sometimes, has, I think, been the reason behind my technique improvement” She smiled at Azriel then and he looked modestly at the ground.

“So, I’m not going to choose!” Gwyn declared. Cassian and Nesta clapped and congratulated her, and Azriel laughed and the joy in that laugh had Gwyn tensing up inside. In a good way. The stomach churning did not happen, but a bubbly, happy humming started in her chest.

Cassian held out his hand to Nesta, beckoning her and she went and lay next to him with her head on his chest and their hands linked across Cass’s belly.

Azriel glanced at the bench vacated by Nesta “May I?” he asked Gwyn softly.

“Of course” She said shyly. What else could she say. She edged a little further from him so that she would not accidentally touch his wings. His shadows stayed as a second skin around him, but where his hand rested on the bench closest to her, they seeped out a little. Gwyn did it without thinking, she ran a finger through the darkness of the inky feelers. She pulled away as they touched her coolly, but stretched her hand out again when it didn’t hurt.

“Can you feel that?” she said quietly

Cassian and Nesta were silent, she knew they could hear her, and Azriel’s reply, but surely someone had asked the shadowsinger about his shadows before.

“Yes, but it’s a feeling not a sense”

Cassian called out “REALLY?” and Nesta put her hand over his mouth laughing. Azriel shook his head “Yes, really. I don’t feel hot or cold or sharp or blunt with my shadows. Right now I just feel happiness, and maybe uncertainty?”

Gwyn slid her hand away. He was reading far too much of her mood right now.

“That’s really amazing” she looked properly at him and fell headlong into his dark blue eyes. He blinked and she was able to look away

“It is pretty good. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have the power, but it’s saved me, well, us, so many times I’m grateful despite the “feelings’ all the time”

Nesta “oohhhhed” from her chair like suddenly Azriel made more sense. Cassian nudged her and she squirmed “What?”

“Well, I was just thinking how tired I am and that I have to get up early tomorrow for Rhys’ little errand, and you know, maybe it’s” he spoke lower “bedtime”.

Nesta got the hint and went a little pink cheeked, although it was too dark to see.

“Good point Cassian, what a responsible mate you are. Definitely bedtime when we’ve got to get going early” she yawned deliberately. Cassian merely stood and took her hand bowing to Azriel and Gwyn

“Brother, Gwyn, thanks for tonight. Let’s do it again soon”

Nesta nodded and giggled at Cassian’s attempt at politeness and sudden need to be alone with her. She had the same idea.

“Thank you Nesta, Cassian” Gwyn nodded but didn’t attempt to rise, instead she looked at Azriel. He stared back but farewelled his friends absentmindedly

“Yeah, bye”

#Angsty stuff #acosf #acotar #sjm #Gwynriel #Nessian #House of Wind #Shadows #Double date #triggers

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clumsyclifford · 4 years

Note

intimacy prompts - 37 with mashton? feels like it would work for them

i got this idea and then i just felt like a compelling need to write it im sorry im not taking these prompts literally enough however this plot is absolutely crucial frankly i don’t know why it’s not employed in fic more often

“This stuff doesn’t work,” Ashton says.

Michael frowns. “You’re saying you don’t want to fall in love with me?”

“I’m saying there are better ways to fall in love than to just a bunch of questions,” Ashton says. “If I were going to be in love with you, don’t you think I’d have done it by now? I’ve known you for, like, seven years.”

“I’m pretty sure you are in love with me and you’re just in denial,” Michael says dismissively. “But that’s not the point. I’m just curious. Look, worst case scenario it doesn’t work and we just become closer friends.”

“And best case scenario?” Ashton asks, raising his eyebrows. He can’t really think of a best case scenario here, because falling in love with Michael through a series of carefully curated questions just feels fraudulent, and Ashton wouldn’t believe himself if it “worked.”

“We fall in love,” Michael says. “Duh.”

Ashton rolls his eyes. “Fine. But I want it on the record that I don’t think there’s any merit to this experiment, and I’m mostly doing it so I can have material to blackmail you with.”

Michael smirks. “Sure you are.”

(And maybe a little bit because he’s curious to see what will happen. If maybe it is possible to fall in love in thirty-six questions. If Ashton were going to fall for anyone this easily, he reckons it would be Michael.)

Some of the questions are kind of funny. When Ashton asks Michael, “Would you like to be famous? In what way?” Michael snorts before going off about how badly he wants to be a rock star, and how he’s worried he’ll never make it, because everyone in his band sucks and he doesn’t know if this song he wrote is good enough for any record labels. Then Ashton hits him and tells him that if they’re really going to do this, they have to be honest, and from there it gets, well.

“If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future, or anything else, what would you want to know?” Michael reads, and then props his chin in his hand and looks expectantly at Ashton.

If Ashton had known just how probing these questions would be, he’s not sure he’d have agreed to this game. (If it can be called a game.) It’s not that he’s uncomfortable, but it’s hard to be open and honest like this, with no buffer, just him, Michael, and the truth.

“Nothing,” Ashton says, which is the only truthful answer he can come up with. Michael looks unimpressed. “I mean it. I wouldn’t want to know anything. What’s the point of life if you can just look up the answers? Why, what would you say?”

“I —” Michael purses his lips. “I’m not sure. But not nothing. I guess, I don’t know, I’d want to know if the band will last.”

“But if you knew the band would last, you’d stop working as hard to keep it together,” Ashton says. “And if you knew it wouldn’t, you’d just give up, wouldn’t you?”

“Would not,” Michael says, defensive, almost offended. “I’d do my best to make sure that future never came true.”

“It’s the future, Mike. It’s — it’s going to come true, that’s the point.”

“If the future tells me something I don’t like, I have every right to try and fight it,” Michael says stubbornly. “The band doesn’t tank unless I say it does.”

Ashton’s gut twists, although not in an unpleasant way. Actually, the dogged determination to protect what he loves is one of Ashton’s favorite things about Michael, and hearing him talk about the band like he’d rather die than lose it is making Ashton feel, well, something. He’s not sure what, and not sure he wants to know, although he has a feeling it’ll identify itself before the thirty-six questions are through.

They work through a few more questions in the second set. Then Michael, slightly strangled, says, “Uh. How close and warm is your family?” He clears his throat. “Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?”

“That’s two questions,” Ashton says.

“It’s written as one,” Michael tells him, turning his phone around like Ashton won’t take him at his word. “Well, uh. Go ahead. It’s your turn.”

Ashton bites his lip. “You already know all of this about me,” he says, which is an evasion tactic, and Michael sees right through it.

“You — it’s part of the thing,” he says. “If you don’t want to answer it, I guess…”

“No, I just — I don’t think I’m going to say anything surprising.” Ashton sighs. “How close and warm is my family? Enough. My mum’s gotten better at keeping us close. I think it helps that I have money now. My childhood was unhappy until I joined the band. So, no. I don’t think it was happier than most people’s.”

“Until you joined the band?” Michael echoes, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “Like, I didn’t really have anything pushing me forward until that. It gave me direction. And three new friends, which didn’t hurt.”

“You’ve never said that,” Michael says, studying Ashton. Ashton feels like he’ll wilt under Michael’s gaze, too vulnerable, too easy to pull apart.

“Yeah, well.” Ashton clears his throat. “It’s your turn.” He wants to avert his gaze but also really, really doesn’t, and is saved by Michael looking away to reread the question from his phone, and they move forward.

The deeper they get into the questions, especially in the third set, the more Ashton wants to crack a joke, and the worse it feels to do so. They’re in the thick of it now, and even if it’s just a test, to see if it works, it’s not exactly the kind of thing Ashton wants to laugh at — just in case it does. (It can’t. There’s no way it could, because Ashton’s known Michael all this time, and hasn’t been in love with him.

And yet.)

“Tell your partner what you like about them,” Michael reads. “Be very honest — say things you might not say to someone you’ve just met.” He gives Ashton a lopsided smile. “Good thing we didn’t just meet. Lay it on me, Irwin.”

Ashton licks his lips, which suddenly feel dry. “Okay,” he says. This shouldn’t be hard. There’s a lot he likes about Michael. But all of the things immediately flying to Ashton’s tongue are things he would say to a complete stranger; surface compliments, or basic acknowledgements of skill. You’re a good guitarist is ridiculously shallow, and even you’re very dedicated sounds too vague to be true.

“I like that you’re the kind of person who knows how to heal,” Ashton says quietly. Michael furrows his brow. “I mean, I like that you’re someone who doesn’t ever fully break. You’re — you’re so strong, and you put up with so much shit, and every single time, I think, this is it, this is going to be the one that breaks him, but I’m always wrong. I’m glad I’m always wrong. I don’t know what I’d do if you really did break, but I’m always amazed. I’ve never — I think I’m the type to shatter, but you’re not. You can pick yourself up. I admire that about you. I always have.”

Michael swallows. “Oh. That’s — that’s really, like. Thank you, I think.”

Ashton rubs the back of his neck. For some reason, he feels more like an open book from this question — which is really, for him, about Michael — than any of the other ones. “Yeah,” he says. “Uh, you go.”

“I don’t really know how to follow that,” Michael says lightly. Ashton cracks a smile. “Okay, well, um. Alright. I like that you have this, I don’t know, endless optimism. It doesn’t make any sense to me, because I feel like with all the shit you’ve gone through, you should be full of, like, hate, and anger, but instead you always smile, and you believe in people, and,” Michael gestures aimlessly, unaware of the way Ashton’s palms feel clammier every second, “I don’t know. You’re relentless in your optimism, even though you’ve been burned. More than once. I don’t think I could be like that if I — but you are. So…I admire that. It’s very — noble.”

“Noble,” Ashton murmurs, cheeks pink. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

“Not really,” Michael says. “It’s just true.” But that makes Ashton feel even warmer, a fizzing sensation building in his chest that he can’t really diagnose. He’s used to pressure like this, but usually it’s anxiety or something, not — whatever’s happening right now, doing this. This kind of pressure feels like it needs to be relieved by someone else.

They make their way through the last of the questions, and by the time they’re through, Ashton feels like he’s just been on the emotional rollercoaster of a lifetime. “I need water,” he says.

“Get me some?” Michael requests, with a halfway smile. Ashton chuckles and takes his leave, returning with two glasses of water.

“Well,” he says delicately, “how do you feel? In love with me?”

“It’s not finished,” Michael says. Ashton frowns; he’s pretty sure there are only thirty-six questions. “Now we have to look into each others’ eyes for four minutes.”

“What?” That’s just...strange. And the more Ashton thinks about it, the more nervous he gets. “Why?”

Michael shrugs. “That’s what the article says. Answer the questions, then look into each others’ eyes for four minutes.”

“Four minutes,” Ashton says hoarsely. “That’s kind of long.”

“I think that’s the point,” Michael says. “Shall we?”

Ashton’s panic response is kicking in, but he’s in too deep now to back out. “Sure,” he manages. Michael smiles, soft and small the way he only ever does for Ashton, and some of Ashton’s tension dissipates.

They sit across from each other, cross-legged on the rug, hands in their laps, and Michael sets a four-minute timer on his phone. “Ready?” he asks. Ashton’s not sure he’s ever going to be ready for this particular task, but it doesn’t really matter; Michael hits the start button and then he’s confronted with Michael’s eyes, gazing into his own, and the realization that it’s going to be this for the next four minutes.

For what feels like an eternity, Ashton twists his fingers around themselves, nervous energy manifesting in fidgeting hands, and he keeps wanting to look away, desperate to close whatever window is being opened right now, because he’s absolutely certain that Michael is seeing into his soul. Then Michael reaches across and gently wraps Ashton’s hands up in his own.

“Stop fidgeting,” he whispers. Ashton can feel the calluses on Michael’s fingertips skimming across the back of Ashton’s hands. He stops fidgeting, but Michael doesn’t take his hands back, and Ashton finds himself hoping he doesn’t decide to.

Michael’s eyes are very pretty. Ashton zeroes in on that fact. They’re the kind of green that looks like sea glass, maybe, and they’re ridiculously easy to get lost in. Again and again, Ashton has to force himself not to look away. He’s never stared at anyone this intently, for this long, in this kind of silence that feels loaded with tension.

(Since when is it loaded with tension?)

Michael’s palm is warm against the back of Ashton’s hand, and Ashton thinks about that, about how Michael always feels warm when Ashton needs him to be, and thinks about the thirty-six questions, and wonders why they were supposed to make him fall in love with Michael. Most of those questions hadn’t been the kind of thing you’d fall in love with for anyone. Knowing that the last time Michael cried by himself was last night, watching Bambi, shouldn’t really make Ashton fall in love. It wouldn’t.

Although the knowledge that Michael has been crying alone at all is pretty painful. So is the fact that Michael had clearly been relieved to share that information, as if, slightly less recently, he’d cried on his own for something a little heavier than Bambi. Ashton wants to know what it was. He wants to be the person who holds Michael together while he stitches himself up. Michael’s always had an instrumental role in his life — it had been Michael, in the first place, who’d recruited Ashton for the band — and Ashton could spend all his days trying to return that favor and still come up short.

The pressure in his chest, or the butterflies, or the sparkling soda, whatever it is is back with a vengeance, bubbling over until Ashton feels hot and cold all over. He tightens his grip on Michael’s hands.

The realization that they could kiss right now doesn’t so much hit as settle easily into Ashton’s already volatile mind. In fact, Ashton thinks, he kind of wants to kiss Michael like this. It feels like a natural extension of the questions and the staring, the next bridge to cross, the easiest way to communicate to Michael that — well.

It’s not that Ashton’s fallen in love with Michael, it’s just that maybe being in love with Michael has been Ashton’s reality for a little longer than he’d known.

As soon as that thought lands, the timer on Michael’s phone goes off, a breezy alarm song that startles them both. Michael tugs a hand out of Ashton’s grasp to turn the alarm off, and the eye contact breaks for a second, but Ashton stills feels like he’s in a trance, especially when Michael immediately turns back to him, eyes wide and questioning, head at a halfway tilt.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, which is not what Ashton had expected him to ask, and catches him by surprise, enough that he actually says what he’s thinking, though he shouldn’t, though it’s a dangerous train of thought, though it’s probably a mistake because Ashton still doesn’t really believe in the magical thirty-six (and a half) questions.

“I want to kiss you,” he tells Michael, holding unconsciously tighter to Michael’s hand.

Michael exhales, a sigh of…maybe relief. “Oh, thank God.” And he leans in, freeing his hand from Ashton’s grasp to put both palms against Ashton’s cheeks, fingers curling around the back of his head, and kisses him.

The bubbling pressure in Ashton’s chest feels light and airy all of a sudden. Ashton reaches for Michael, anything to get his hands on him, and settles an unsteady hold on Michael’s shoulders just to anchor them in place. The angle’s awful — they’re both still sitting on the floor — but the kiss feels like coming home, and it makes more sense to Ashton than most of the other things in his life. Michael is uncharacteristically gentle with him (Ashton’s seen him kiss other people, knows how rough and tumble he can be), and after a moment, not long enough, he breaks away, resting his forehead against Ashton’s. Ashton’s whole face feels too warm.

“Believe me now?” Michael teases. It takes Ashton a second to understand what he’s talking about.

“I’m not in love with you,” he says, but the way his heart sinks at that, and the way Michael flinches backwards, immediately disprove that statement. “Okay, I might be, but not because of the questions.”

Michael smiles, which turns into something of a smirk, but without losing any of its initial gentleness. “Well, it worked for me.”

Ashton finds that difficult to believe. “You can’t be in love with me now just because you know more about me.”

“Well, I already liked you a whole fucking lot,” Michael says easily.

Ashton does a double-take. “You did?”

Michael sighs. “Oh, Ashton. You’d be the worst if you weren’t the best.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Ashton says, although he fails to bite back a smile. “So now you’re in love with me?”

“I’d be an idiot not to be.” Michael pushes himself to his feet and then holds out a hand for Ashton to do the same. He doesn’t step backwards when Ashton rises, leaving virtually no space between them. “I want to kiss you again.”

“You can kiss me as many times as you want,” Ashton says breathlessly, and Michael does.

#i cant believe this but i genuinely didnt reread this before posting it so you get completely unedited bella writing!! enjoy :) or dont :)#ashton irwin #michael clifford #mashton fic #mashton #5sos fic #fic #my fic #i stayed up late to write this for you <3 it's nearly 4am now and i have to be up at nine <3 i hate myself #cravinsomethinsweeter #ask #answered #5sos

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lostcybertronian · 4 years

Text

The Others

This fic has been in progress for... a long time. Years, I think. But here it is. This is four single-spaced pages long, and I am so proud.

Trigger warnings for gore, blood, physical violence, death

Characters: The Septic Egos

SCP AU Masterpost

---

He never would have thought that he could look back on a moment and remember it with such clarity. Especially one so mundane as sitting at his desk compiling reports on patient check-ins, as sipping bitter, black coffee and making sure all the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed.

But it was the moment the alarms began to blare. It was the moment the lights shut off and, above him, the intercom crackled to life.

Horror crawled down Henrik’s spine when a frantic voice- usually indifferent and calm, now it was the opposite- began to splutter words he never thought he would hear. “There’s been a breach. I repeat. There’s been a breach. SCP-218 has broken out of containment. Eliminate on sight. I repeat. Elimina-”

The intercom went dead, leaving only the piercing wail of the alarms. And, if Henrik listened closely, the distant pop-pop-pop of gunshots.

He jolted up from his desk, the grate of the chair’s legs against the floor lost under the alarms and his tipped over travel mug- along with the slow consumption of his paperwork by steaming coffee- deemed inconsequential as he all but ran from his office. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be back for those papers anyway.

---

The clinic was completely empty, but there had clearly been a hard-fought struggle; beds were overturned, equipment was smashed, sparking wires and glass shards coating the floor.

Henrik ventured through carefully, wincing at every crunching footstep. His eyes darted left, right, left, fearing and searching for any reaching hands or grimacing snarls that might leap from the shadows to seize him.

No one did. He made it to the clinic doors in one piece, snatching up his medical kit along the way and clutching it tightly to his chest.

But it was there he hesitated, hand clutching the ID card pausing mere inches away from the panel as he stared at the doors that seemed to loom before him. They were largely unscathed- which was a miracle considering the state of the rest of the clinic- but that gave him little comfort.

There’d been a breach. Item 218 had escaped, and there was no doubt in Henrik’s mind that others more dangerous than 218 would follow, if they hadn’t already.

He should stay there. In the clinic. Those doors were reinforced, and would likely keep out most things short of Keter.

He’d be safe in the clinic.

But then he thought about the others. If 218 could break out, maybe they could too.

An idea began to form in the back of his mind. He could break them out. Grant them the freedom that never should’ve been taken in the first place.

Henrik’s hand shot out and the light on the panel turned green. With an agonized whir, the doors grated open.

---

Immediately he dived to the floor, narrowly avoiding the bullets that whizzed over his head. He didn’t see where they went, or who- or what- their targets were, but he heard them connect with the sharp plinks of metal on metal.

Henrik twisted to look, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Four pairs of flashing red eyes emerged from the smoke, just before four Keter-level androids came marching out of it, looking for all the world like harbingers of death.

And along with them came death: at the center of the group of Keters. A dark figure, its outline flickering black-blue-red as if it were unstable-- which, if what Henrik knew about this Item was correct, it probably was-- and about to snap completely. Malice radiated from it in waves; so heavy that it made the doctor feel sick to his stomach.

Still, he managed to stay hidden as they passed, entering the control room, stepping over the sprawled bodies of guards and faculty alike, as if they weren’t even there.

Henrik noticed, in the precious few moments he saw of the Keters and their Euclid escort before they disappeared into shadow, that one of the androids was carrying someone, limp and clearly unconscious, to its chest, cradling it as if it were something to protect. To keep safe.

Henrik didn’t stop to ponder this; he crouched low— hoping he was hidden enough to go unnoticed— until he could no longer hear the whirring, mechanical movements of the androids or the crackling distortion of their master. Then, holding his breath, he bolted through the clinic doors and into the bleary, flashing lights of the alarms.

The hallways were not empty; there were bodies. Bodies of inmates and guards alike lay strewn over the concrete floor. Henrik paused by some of them, kneeling in congealing pools of blood to press fingers to exposed necks or wrists, checking for pulses he wasn’t sure would be there.

Some were there, most were not. He lingered near none of them, choosing instead to move on, silently thankful that he didn’t know any of the torn, bloodied faces, yet dreading that the worst was yet to come.

Despite this, he reached his assigned wing unscathed, following the same path he’d tread for months. The alarms had long stopped blaring, leaving him in eerie half-silence punctuated only by his breathing and flashing, red lights.

The five-inch thick, titanium door loomed impossibly big before him as Henrik approached, and his hand shook as he fumbled for his ID card, shook as he reached to swipe it, waiting with bated breath as the heavy door grated open-

Henrik immediately recoiled as an ear-wrenching scream tore open the red flashing darkness, as static electricity crackled through the blood-drenched air, as flashes of light and heavy thuds rendered his half-silence dead.

But then as quickly as he’d hesitated he was lurching forward once more, holding his medical kit to his chest as if it were a lifeline. Which it was.

“Hello?” He called desperately, eyes shifting left, right, left, scanning cell doors, some of which stood half-open, and some of which didn’t stand at all. “Chase? Marvin? Anti?”

The gunshots were getting closer. He could even hear the rattling boots over metal grating. They didn’t have much time.

Suddenly a magnificent flame lit up the dark, enveloping a figure as it stumbled toward him, hand outstretched.

“Henrik! It’s you!” Marvin’s voice was hoarse as if from screaming, yet his eyes were alight, glowing bright green, just like the fire that rippled around his shaking form, spouted from his hands in bright bursts. He collapsed to his knees at Henrik’s feet, his flame extinguishing with a sizzle and a hiss. His shoulders shook as he grabbed at Henrik’s legs, fingers frantically clutching his bloody scrubs as if the doctor would disappear if he let go. “It’s back. It never left me.”

“It never did.” Henrik pried himself from Marvin’s grip, then quickly kneeled so he could get a good look at him. Sluggish tears tracked down the magician’s gaunt, bare face, but otherwise he appeared uninjured. “We have to get out of here, Marv. There’s been a breach. Dark is-”

“He’s the one who freed us?” Came a new voice, and a moment later Jackieboy Man appeared, standing tall despite his emaciated frame. Slumped against him was Jameson Jackson, his head lolling, the outlines of his form flickering listlessly.

“Yes. He and the Keter androids.” Henrik helped Marvin to his feet. “We must escape immediately. There are many guards dead but more are coming. They will capture you. Have any of you seen Chase? What about Robbie?”

“Chase is still in his cell,” Marvin said. “His door is still closed. And locked.”

“I need you to go get him. Find Robbie too, if you can. I’m going to close the door. That should keep them at bay.” Marvin nodded, turned, and disappeared, while Jackieboy Man gently lowered Jameson Jackson to the floor, seeming exhausted himself. It broke Henrik’s heart to see him-- his strength sapped, his body malnourished, his eyes sunken and circled with purple.

“Rest,” he told the hero. “I will take care of this.”

He spun, fear urging him onward toward the door, already reaching to swipe his ID card across the panel, ready to shut it and lock it. Beyond it he could see the black-armored shapes of SCP personnel, and the vivid flashes of muzzle fire as they fired at-

“Anti!” Henrik cried, as the hunched figure stumbled and fell, his body spasming uncontrollably, lighting up the metal devices protruding from his body, sending green-tinted sparks flying.

Anti’s left eye glowed neon green as he lifted his head, a glow that stuttered, threatening to go out. He was injured, Henrik realized. Not just by the plugs, which controlled his electric instability and kept him docile, but by one of the bullets arcing over his head.

He had no choice. Dropping his medical kit and ID to the floor, he darted beyond the threshold, making a desperate break for Anti and fervently praying that the bullets whizzing past him would not strike anywhere vital.

His wish would partially come true; he was mere feet from Anti’s prone body when white-hot agony seared his left shoulder.

Henrik cursed, but nonetheless kept going, scrambling more than running the rest of the way before nearly collapsing at Anti’s side.

“Henrikkkk . . .” Anti gurgled on his own blood, fighting to raise his head once more before giving up and dropping it limply back to the floor. His body convulsed once, the plugs fizzing.

“Yes. Yes. Just hold on.” Henrik dared to glance up. The SCP officers were coming. Fast. In moments they would be upon them. He looked back toward the door. It was too far away. There was no way he and Anti would make it in time.

The plugs sparked again. Hissed like releasing steam. And it hit him; he knew what to do.

Henrik reached for one of the plugs. It jutted out of Anti’s shoulder, a metal cylinder tipped with twin wires, not unlike a television antenna.

“I won’t let them hurt you again!” He cried, and yanked it out.

Hot blood sprayed through the air. Anti howled, writhing in pain, but Henrik didn’t pause to comfort him as he reached for another plug, then another, then another.

The moment he pulled the last plug, electricity surged from Anti’s body, the force of it creating a shockwave that knocked Henrik back flat against the floor, his head connecting with a sickening thunk that reverberated pain through his entire body.

The next few minutes were a blurry haze of green. Of screams. Of the death rattles of dying men. Of hysterical laughter that seemed to ring off the walls of Henrik’s skull.

Then, it was over, and Anti’s face-- he wore a vicious grin despite the bright look of pain in his eyes-- entered his field of vision.

“C’mon, Doc. Time to go.” He hauled the doctor to his feet, entire form seeming to vibrate and jerk erratically. “Gotta catch up with Dark before he leaves our asses here.”

Henrik nodded faintly. “Yes. Yes. Let us gather the others.”

Anti sneered as if the very idea of reuniting with the others disgusted him. But when Henrik turned to hurry back toward the door, he followed.

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nightwingvixen23 · 4 years

Text

Anyone care for some random as hell JayRoy 🤷 ? lol

**A little JayRoy scene thing that I whipped up**

[Jason’s point of view]

I never wanted romance; Roy learned this a long time ago. I didn’t want chocolate hearts on Valentines day, bottles of wine in buckets of ice or black tie dinners and strolls in the pouring rain; fuck rose petals leading to a candle lit bedroom.

For some damn reason, my heart has never been sore for such superficial sentiments in order to catch an ambiance of being solely existent within the eyes of someone else. To feel like I’m of value to them. I didn’t need these hefty acts of charming affection like those others around me seem to grovel for; seem to bargain for from their live–in lover when being pursued.

There is honestly nothing more euphoric, more dreamy, then where I am here and now. Never in my life have I been more submissive while laying as I am on the bed beside Roy Harper, at peace, stretched out upon our backs indulging ‘tween the pacific melody of salvation and silence. My lungs pull on the cigarette between my fingers, breathing in the fumes that sedate my world and cleanse my Hell. Together, he and I have lazily been passing this seductively laced nicotine beaten path back and forth.

I follow the mesmeric shape shifting dance of grey ribbons upon exhaling a mirage of smoke above us, then lean over, locking my mouth to Roy’s, blowing him a shotgun that he deeply straight away inhales; until my lungs are howling for air and my mind is absolutely fucking punch–drunk. I don’t fight it, I god damned love it; my tongue rubbing hotly against his own in a wet and lewd dance that’s more animalistic then domestic. But I soon find my lips cold as he severs our intimacy, something I now lust after so carelessly that I virtually whine like a bitch. Why in the fuck am I so messed up like this? Why in the fuck am I so totally deranged over this idiot ?

It can’t be because of the way he grabs at me with sensuous hands, surely not ‘cause of the way my name pours from his mouth like fizzing liquor, or for the fact that he’s one of the few who can readily pick me up (muscle and all) as to manhandle me into what ever position suits his suggestive mood best.

Shit.

I turn my head and take another long drag of the cigarette close to burning my fingertips, pitting every thing in the face of not tearing new holes in Roy’s already ripped up jeans. I swear that I can already hear his chuckling raspy voice sending vibrations of dopamine straight into my brain “Greedy as fuck to always have somethin’ in your mouth baby, aren’t ya?” he always says that bullshit, always has to throw in his sarcastic two cents’s worth...and you know what, maybe I am. Maybe I am just some Gothamite whore ready to spread his legs for anything with a god damned dick….or maybe my stupid ass is just fucking in love.

So I let Roy romanticize me all he wants in every moderate way that I can tolerate, even if I warn him that “the Devil wrapped in leather is still The Devil.” In spite of this he always grins, saying that if I’m playing The Devil

then he’ll by my Advocate.

#JayRoy #short little fanfics #Jason in denial #Roy Harper #Arsenal #Jason Todd #Red Hood

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mycatshuman · 4 years

Text

The Emo Who Stole Christmas

Chapter 1 : Story time!

Word Count: 3,068

Pairings: Pre-established Prinxiety, pre-established Logicality, pre-established Demus

Warnings: Commercialization of Christmas, falling down the mountain, Grinch used as an insult? Small car crash with no harm, brief mention of playing with matches, mentions of messing with mail? Almost getting crushed by a stamp, child being wrapped in wrapping paper, that might be it I'm not sure and I know these sound weird but I'm just being careful.

Remus and Deceit don't come in until the next chapter.

Thank you so so much to @icequeenoriginal !!! You are basically the co-creator to this fic and it really would not be as good as it is without you. And I also have to thank you for coming up with such and ingenious title!!💜💜

Masterlist | Next | More Chapters

❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄

Snowflakes fall through the dark sky. A sparkling flake flies close and then we zoom inside the snowflake, watching sparkling crystals fly by as we start on our journey.

Storytime! Inside a snowflake, like the one on your sleeve, there happened a story you must see to believe. The clouds break away and we see snow-covered mountains and evergreen trees dotted across the landscape.

And in that snowflake, way up in the mountains, in the high range of Pontoos, lay the small town of Whoville: the home of the Who's. Ask any Who, And they'll say: "There is no place like Whoville around Christmas Day!"

Every window was flocked, and every lamppost was dressed and the Whoville band marched in their Christmasy best! Or holiday best if they celebrated a different holiday. Who's run through the town as the snow falls around them, their arms full with bags and gifts and decorations.

Arbor Day was fine, and Easter was pleasant and every Saint Fizzin's day, they ate a Fizz pheasant. But every Who knew, from their twelve toes to their snout, they loved Christmas (or other winter holidays like Kwanzaa and Hanukkah) the most, without a single Who doubt.

------

A man with dark skin hurriedly says "Farfingle's welcomes you! Thank you! Happy Holidays! Thank you for shopping at Farfingle's!" The man is looking a little pale as he tries to keep up with the sales as people shove money at him to pay for gifts. No one stopping to take their receipts, causing the man to become exhausted and fighting to keep his smile on his face.

Patton walked around as he stared at his long gift list. "We got a snoozlephone for your brothers Stu and Drew, a muncle for your uncle, fant for your aunt, and a fandpa for your cousin Critic. That means we just need….." Patton paused and looked around, realizing he couldn't find his child. "Emile?" He called out. "Emile? Honey?" He turned to find a set of legs sticking out from under a square of presents. He crouched and pulled a wrapped gift from the middle and his child's face peered out at him. Their face was pinched slightly and they seemed uncertain about something. "Doesn't this seem like a bit much?" They asked as they glanced at the presents.

Patton chuckled heartily. "Oh no! This is what Christmas is all about!" Emile scrunched their nose as they looked at their father. "Can't you feel it?"

Emile shook their head and sighed as they left the store getting ready to head to the post office, where Patton worked. In the background, the sound of the store clerk’s increasingly exhausted voice sounded. "Wait! Don't forget your change!!!!!"

Outside, the loud bell tolled and everyone froze. The Counter shouted, "Another Minute Closer to the Holidays!"

"And now, for the next ten minutes only, 99% off!!" A store owner shouts out into the busy streets and everyone rushed forward to try and get as much as they could from the store.

-------

Yes, every Who down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot. But the Grinch, who lived just north of Whoville, did not.

-----

Four Who teenagers climbed up the mountain quickly laughing and giggling, on their way to cause mischief. Or so they thought. "Come on! All the good mistletoes at the top! Missy! I'll race you!" Emile's brother Pranks shouted.

"The last one to the top is a stinky old Grinch!!" Missy shouted as he raced past his brother.

"Where are we?" One of the teens said as she climbed up alongside her sister. "I think we should go back before something bad happens."

"What? Are you scared of the Grinch?"

The other sister huffed and grabbed her sister's arm and marched up to the door and hesitated. "Go on! Touch the door!" Pranks cried out. The sister gulped and reached forward only for the door to swing open and a huge ugly purple face with piercing fangs stared at them with malevolent eyes. A thundering growl sounded from the pit of the beasts' throat. The teens screamed and turned around only to tumble down the mountain head over heels.

"Remy!! Look at them run!! Scared them so bad they fell right off our mountain!!" A deep voice laughed as he picked up an apple. "It serves them right. Those Yuletide-loving sickly-sweet, not-sucking cheer mongers! I don't like them. I really don't." The voice paused as they stopped and a flush spread across their pale face. "Well, most of them." The voice moved out the door and stood looking down at the town of Whoville. "Remy! Sass master! Get my cloak!" The figure grimaced as he looked down at the town. "I've been too tolerant of these delinquents and their "innocent, victimless pranks." The figure's frown deepened as he glared at the town. If looks could kill. "So, they want to get to know me? Do they really? Want to spend a little quality time with the-" the future's nose scrunched in disgust. "Grinch!" He spat out the name as if it had hurt him. And maybe it had. He huffed and then turned to his cat Remy who sat next to his midnight colored cloak. A wicked grin spread across his face. "I guess I could use a little...social interaction."

---------

A dark clothed figure walked through the town, A small dark grey cat trotting along beside them. Well, maybe walking wasn't so accurate. The figure seemed to glide and float across the ground as if it was an otherworldly spector. However, none of the Who's seemed to notice this different looking figure. "Happy Holidays!" A person called cheerfully as they walked past the figure. Virgil grimaced. "Yeah, yeah, you bet. Ho, ho, ho, and all that stuff or whatever." If any Who had stopped to peer closer at the hooded figure they might find a weird creepy mask and a lanky body covered in dark purple fur. It was a suit Virgil used to frighten the Whos more. It also to stay warm in the biting cold weather.

A horn blared as a car crashed into a pole and Virgil gasped overdramatically. "Oh no!" He exclaimed and looked down at Remy. "Someone must have vandalized that vehicle. Don't you see, Remy? This city is a dangerous place!" He snickered after he confirmed his little trick hadn't hurt anyone.

The Grinch hated the holidays. The whole Holiday season. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe it just hurt to remember what the Who's had done to him. But please do not ask why. No one quite knows the reason. Aside from one other.

Virgil stopped two children and handed then a play saw, perfectly harmless but looked very real. "Here's a present for you two! Now be sure to run real fast with it! Double time!"

Some believe it's because his head wasn't screwed on just right. Or that his shoes were too tight. But they think the most likely reason of all is, maybe his heart is two sizes too small.

As Virgil was walking a man stopped him from moving any further. "Hey, there stranger! Won't let you go until you buy a chapeau!" Virgil lifted his mask and hissed. The salesperson who had stopped him fainted out of sheer terror. Virgil held back a snort and he and Remy were on their way.

-------

Patton carried presents alongside his child, Emile as they made their way to the post office. "Oh boy! Nothing beats Christmas! Right kiddo?"

Emile frowned. "I don't-I guess."

Patton frowned and turned to look at his child. "You guessed?" He asked, concern lacing through his words.

Emile shrugged as they looked down. "I mean, I look around and see you and Pa getting all kabbabled and doesn't it seem...superfluous?"

Patton opened his mouth to say something when a loud screaming reached his ears and he froze, turning towards the source of the noise as everyone around them did the same.

"DAD!!!!" Missy and Pranks raced into the town square as the Mayor came out of his office along with his assistant to see what the commotion was about.

"What happened to you?!?!" Patton asked panicked. The two boys were covered in frost and snow as they tried to stutter out a response. "It was the Grinch!"

Virgil looked up. "What do you want?" He froze, "I mean.." He pitched his voice higher. "'Grinch? Oh, no!'"

"Did you say Grinch?" The mayor, Anton Who said as he stalked over to the family.

Patton froze.“H-Hello Anton, M-Mayor Sir.” Patton said as he moved his children behind him.

Anton sighed "Patton, I don't think I need to remind all of you that this Christmas marks the one-thousandth Whobilation."

"Whoville's most important celebration!!"

"As you know," the Mayor began as he pulled out a very large and thick book. "The Book of Who says very clearly, 'Every size of Who we can measure knows that Whobilation is a time we must treasure!'" He closed the book, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Now, Patton. Please tell me that your children have not been up on Mount Crumpit provoking one and only creature within a billion bilometers of here who hates the holidays!"

Missy and Pranks began speaking quickly, "But it was the Grinch-"

Patton stopped them by covering their mouths, terrified of what the consequences may be for them and their family if they kept talking. "No, Mayor. They didn't see no Grinch. They were probably just up on the mountain playing with matches or defacing public property or something…"

The Mayor let out a sigh of relief as he placed his gloved hand on his chest. "Oh! That is such a relief." He turned his extravagant cape dragging behind him. "All right! You heard the man! There is no Grinch Problem here! Happy Holidays!" The mayor called cheerfully.

Virgil frowned and raised his mask and stuck a straw between his lips and spit a ball of paper at the Mayor. The mayor frowned and whipped the ball off his face, disgusted. Virgil chuckled as he pulled his mask down and went off again.

-----

Roman May let out a sigh as he realized he still had four hours until it was dark enough to leave town. So he just rolled his new purchase home, slowly, hoping to kill more time. He paused at the post office however and let out a faint chuckle as he noticed the end of a cape and a cat's tail slipping through the crack in the door as it fell close. He sighed dreamily. "That's my love," he muttered fondly to himself and walked away with a lot more pep in his step than before.

-----

Emile frowned as they watched their dad walk down a long hallway with envelopes and presents as he stuffed them in small cubes lining one wall that leads into the room on the other side. "Dad, I just- I don't understand something."

"Hhm?" Patton asked as he continued working but made sure to give his child the attention they deserved.

"Why so everyone so against talking about the Grinch?"

Patton huffed quietly, a little admirable of his child's fascination. "You kids and the Grinch…” he said softly. "You see, Emile, the Grinch is a Who, who always…." He paused. "Well...he's actually not a Who. He's more a..."

"A what?"

Patton nodded. "Yeah, he's more a what who doesn't like Christmas or any other holiday." Emile's face pulled down into a frown as they listened to their dad. "Just take a look at his mailbox. Not a single card, in or out. Not ever!"

Emile looked at the empty mailbox that had seemingly been empty for so long that cobwebs filled the dead space. "But why?" They asked as they turned to look at their dad, unsure why someone wouldn't have at least been kind enough to try and include him.

Patton opened his mouth to answer his child only to be cut off by people crowding around the front counter. "Patton! I got the wrong mail!!!" Someone cried out frantically and Patton gave Emile an apologetic smile and walked to the counter. "I'm coming!" He called out. "We can sort this all out!"

-----

Virgil grinned wickedly as he stood in the mailroom and looking at the mailboxes from the other side. "Oh, this will take them years to sort out!" He began to grab envelopes and switch them around. "This is his and now it’s yours. This is hers and now it’s his!" He giggled gleefully and turned around. Picking up a stack of bright yellow envelopes he spun around. "And for the rest of you!" He flung envelopes into random mailboxes with great force as he chuckled madly to himself. "Jury duty! Jury duty! Jury duty! Blackmail! Pink slip! Chain letter! Eviction notice! Jury duty!" Remy watched unamused as Virgil tried to wreak havoc. He rolled his eyes, as well as a cat could. Virgil may seem threatening but in all actuality, he was just a hurt soul trying to hurt those who hurt him but was too nice to do so. At least he had Remy to keep him in check.

-----

Patton walked over to Emile and held out a small stack of envelopes. "Hey, Emile, would you mind helping me take this to the mailroom?" Emile nodded and took the envelopes from their father. Patton smiled and ruffled their hair. "Thank you. Now be careful of the sorting machine, alright?"

Emile nodded with a small smile and turned around and opened the door to the mailroom and glanced over as they watched the conveyor belt drop presents down a hole to have Fragile stamped on the side. They set the mail down and turned to leave only to hear a loud splat. They turned around and frowned as they noticed an ugly, overly happy mask sitting on the floor. They bent over and picked up the mask and inspected it.

Virgil and Remy stared down below at the small Who child that had entered the mailroom. They were squished into the corner of the ceiling, trying to stay perched where they were until the child left. Then Remy sneezed. "Gesundheit," Virgil muttered. Emile gasped and whirled around, their gaze going to the ceiling. "Whoops."

Emile stuttered as they stared at the purple fur of the Grinch and the dark grey cat and screamed. The Grinch screamed back. Emile screamed again, and as the Grinch let out another scream they slowly composed themselves. "You're the...the...You're the..."

Virgil jumped down and leaned forward into Emile's face. "The Grinch!" He snarled. Emile screamed and fell back into a pile slowly falling through the hole in the floor leading to the conveyor belt for the sorting machine. Virgil blinked as he tried to calm his racing heart. "Well...I guess that worked out..." He quickly turned towards the door, terrified of getting caught. "Remy, let's go. Our work here is done."

"Help!! Help me! Please! Somebody!" Emile screamed as their head fell closer to the conveyor belt. Remy stopped just short of the door and gave Virgil a look that said, 'I know you're gonna feel guilty about this. Go help them, gurl.'

Virgil huffed at being called out despite not actually hearing what Remy said, he was pretty good at telling what his cat was thinking. "All the bleeding hearts of the world unite! Ugh!" Virgil turned around and grabbed a hold of Emile's ankle before pulling the child out and quickly turning them upright. "There!" Virgil exclaimed. Although he turned his voice down at noticing the slightly shocked face of the child. He huffed and yanked the mask from them. "Give me that! Don't you know you're not supposed to take things that don't belong to you?! What are you, some kind of wild animal?!?!?"

Emile blinked, desperately trying to process what exactly had just happened. They quickly found their voice as they vaguely heard the Grinch say something about leaving to their cat. "Thank you for saving me!"

Virgil froze and slowly turned around to face the child again. "Saving you?" He asked slowly, carefully. "Is that what you think I was doing?" Emile nodded. Virgil huffed. He couldn't have this getting out, who knows how many teens would come up to bother him then! He grimaced. "Wrong-o!" He glanced to the side and noticed a roll of wrapping paper on a wrapping paper holder. He glanced back at the child. They can't know where I'm going. I have to make sure to stall them. "I simply noticed you weren't properly packaged, dear child."

Emile stepped back only for the Grinch to began rapidly wrapping them up in the shiny red wrapping paper. "Hold still!" The Grinch exclaimed. Then he turned to his cat. "Remy! Pick out a bow!" Then the Grinch paused. "May I use your finger for a moment?" After a few more moments, Emile felt the Grinch's presence move away. They heard a snap and an "ow" at what, Emile assumed, was the Grinch putting his mask back on.

Emile stood silent for a few moments after the Grinch left before they began shouting. "Hello! Hello!"

Patton frowned as he looked for his child. A small "hello" drew him towards the mailroom and he opened the door. "Emile?"

"Dad! Daddy!" Emile called out as they sensed their father moving closer.

"What ...?" Patton was speechless as he noticed a figure wrapped in wrapping paper around the size of his child. "Emile? Is that really you?" He asked again and began removing the wrapping paper.

Once Emile's head and torso were uncovered, they grinned excitedly at Patton. "Dad! It was astounding! Th-"

"You have been practicing your Christmas wrapping!" Patton exclaimed, eyes twinkling. "Oh, Emile! I am so so proud of you!! That's the holiday spirit!!"

"O-oh…" Emile train of thought halted as they took in their father. His black-framed glasses and the grey cardigan pulled tight over his postal uniform. The smile that was wide on his face, beaming with pride. Emile subconsciously rubbed at the grey material of their school uniform.

Kind little Emile didn't know what to do. In their head, a conflict or two humbled around their brain. 'If The Grinch was so bad, then why did he save me?" They thought. "Maybe he wasn't as bad as they say." Maybe. Just maybe.

❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄

Everything Taglist: @spxced-oxt @superwholocked-for-life @mirror2thespirit @aroundofapplesauce @lyditist @little-euro-girl @unicornofdarknessstuff @maryann-draws

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orthographewrites · 4 years

Note

🌙 oliver

SEND A SYMBOL FOR…🌙 a time my muse told the truth:

It was Tuesday. Ten days had passed since their departure from his homecity. The nights had grown chilly, but not to the point of needing an excess ofcover to keep yourself warm – something neither of them possessed any problemswith at current time. There was a silence that had run deep for the past hour,with nothing but the crackling of an almost fizzed out fire (barely showcasingthe area around it) and the late night’s humble winds to keep them company.Fatigue ran clear through them both, but one more so than the other and foronce in his own life he preyed for the opportunity to close his eyes and lurehimself to sleep to skip past the antagonizing reasons for him to turn backhome again.

Why was he here, fighting someone else’s hardships? It was a question thathad jumped back and forth, with no clear answer to be heard and leaving hishead in stirred up place; nor was it one he was allowed to dwell on for long,as the faint sounds of clothes and leaves shifting across the fire forced hisattention and senses elsewhere. His head turned in its direction right on timeto catch Caden push herself off the ground and into a seated position, her noseletting out a huff of boredom. ( @alicemorganwrites )

“I can’t sleep and I know you’re awake as well.” Caden’s voice brokethrough like an unwanted guest, leaving much to be desired in terms ofregaining the previous silence he had enjoyed to its fullest. “Let’s do something.”

“Like what?” The words came with a spoken frown, but even so Oliver choseto follow in Caden’s step and remove himself from the harshness of the dirtbelow him. He casually shrugged off a leaf dangling from his sleeve, eyes sharpas they traveled in the direction of his company.

“Hm… let’s talk. How about it?” Unlike him, Caden’s own stare held somethingcurious, if not mischievous to it. Her hand reached for a stick next to herfeet, twirling it between her fingers as she calculated her next step. “I mean…all and all I have been exposing quite a lot about myself this past month withyou and I only think it’s fair if you gave me something back. We could just aswell be dead by the end of the week, so why not?”

Why not? Oh, he could think of at least a hundred reasons as to why not butdecided to bite his tongue, far from being in the shape to verbally argue withsomeone. “I think you know enough about me – I’m not all that interesting.”

Throwing the stick into the fire, Caden quickly shook her head to dismisshis words. “And I think there’s more to it. I’ve seen some of it, yes but there’salso quite a lot about your whole situation which doesn’t make sense to me.”

“And that is?” Oliver felt his body stiffen the further Caden spoke, a distastetaking place inside his mouth as he braced for the next section of theirconversation – not impressed by the direction they were heading at.

“Yeah like that whole ordeal with everyone hating you and all that crap.Don’t get me wrong, I can see why in certain angles, like you do haveone hell of a bad attitude but I wouldn’t say it’s enough of a reason for peopleto want you to basically… drop dead, or whatever.”

Of course it had to be that, of fucking course. And if his body hadn’t beentense before, it certainly was now as he pondered on his options – not enjoyinganything this topic implied, hardly the thing to get him into a chatty mood.Thus, he let out a snort, shaking his head slowly. “You really couldn’t havepicked something a bit more light-hearted? It’s a load of bullshit, that’s whatit is, people who can’t accept change in their lives but alas that’s what we arelike as a community. Witches are hard with their customs and traditions, and myfamily has kept them safe for as long as we can remember. I wasn’t part oftheir long-term plans and I guess I also have the power of getting on theirnerves by not playing by their rules. They can’t control me and I’m unpredictable,far from the type of person my sister seemed to be – and you already know someof the story behind her, don’t you? I won’t go into detail; it won’t do any ofus any good and I need to keep my head clear so… all I can say is that this isn’ta happy story nor does it come with a happy conclusion. But sure, ask and youshall receive.” Oliver’s tone was near mocking at the end of his sentence,a snarl of truth for what was about to leave his mouth.

A singular sigh was tofollow as he shuffled closer to the fire, a way for him to embrace the memoriesthat were about to crack through the surface and sort through the parts hewished to share.

“I’m not going to go into any deeper details, because trust me: you do notwant to deal with that.” The sharpness in his tone lingered on, but there wassomething more foreboding about the way he let the warning slip into the openair between them. A point of no return, asking Caden to be happy with what shewas given. He would tell her what he comfortable with sharing, no more or lessthan that. “But, I’ll try and give you enough so that you can understand why thingsmight have turned the way it have – at least in the way I see it and to start itall off I’ll have to make you understand one thing. Us witches are people who prideourselves on our heritage and most of us don’t enjoy change or a stir in ourordinary lives. Not all, but the majority will be found sharing the sameopinions and strive for a similar lifestyle; and having a bunch of people stuckinside the same walls for generations really isn’t a pointer for individualthinking.”

“Now, what you sort of found out about me is that I used to have a sister alittle older than myself – Cecilia, or Cilia as we called her.” His sister’sname forever tasted of something bitter these days, a bite into a dusty pieceof memory he wanted to spit out and leave behind; to dig down deep undergroundwhere it could stop haunting him. “Well, believe it or not but she was the onesupposed to take after my dad and I can hardly remember a soul who disliked herback home or was against the idea of finally getting another female Head ofMagic to watch over them. People were ecstatic, to be exact to know she wasnext in line and quite frankly I think she would have been perfect at the job.She enjoyed rules and order, excelled in school, had great manners and showedquite an interest with her future already as a fucking twelve-year-old. Now,compare that with me.” There was a pause, mentally sighing at the fact he hadto push on. “I mean, quite frankly I was seven at the time of, well, everything…and you can’t expect a seven-year-old to have their life in check, now can you?I was still playing with my crayons and making my sister’s life a living hellas brothers do – but no one saw it like that.”

There came that familiar gut-wrenching feeling again, it made him dizzy toa point of wanting to cut off the conversation and lay down for a bit. Heexhaled slowly, buying himself time to muster up the coming parts. “This iswhere us disliking change comes in, as in my sister falling out of the pictureand them getting stuck with me as their future. Sometimes I want to believethey simply glorified her too much, but at the same time – did they really? Ican’t remember. Anyway, people didn’t hold back on their opinions regarding me,about their distaste for their situation and what it could lead to in the longrun. No one said it straight to me, at least not at first, but it became quiteevident as school came around the corner and I became something of a dislikeamong children and adults equally – although I tend to give the kids a passthese days, they probably just went along with what their parents told them.Not that it hurt any less, of course, but I find school to have been the leastof my issues.”

“Eventually, as I grew older, people stopped tip-toeing around me – especiallysince they started to expect more out of me around this point. They wanted meto show some dedication to the town, to get further into politics, to mingleabout and make a good impression – whilst they also liked to put me down andremind me that I’d never be as good or important as my sister. Overall, they wouldhave preferred if I was my sister, you understand but sadly I haven’t figuredout a way to pull people back from the dead yet… maybe someday, huh.” Oliverscoffed, wincing his nose at the thought. “However, the full-on backlash youexperienced whilst in town didn’t really come my way until I moved to Rennes.I, uh, sort of had a bit of a meltdown you could say as I finally found myselftaking over the office. I wasn’t ready for it, at all, and I needed some timeaway to think things over but alas everyone took it the wrong way and startedto spread rumors about me abandoning my job – and them – to live life elsewhere.They started to call me a coward and how the fuck knows what behind my back, Idon’t really care these days.” Not the full truth.

“But yeah, can’t say it did a positive number on meand instead of giving the job a second try I, as you might have guessed, stayeddown in Rennes and began to work from a distance. I just feel… awful, like I want to vomit every time I’m supposed to head home. I can’t stay there for toolong nor do I feel welcome, anyway. It’s a situation that’s out of my hand atthis point, I do what I can to keep everyone afloat and out of disaster, but Ialso know that no matter what I try, it’ll never be enough. I’ll never be my sisterand they hate me sorely because of that.” What was he to say beyond this point? That he, deeply within, agreed with everyone? That he wished, above anything, that he could go back in time and reverse the roles somehow or at least attempt to save the life of his own sister? No, he wasn’t going to dive into that today, if ever. It was best left at the back of his head, where it could boil and root itself on its lonesome -- away from prying eyes. “That’s all I’m going to tell you, don’t ask me further questions. Now, we have a pretty long damned day in front of us tomorrow so we should try and get some rest. At least I know I am.”

#brotp: underneath it all we're all savages #soooooo this is basically just them bonding at a campfire #bc they deserve more of that #:))#verse: peculiar meetings and hidden aspects #also this is a long one im sorry #half was written like over a month ago so #if something doesnt make sense ill blame it on that im too lazy to reread it now

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bowieandqueen11 · 5 years

Text

Birthday Surprise

Request: Hello love! So, my birthday is in the next week and it would be absolutely wonderful if you could write a birthday imagine with Queen, Elton John and David Bowie all celebrating with the reader?

For my love @crzy-lilthing, happy birthday my very dear darling, I hope you have an incredible day because you my dear deserve it! <3

Knowing your birthday was coming up in a few days, Freddie knew he had to gear up into action to pull of the best surprise party ever thrown in history.

‘Bri, darling, I’m putting you and Roger in charge of cake baking and decorating.’

‘That’s a recipe for disaster, Freddie, I’m telling you’, Bri replies from his position on the sofa, his legs sprawled over the side and his arms stretched over his head, his soft little tummy on show as he curls into the cushions, before receiving a throw pillow to the face from Roger for the terrible pun.

‘John, love, seeing as you’re the only one I can trust, I’m leaving you in charge of decorations.’

‘Did you say... decorations? Or dalmations? Sorry, I lost focus there for a second,’ John says, leaning over the tartan corduroy rest of the armchair, his tongue sticking out a little like a puppy’s as he aims his throw, his arms punching up into the air in victory as yet another marshmallow from the packet lying spilt at his hip slides, half-melted, down the back of Roger’s shirt, much to his annoyance.

Freddie furrows his eyebrows, thumping his head down into the palm of his hands with a defeated sigh. Murmuring to himself, he comes up with a plan. ‘I’m going to need more help,’ he whispers, ‘and who else to ask but them two?’

As the key jingles in the lock, the beaming rays of the spring afternoon shining delicately on your face and warming your cheeks with a gentle blush, you smile softly as the front door creaks open, ready to spend your birthday with your favourite boys. As your feet patter onto the soft cream carpet of the hallway and you shrug off your heavy coat, you chuckle slightly as you hear the fire alarm beep, tufts of white smoke like little clouds tufting out of the closed kitchen door as you hear manic footsteps and what sounds like the dropping of the tray.

As you walk forwards, shaking your head in amusement as you hear the loud ‘ow’ of Roger, along with what sounds like Freddie flapping the bright red tea towel whilst running around the kitchen tabletop, you begin to laugh as you open the door. Thick chuckles erupt from the pit of your stomach as Roger turns towards you, his blonde hair whipping around his flushed face as his fingers nearly drop the wooden spoon and bowl he’s mixing in his hands. His blue t shirt ruffles slightly as he stops, turning to grin at you anxiously as he puts the icing down and turns to walk towards you, being pushed out of the way as Freddie drops the towel in his hands, his mouth opening in a big toothy smile as he runs barefoot past the smoking oven and opens his arms, enveloping you in a strong hug.

‘Happy Birthday, my darling’, he whispers into your neck, kissing your forehead gently before Roger strolls over, wrapping his slender arms around you both and saying, ‘yeah love, Happy Birthday! Sorry about the mess, but we did manage to finish your main cake.’ You raise your eyebrows as you take in the kitchen counter, a large chocolate layered cake dripping onto the cool tile in fat droplets in the slight heat, sprinkles tossed over the top and marshmallows spelling out your name, as if done by Picasso himself. Your eyes take in the splashes of icing that lay spread along the tabletop, some streaked and you chuckle as you see Roger dip his finger towards the stained sleeve of his shirt and lick some off with a satisfied and curious hum, chocolate chips laying haphazardly over the floor, in what you can only assume was the remnants of a food fight.

Someone whirls you around in surprise, grabbing your hand softly, and your shocked to see David standing there in a bright green suit with a cheeky grin on his face, ‘that will come later, love. First, you’ll have to come and see what Deaky and I managed to do with the decorations!’ He tugs you forwards towards the open patio doors of the kitchen, but not without picking up an open bag of marshmallows and throwing a handful at Roger’s face, who manages to thwack the little white missiles away with the palm of his hand. Freddie laughs at the shocked look on his face, jumping in the air as David manages to hit him dead in the eye.

Your head bumps into a multitude of rainbow streamers that hang down from the ceiling like delicate fairy lights, twisting over the top of your forehead like fireworks as David smiles widely, winking at you as he whispers, ‘the best is still to come, my dear.’ As you step out the door, your arm falls dead to your side as you gaze out into the garden, mouth agape and small breathless giggles erupting from your mouth as the small chirps of song thrushes leaping from the garden fence and flying into the azure sky make you feel like you’ve stepped back into your childhood, the blades of emerald grass flattened under the wind in beautiful shimmering waves, reflecting the dazzling red and blue hues that bounce off the massive bouncy castle plopped right in the middle of the grass. Your distracted from your thoughts, turning your head slightly when you hear high pitched giggles warble out into the air like the gentle chimes of bells rung by fairies, accompanied by a varying pitch hearty laugh as a brown perm and bouncing black curls rise up and through your vision, your head following them, entranced. John falls onto the bouncy castle floor, the sunlight bouncing off his bright childish smile as Brian butt bounces next to him, his white cotton shirt waving with each step as John begins to shout, his cries for mercy mixing with his uncontrollable laughter as the corner turrets of the castle shake. Elton stands by the side, his glasses slipping slowly down the tip of his nose, his cap slightly crooked from where Brian managed to thwack it with his lanky arm when chasing after John, a slightly dismayed look on his face as he stares at them, shaking his head.

However, both men turn slightly, Brian’s face falling into one of shock and amused despair, his lanky legs stumbling backwards, nearly falling as his legs drop down underneath the cushion floor as he sees Roger run past you in a blur, a determined look set on his face, biting his tongue that protrudes at of his mouth slightly as he leaps off the floor, arms by his side as he jumps straight into Brian, knocking the both of them to the floor with a defeated thud. They bounce slightly, their legs becoming entangled as Brian rolls around the yellow and red plastic, before Roger shoves him gently and his face contorts into one of fear as he falls, sliding down the small slide and landing onto the grass with an over dramatic thud. Freddie chuckles, grabbing your hand and pulling the both of you into the mess, both of you jumping over a groaning Brian who begins to get up, his curls whipped over his face after the effort, before laughing and falling back onto the ground, his arms spread wide and clutching the dirt. Elton tries to hobble forwards towards you to envelope you in a massive bear hug, but finally gives into the manic mess when Roger comes bounding down into a massive jump, tossing Elton backwards onto his bottom.

John bounces towards you, his knees up high by his chest as he leans forward, the light blue collar of his shirt hitting the side of his jaw every so often as he comes straggling into you, shouting a loud ‘Happy Birthday, ‘y/n, thanks for a great party’, before flashing you an evil grin. Straining, he lifts his arms up, raising himself high into the air, Roger’s face glancing up in amazed awe as he falls back down to the earth like a ton of bricks, landing on his butt and making you shoot up into the air, squealing, like a rocket travelling at the speed of light. Freddie’s arms reach out to catch you, but as you land, chuckling to yourself like a naughty schoolgirl, your feet trip awkwardly over themselves and you end up pulling a wide eyed Freddie down to the floor with you, nudging your face into his vest to try and control your manic laughter, your heart thumping and fizzing as wide as the fire would flicker on your birthday candles that night. But as you gaze up into the dawning sky, the sky is dazzling orange hue, making the balloons tied to the bouncy castle turrets shine like little stars, your heart falling giddily in time to the pace of Roger and Brian’s jumps, you look forward to every other birthday you’d be able to spend in the company of these big children.

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daftydrafty · 4 years

Text

Snippet/Scene from 2-1-20

Long snippet/scene. TW: Violence, reference to violence, death/bodies.

Eyes straining to scan along the edge of the Manor missed the squat opening of a chimney, but the scent of wood fire and heated iron wafted from it caught Rheia’s attention.

That combination was most common at a blacksmith’s shop. The only time iron was allowed to stay in the fire long enough to heat to the point of giving off that particular scent… was in branding, or when used as hot pokers.

Like a snake sensing a burrow, Rheia dove towards the chimney. Not thinking beyond getting to whatever poor soul was doubtlessly on the iron table, she wriggled her way into the smokey passage and down. The low but panicked calls of Asami and Kai followed her down, but Rheia barely heard them.

The heat and crackle of the fire greeted her an instant before she landed head-first onto the embers.

Hair caught fire, and the scorching pain of burns erupted over her as she tumbled forward and rolled to douse the flames. Aithei’s strength poured through her veins as the burns healed in seconds. Her hair was still singed, but she didn’t care about that as Rheia jumped to her feet, ready to confront Fellowin and wrest whatever poor sod was strapped to his wretched table.

A maid stood in the doorway, screaming, but someone was laid out on the iron table. Drying blood covered his fine silk shirt, the hands and sleeves of his velveted robe.

The strangled screams from the maid cut off like a knife as she ran out of air, and had to take a rattling gasp.

Rheia’s mind froze as she stared at Nicholas Fellowin, stretched out on the table that she had adorned so many times. Stared at the blood that collected beneath him, in carved grooves of the table, meant to catch and carry away such things so the subject could remain as clean as possible.

The reek of blood and bowels mixed with scorched hair and flesh, as she stared. And stared. And stared.

It couldn’t be. He wasn’t supposed to be dead yet. There were things she’d wanted to say. To tell him that it was by his own actions he was now dying.

But he was already dead. A clean, deep gash across his throat. It would have been a quick death. Too quick.

Her hands balled into fists, arms shaking with rage that now had no direction. Why did he deserve a single, quick death? Laid out in his fine clothes where she had died naked in pain and fear and loathing. The fizzing magic in her blood rose on a tide of rage.

It wasn’t fair.

Wasn’t fair.

WASN’T. FAIR.

The maid caught enough breath to scream again, and this time it caught Rheia’s attention. In vicious irritation, she snapped out. “Be silent!”

The words rode her magic out in a whiplash and the girl cried out as a welt streaked across her cheek.

Rheia hadn’t even looked at her, still staring at the corpse of Fellowin. The sound of fleeing footsteps were her only satisfaction.

Staring at the hated face, his eyes glazed in death, Rheia couldn’t stand it anymore. Raising a fist, she pounded it down on the dead man’s chest. Like a child in a tantrum.

“It’s not FAIR!” She shrieked. Pounding her fists down again, and again, and again as she repeated the mantra.

He had NO RIGHT to die so easily. So cleanly. When he had never gave that gift to her. He’d deserved every one of the gruesome deaths she’d pictured for him while laying on that hated table.

She had turned away from giving him one of those deaths when she escaped, and had been punished for it. Now she had come back to correct her mistake, and it had been STOLEN from her.

Clatter of armor, the pounding of feet racing down the hallway. Rheia whipped her head towards the door and snarled out “Stay away!”

Guards unfortunate enough to step through the door as she spoke were flung backwards by the force of the first word. The second cut like a blade, and fresh blood scented the air.

The slight release of rage and magic took Rheia up like a kite in a storm. She rode high on the impulse, turning that violence to the tools of Fellowin’s twisted trade. The whipping post splintered under a series of sharp kicks. Whips, wooden staves and leather saps snapped under her hands. Nails went bloody as she tore leather to pieces.

All while her fury pushed magic out in waves from her. The sensation of the magic was not only hers. Starting in icy numbness in her heart, it radiated out into the Mother Serpent’s burning flood, leaving Rheia shaking in reaction to the extreme temperatures.

Still, she didn’t stop. When her nails were torn too short to cut, she used her teeth, her screams of temper and magic to slice them to pieces.

Glass vials of potions or acid, she didn’t care what, were thrown against the wall. Some of them left the stone discolored and smoking, others only dripped harmlessly to the floor. Shattered glass rained to the floor, but still failed to soothe Rheia’s despairing temper.

She would never, never be free of the nightmares now. Fellowin was dead, but she deserved to be the one to do it! To end it, end him.

“Rheia!” Asami called from the door, but she waved a hand and magic that radiated from her knocked the Fistas’Rawet off her feet. Kai cried out, but she no longer heard words. Only the echo of his voice in the crowded hall.

All the while, Rheia vented her rage on the only source of her despair that she could. Stones clattered and crumbled as she kicked at the wall that held the hidden door. Mechanisms twisted and bent under her fury, and the dark satisfaction fed into the magic as much as her bottomless despair.

How could it end, if she couldn’t end it?

What payment could she collect for her pain, misery, and death?

Guard after guard tried to push into the room, but she barely spared them a thought as her magic pushed them back. Didn’t flinch as more blood spilled under her ire.

The mounting rage was choking her, as Fellowin’s hated garrote had choked the life from her. Needing to vent it, Rheia turned to the table, where Fellowin laid, wide eyed and sightless at the destruction around him.

That fucking table.

Another focus for the rage, and this one gave resistance. Rheia bore down on the most central instrument. It took only a second to catch the inner hum of the metal. A heartbeat later for her to spill her rage into it, as her furious tears spilled down her cheeks.

Slowly, so slowly she couldn’t be sure it was working, the metal heated. As the inner makings of the metal were excited to a frenzy, a red glow began to appear in patches. Blood and flesh scorched and burned against the metal. Fellowin’s fine silk clothes ignited against the red-hot table as it collapsed under the weight.

That, at least, gave Rheia something of what she sought. He could lay in the molten iron of his precious table. His finery burned and torn to scraps. All his finery, his twisted nobility could be his resting place.

Liquid metal pooled around him, and spread over the stone floor.

Rheia had enough sense to step back, to keep the toes of her sandals out of the molten iron.

She stood in the wreckage of the room. She hadn’t bothered with the half that was a study. It had never paid much of a role in her torment. Not as much as the saps and irons, knives and runes. The chest that held the acids was nothing more than splinters now.

Still the storm of despair and fury in her heart would not die. How was she supposed to repay him for Allastor? Even as the destruction around her had bled off the edge of her temper, what vengeance was this?

Tears dripped from her chin. When she wiped at them with the back of her hand, flinging them sharply in disgust, they sizzled against the cooling iron.

Bloodied ends of fingers gripped onto her arms as she crossed them over her chest. Fighting to bring in or let out the last of the pain in her heart.

There was nothing more to break, nothing more to tear. Still, the pressure in her chest squeezed at her, until there was nothing else she could do but scream.

In screaming, the destruction she had done with focused rage fell aside as pale imitation to the chaos that stormed out with her at its core.

Splintered wood disintegrated, even the plush cushioned chair fell to pieces before scouring away as dust.

There was no intention, no spell woven into the screams. Just the attempt to empty out the well of rage and despair that she had kept locked away in her heart. Thinking she had escaped, that she could set the horror aside. Now it spilled out into the screams like lancing a boil.

She couldn’t hear anything beyond her own screams, but sensed through them as she had felt movement through her magic when she and Kai had been attacked.

Sensed movement at the door, someone attempt to enter, only to recoil sharply.

Good. Stay out. Everyone, everything, stay the fuck out.

Stones from the ceiling loosened and fell. Each shaken apart into harmless dust before it could hit the floor.

Fists beat against the raging magic of her screams, but she couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. If she bled out her life in this screaming rage, it might be enough. Let the Manor crumble around her. Let every stone of Fellowin’s stature fall, and she’ll stand in their place. A thing of vengeance and fury.

Something managed to push into the storm of her magic, and stayed. Rheia looked up from where she was rooted to the center of the room. The molten iron had been scrubbed away. She hadn’t paid attention to Fellowin’s body, but assumed it had gone the same. The room was nearly empty, with the gaping maw of the hidden cell behind her.

Abram stood in the doorframe, eyes glinting with a light she couldn’t quite identify. He reached out, against the magic, and she saw the skin on his hand shred away.

To her dull surprise, he did not recoil. When the scouring magic tried to work its way up his arm, he pressed his left hand, still holding a dagger, to it.

It must be the light in the room, but Rheia swore she saw a faint glitter of gold in his eyes as skin regrew, down the arm and to his hand. The raging magic buffered back, like a bolder tossed into a flooded stream.

One labored step after another, Abram entered the room. The only living soul to do so since Rheia had tumbled down the chimney ready to do battle.

Screams were still tearing themselves from her throat, out of her control. She was only the vessel of the magic and rage now. The anchor that kept everything in swirling chaos.

The dagger, hilt pressed to the crook of his arm to strengthen it, dripped blood onto the floor. Instantly, every drop scoured away in the screaming magic as Abram struggled step by step towards Rheia.

His eyes, sparkling with gold, and perhaps with an autumn brown across the ashen grey, were fixed on hers.

She couldn’t hear what he said, deaf to everything but her own rage, but she saw his lips move.

In the back of her mind, where the rage couldn’t reach, a part of Rheia witness all the destruction in mute horror. Knowing that she was no more than a vassal to rage and destruction, and wishing it would end.

Her eyes flicked from the dagger to Abram’s face, and saw his lips move again. Was he telling her it would be alright? It would be quick and painless?

Maybe it would be. Even as the screaming rage kicked up to a new level of shrieking indignation, the mute, frozen part of her mind accepted.

One more step, and he’d be in range to plunge that bloody dagger into her heart. End the rage, the destruction.

Glittering ash-grey eyes stayed on reddened golden brown ones as Abram took the final step.

Part of her braced for the stinging insult of metal into flesh, and so she jerked with surprise as the dagger fell. Hands that were still raw and healing gripped around the sides of her face.

As she had done in a forested clearing, he now crushed his lips to hers. Silencing the screaming rage as he drank her in.

The rigid force of her magic died with the scream, the flame of rage quenched in the same instant. Leaving her with only the smoking, hollow emptiness that had been behind them.

He pulled back, the scruff of beard on his upper lip scratching against hers. His gaze returned to hers, waiting to see if the rage would rekindle.

She almost wished it would, but instead she felt weak, overused. Collapsing forward, Rheia buried her face in the crook of his shoulder.

“It’s not fair.” She whispered, her throat equally ravaged from temper and magic alike. “Not fair at all.”

A hand more gentle than it had a right to be stroked through the singed lengths of her hair, stopping just above her shoulders. If she weren’t so tired, she would be irritated all over again to have lost her long, gorgeous curls.

Kai and Asami finally entered the room, guarding the doorway as Abram shifted to sweep Rheia up into his arms.

She was so tired, her body beginning to voice complaint after complaint from being used as a magical conduit beyond its level.

Her eyes wanted to close, heavy as lead weights. Rheia forced them to stay open, turning her face from Abram’s shoulder as they entered the hall.

Bodies littered the floor of the hall, all of them wearing the scarlet and silver colors of Auberhaven guards.

Seeing the ones that bore cuts too sharp to be from any blade, Rheia knew she had taken life that night. Not the one she had intended, but it had happened.

Perhaps that was worse. She didn’t know yet.

Closing her eyes, Rheia let herself be carried into oblivion.

#WIP Quote #Long one #Book 2 #Writeblr #Writeblrfantasy

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panonbinary · 5 years

Text

Dark Percy Jackson Fanfic, made by panonbinary

The sea god looks at Percy. His son, the person who he loved most… and he sees a monster. His once happy son seems near emotionless. His face is blank, apart from the pure rage in his eyes. Riptide slicing through everything in its path. The demigod looks up, and him and Poseidon lock eyes. The beautiful sea green that used to glow in his eyes is gone, and replaced with green-black holes, and even the god has to avert his eyes.

He has never seen his son move so fast and so graceful before, but now that he is fighting for himself, he’s so fast that he’s practically a blur. He doesn't look like he’s thinking about where Riptide goes, as long as it is fatal.

A scream behind Poseidon causes him to turn, ready to defend himself, but the danger isn't coming his way, but towards Hera, who is quickly charged at by not only Annabeth, but Leo as well. The two of them are terrifying to watch. Leo’s blinding fire and speed mixed with Annabeth’s agility and strategy, Hera looks downright terrified.

And with good reason. Annabeth is completely blank of emotion, calmly fighting her way through monster after monster to get to the goddess, and Leo is burning his way through almost too easily. Weapon after weapon is being taken out of his toolbelt and monsters are being left behind in a long trail, like breadcrumbs. The ground is being burnt under his feet and he is swearing like a sailor, whereas Annabeth is completely silent, and if she were the only demigod out there, the only sounds would be the screams of gods and monsters being slaughtered as she goes.

If anything, Annabeth looks bored as she and Leo tag team Hera, who by this point seems to be considering fleeing the entire battle, and admitting defeat. Poseidon doesn't blame her, as both Leo and Annabeth slash at her leg, making Hera’s form crumble.

Leo looks at his teammate and goes to the side, getting out bits and pieces from his toolbelt and, before Poseidon knows what’s going on, Leo holds some kind of rifle, and is shooting any and all monsters in his way. When the god of the sea looks back at Hera, Annabeth is nowhere to be seen, and the goddess just lays there, choking on a knife that is embedded through her throat with the precision only a child of Athena can pull off.

Suddenly, a gust of wind throws Poseidon to his knees, and he is only able to roll out of the way before a spear lands where his head had been half a second earlier. The god considers begging. Begging a demigod for his life, it's almost funny. The spear wrenches itself from the ground and back into the hand of the child of jupiter, who is looking at the sea god with stormy blue eyes. Keeping track of him is near impossible, as the wind helps him move faster than the eye can follow. His body fizzes with electricity and Poseidon isn’t confident that the storm raging overhead is the cause of Zeus. Jason’s entire being seems fluid as the wind itself, but his posture is still as poised as it has always been, thanks to the strict teachings of Camp Jupiter. Poseidon is thrown down again and, not moving fast enough this time, the spear lodges itself in his stomach.

It hurts way more than it should, but he knows that the demigods have done their research. He tries pulling it out, but his arms seem too heavy to move, and Poseidon isn't quite sure if he wants to continue to fight. So many demigods and gods alike lay dying and dead in the field, Ares being the first to fall closely followed by Hestia. Tyson, his beautiful son, had almost been killed, but Percy drained Dionysus of blood and healed his brother, and thus Mr D was gone too.

It isn't an even battle, the gods should be winning. The demigods don't have nearly enough power within them to fight even one god, let alone all of them at once. And yet here they are.

Nico Di Angelo is a force to be reckoned with, raising the ghosts and bodies of all those who have lost their lives of quests, Zoe, Bianca, Beckendorf, Silena, even Luke is here, fighting the gods for revenge, for the lives that were taken from them. Nico is fighting with pure fury in his eyes. And he should be. Poseidon has full sympathy for the boy. Nico finally has a good life, and then Katie, Connor and Will were ordered on a quest.

There is suddenly a body over his own, and Poseidon looks down at the dying Minotaur on his chest, and looks to his left, where Hazel stands, with pity in her eyes. Is that pity? It looks like it, but the blade that is thrown as the final blow that kills the beast says otherwise, and she turns, jumping onto Arion seamlessly as they run to a gorgon, that goes down without much fight. She rides up to Hermes, who is putting down his blade, saying that he doesn't want to hurt someone as young as her.

Arion slows down and Hermes looks relieved for a few moments, before he feels the ground moving under his feet. He barely has enough time to look down before the ground swallows him up and all that is visible is a single hand sticking out of the ground, moving around to grab something. The field is still filled with mist, and the few monsters still out here are fighting themselves more than the demigods. Poseidon, nor anyone else he expects, has never thought Hazel scary before now, but laying here? Watching echidnas fight empousas and Hermes scream from underground? Hazel is one of the scariest demigods out here.

He heard his name and turns to see Demeter running away from a dragon glowing red, and knows instantly that she is doomed as well. Frank is the one who he has been trying to avoid the entire battle after seeing him destroy his father, even killing his Divine form, and now Ares, nor Mars, exist. He has been killed.

And it looks like Demeter is next, as Frank drops to the ground as a lion and lands right on top of her. He bites into her shoulder and she screams bloody murder, before silencing as he bites into her neck. He form begins to flicker and after a moment she no longer appears human, but instead lays there as her Divine self.

Most demigods look away, like Travis Stoll and Nico, but the Seven stare at her, as well as all the remaining Gods. Frank stares her in the eye as she repeats “please” under her breath. Frank shifts back into human form, naked for all to see and still glowing red. He turns left to see Piper holding a bow and arrow, and takes them. Athena screams for the goddess but is held back by Jason’s winds as Frank slots the arrow into place. He pulls the string.

Everything quietens as he lets go, and the arrow strikes Demeter right in the middle of her forehead. The form glows so bright that a few demigods open their eyes in surprise, and scream in pain, and then Demeter is gone.

Piper and Percy scream loudly to continue fighting and Aphridite is immediately taken down, unprepared for the sudden assault. Travis goes straight for the opening and stabs her in the eye, closing his eyes just in case she flickers. She doesn’t, but seems damn close and she screams and begs for mercy, and Travis laughs almost maniacally.

“You sent them out here”, he says loudly. The battle stops dangerously and everyone listens closely. Nico goes to stand next to the Stoll, and grips his sword tighter when he locks eyes with the goddess. “Katie Gardner. Will Solace. Connor Stoll. You sent all three on that stupid fucking quest”

She looks at him through her one good eye and Poseidon can see when the realisation dawns on her.

“It was just…” she began, but Travis twists the knife around in her eye socket and she screams again, glowing slightly for a moment.

“It wasn’t a difficult quest, right? Just go and see if the gates to the underworld were safe” Nico says calmly, though his eyes show grief and rage. “You could have done it yourself, it wouldn’t have been hard for you. Any of you could have done it, Hades, Dionysus wasn’t busy”

Frank stood, still stark naked and covered in blood, red and golden, and stood full height, still glowing red. “Almost every quest you sent us on someone died”

Nico brought up the ghosts of the dead campers. Luke. Bianca. Silena. Zoe. Octavian. Beckendorf. Ethan. Lee. Castor. Michael. Kinzie. Phoebe. Naomi. Celyn. Katie. Connor. Will.

Aphrodite looks overwhelmed, as do the rest of the Gods. “These are only a certain few of those who you SACRIFICE” Percy screams in fury, coming up and putting an arm around Nico.

“You use us” Hazel says, coming up, and Annabeth comes behind her.

“You use all of us”

Jason lands with a bang, bringing down a centaur with him. “Most of these people didn’t have to die”

Leo walks up looking bigger than he ever has before. “I didn’t have to die”

Piper appears seemingly from nowhere, and puts her hands over Nico and Travis’ eyes, pushing the two away. Her aura terrifies all of the Gods still alive. Aphrodite starts begging for Zeus to arrive, but then locks eyes with Piper and shuts her mouth, seemingly unwillingly. The girl had taken down many Gods already, including hestia, and Aphrodite knew she would be next. Her daughter had been a tornado of swords and hadn’t even slowed down in the hours of the battle. She still has both blades in her hands, though now she drops one, and brings the other up. She, unlike the others, is still smiling. “Don’t worry, everything will be alright. There is nothing to fear my dear” she says, but this time the words are clear, no charmspeak to calm her mother down. Aphrodite sobs for a moment and lets her form crumble, and before anyone can blink screams in agony.

She disappears, leaving only Piper’s sword in her place.

The demigods turn to the rest of the Gods. Percy smiles condescendingly at his father, still bleeding out. He sits next to him, looking directly into his father’s eyes as he pulls the spear from his stomach. “Did you know Mum was with Gabe?” He asks, and Poseidon nods. Percy laughs, which seem to turn to sobs halfway through.

“You let him beat and rape and torture my mother and I for years, for ten fucking years, and never did anything?”

“I regret every mo…”

“SHUT UP” Percy yells as he slams the spear through his father’s chest, and Poseidon flashes white for a millisecond, before disappearing.

“Let this be a lesson to Zeus, Hades, Hermes, Apollo, Artemis and Athena. You are the only Gods left now, but you do not have control” Percy yells, and Thalia comes up behind him.

“No more mortals or demigods will be used for your gain anymore. If you think that you are above us then let this be a lesson to you all”

Hera and Hephaestus are brought to the middle of the field. Both are tied to poles using magic and Hazel touches their heads and they scream in terror. A cage appears around them as well as the bindings tightening. Thalia continues. “The two gods Hephaestus and Hera will be here, living out their worst nightmares unable to ask for help. This is punishment for thousands of years of torment and misery, of demigods being used as pawns in your games!”

Nico turns and sees Hades walk out, hands raised high, a white flag contained in his right. “If you wish, any and all demigods will be allowed to visit their loved ones in the underworld, whenever you need. My only wish is for me, Persephone and Cerberus to be safe”

Jason walks forward and takes the flag. “Persephone can face her punishment with our word that she will survive, but she will have a punishment. You and the dog are in no danger, as you have always owned up to your wrongdoings. Nico trusts you, and therefore so do we”

Annabeth grabs the god by the arm in a painfully tight grip, and continues. “And we know that we will be allowed full access to the underworld. Nico will be your boss from now on”

Hades gulps loudly, but nods.

Zeus never showed up that day. Nor the day after, nor the day after that. In fact, Zeus didn’t face punishment for what he had done for years, and was only found when Percy and Annabeth had two children, and everyone was happy. He showed up raining fire and ended up killing half of the world. Countries around the equator were burnt beyond recognition and the Arctic and Antarctic were no longer frozen, but most importantly were the people.

Before Zeus’ return Annabeth and the rest of the strategists had figured out a way for everyone to have a home, enough food, cruel dictatorships fell and overcrowded areas were cleared up. The deserts were cooled down just enough for habitation, obesity was fought and lost and everyone had enough to eat without resorting to primitive methods. Countries had never been at peace like this, because they were all run by the people, and if someone discussed war they were sent back to a school of sorts to remind them, kindly, how awful wars could be. They were at peace now, there would be no more wars.

Then Zeus came back, and the 8 billion people who were living peacefully crashed down to 5 billion.

And the seven became the three.

Zeus was defeated with help from the remaining gods, who had by then realised their faults, but the damage was done. Frank, Leo, Jason and Percy all died, slowly and painfully, and while Hades brought them back, they were never the same after that unimaginable pain.

But they came back. The demigods were practically immortal now, with the Gods’ help. And they became unstoppable.

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frankwilder · 5 years

Text

Kevin’s New Toy

Kevin was eight.

He was your average boy.

He grew up on a farm in southern New Jersey with his mother, and father.

Since he was an only child, life around the farm was boring. If he wasn't helping his father, you could find Kevin playing video games, or out in the forest at the end of the fields.

Kevin enjoyed going on imaginary adventures, however, there was one part of the forest he was forbidden to go near. That dreaded place was the stream near the nuclear power plant. Kevin himself didn't want to wind up glowing in the dark at night. So he listened to his mother, for once, about this one little thing.

It was an average Saturday morning on the farm. Kevin had found a treasure trove of slugs in an old tree stump near the forest. After finding his discovery, he ran back to the farm house to get the salt shaker. He was going to kill every single rotten one of these little critters.

Now I don't know about you, but if you mix salt, and slugs, you get a hell of a grimey, slimey mess. Kevin knew this, and he was aching to make the biggest mess of slug... whatever, all over the place!

As he leaned over the tree stump, he shook, and shook the salt all over the helpless little slugs. These creatures were Kevin’s sworn enemy! He would kill them all, and let god sort them out.

Each one fizzed like soda, and pop rocks mixed together. He loved the smell of dying slugs in the morning. He played out scenes of a war movie with his salt shaker uzi. "DIE YOU SCUM!!! DIE!!!"

It was obvious that Kevin had issues.

Boredom perhaps, or maybe the old PS3 wasn't good enough anymore. It had lost its luster since the PS4 release, and since his parents couldn't afford the PS4 right now, he would take it out on the little, pathetic slugs on the old tree stump.

"KEVIN!!! YOUR UNCLE IS HERE WITH THE DELIVERY, COME HELP YOUR FATHER!!" Kevin’s mother called across the field, surprisingly audible with the distance between them.

However, Kevins mother was a big old woman, well not really old, she was only 35. However, she was big none the less.

Kevin didn't know this, but Kevins father was what they call a feeder, someone who loves big ole fat women, and will feed them until they are the size that man desires. Kevins mother had reached about 350 pounds, and Kevins father was just not happy yet. He needed more lovin than 350 pounds, that’s for sure.

Kevin, however, like his father, was a skinny little athletic male, and he had no problems dashing across the field, leaving about five slugs alive on the tree stump. He arrived at the driveway as the beat up red pickup pulled up the long dirt road, over the dreaded stream, and into the dirt driveway of Kevin’s rundown, need a new paint job, white, and fifty shades of grey house.

"HEY UNCLE BOB!!" Kevin yelled, as kids do yell a greeting.

"HEY SQUIRT!" Uncle bob yelled back, and embraced his nephew. Uncle Bob was about 25, and loved that beat up old pick up. It was his favorite thing to bring into town on a Friday night, and pick up a couple of drunks for a good ole time back at the hay loft of his own farm. You know, playing corn hole, and such.

"I GOT YOU A PRESENT KEVIN, BUT YER NOT GETTIN IT TILL THIS HERE COW LICK IS ALL STACKED IN THA BARN, YA EAR?" Uncle Bob said, pointing towards the bed of the truck. The truck was filled with foot, by foot square cubes of huge salt. Ready to be licked by the lets lick salt cows that were being milked as of yet in the barn.

Kevin could hear the humming of the tank as the tubes sucked on the udders of the cows. Past the truck Kevin happened to notice his fathers brand new 2018 Japanese brand pick up truck. That could also be the reason Kevin didn't have a FUCKIN PS4! He wondered about that sometimes.

"Kevin, you ready to help?" Kevins father asked.

"SURE THING PAW!" Kevin said with his happy ‘lets work on the farm’ glee.

He started carrying the heavy blocks into the barn. This lasted for about a half an hour until the job was done. With the three of them it took quick work to move all the blocks. However, on to more important things. Kevin was getting something, maybe a PS4!!!

"CMERE BOY!" Kevins Uncle called over to him. Kevin, ran over to the drivers side of the old truck, where his uncle had already opened the door, and held an all American can of suds in his hands.

"ERE, OLD THIS WHILE I GET THE REAL PRESENT FOR YA!"

He handed Kevin a large coffee tin of something.

Kevin looked inside the coffee can, there were little metal balls, all the size of marbles. He shook it a little to hear them loudly exchange places with each other while hitting the side of the old coffee can that barely still read "FOLDGERS" on it.

"ERE IS THA REAL PRESENT KEVIN, YOU TAKE THIS, AND BY LORD JESUS BE CAREFUL!"

Kevins uncle handed him... a slingshot? Kevin didn't know if he should be happy, or pissed.

"DON'T BE BREAKIN ANY WINDOWS WIT IT, AND DON'E BE SHOOTIN YER FATHERS CATTLE NOW, YA EAR?" Kevins uncle was firm in his trailer slang of instructions. Kevin looked up at him realizing he was just given the most dangerous toy ever. He could cause massive destruction with this. Kevins father saw the look in his son's eyes.

"Kevin, please don't get any ideas okay son?" Kevin’s father begged.

"Yes Paw." Kevin said sadly. What he really wanted to say was, 'WHY CANT I SHOOT EVERY STINKIN PERSON IN TOWN OUT OF ANGER BECAUSE YOU GOT A NEW TRUCK, AND I HAVE NO PS4???'

"That’s my boy, go get some old cans out of the recycle bin in the kitchen, you can set them up on the fence over there, and practice. Okay?"

Kevin smiled at his father, and headed into the house to get some old cans.

“EY THERE BOY, GIVE ME MAH BEER BEFORE YOU GO TAKIN OFF WITH IT!” Kevin was so excited he forgot the beer, but you know old Bob didn’t.

Kevin sure was happy with his new toy. However, come to find out, this toy was actually older than Kevin himself! It was Kevin’s grandfathers slingshot he used as a boy when he would play war outside with the other kids in town. Then Kevin's uncle got it in the will, and now Kevin’s uncle was passin it down to him!

The night came soon, Kevin had shot the entire coffee can full of oversized BB's at cans all day. He had dented some so bad he needed to run inside, and get new ones a couple of times. After hours of practice he became a crack shot, and couldn't wait to go huntin in the forest with it! That would truly test his skill!

Kevins mother waddled in to kiss him good night after he took his bath.

Kevin laid in bed with his trusty slingshot on the nightstand next to his beat up old lamp. As his mother kissed him good night, and told him how precious he was, she shut the door behind her, he grabbed the slingshot off the nightstand, and held it close.

He looked out the window at the old nuclear power plant in the distance. He liked watching it glow at night, it made him feel at peace. Tonight it was glowing green though, something he had never seen it do before. It was purty that’s for sure.

Kevin set his new favorite toy back on the nightstand, and then rest his head back on the pillow continuing to watch the power plant. In the distance Kevin could hear his father, his mother, and uncle come upstairs, and into his parents bedroom. His parents, and his uncle had been drinking all night. The smell of beer on his mothers breath still lingered in the room, even with the window open.

Kevin could hear some laughter coming out of his parent bedroom. This was a usual occurrence on Saturday night. They got drunk, then Kevin went to bed. Then they went into his parents bedroom, and they started laughing. Sooner or later he would hear them yelling, and screaming, but it didn't sound like fighting. They would start talking weird talk. "YOU SURE DO GOT PRETTY MELONS!" Kevin would hear his uncle say.

Kevin thought that grown ups were strange, but put the three of them together Saturday night, all loaded up, eating fruit, and ahem, “cats”, and they sure made the weirdest noises he ever did hear. Kevin just concentrated on the glow of the nuclear power plant, and soon drifted off to sleep.

There was a pounding at the door downstairs. Kevin didn't hear it, but his father did. "Who the hell would come calling at four in the damn morning?" He said to himself as he made his way out from between his brother, and wife. He went downstairs to the door, and opened it to reveal a police officer, and his partner.

"What seems the be the problem officer?" Kevin’s father asked barely awake, and drool running down his chin.

"Sir we need you, and your family to evacuate. There is an emergency over at the power plant. They think it may have a meltdown at any moment. You need to gather your family, and leave now!" The police officers were very serious, and who wouldn't be? They didn't want their asses to be this close to the plant if it had a melt down either.

"Right away sir, thank you officer." Kevin’s father said, then he closed the door, and started running around like a mad man.

Kevin’s father woke up his sibling, and wife as they lay in bed together, butt naked. Kevin’s father screamed something incoherent about the power plant, and the jiggly jello of Kevin’s mother found its way into elephant panties, and a bathrobe. Kevin’s uncle was already out of the house, clothes or not, no one could tell. That’s how fast he was gone.

Kevin woke up by himself, just as his father was coming in his door to get him. Kevin heard everything his father had said. He also didn't understand a word he said when he poked his head into Kevin’s door making sure he was up, and getting dressed. It was something like, "KEVIN, POWER PLANT, DIE, OH MY GOD, LOOK, BASKETS!!! AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

Kevin himself was calm.

He wasn't grasping the full terror of the night, and he looked out over at the power plant. He stood up, grabbed his slingshot, and looking out the window noticed something down in the fields. The cows that were out to pasture for the night, they were being attacked in the moonlight. Something was eating them! Something huge!!! Kevin couldn't understand what he was seeing. He could hear the cows mooing in pain one by one as the fields were filled with these moving, things. Kevin watched as one of these lump looking creatures threw itself over a cow, and devoured it!

Kevin, gripping his slingshot tightly, knew he had to save the farm from these creatures! Maybe then he would get his PS4!!!

After putting on some sneakers, jeans, boxers (Kevin told his mother he needed room to grown, and she agreed), a t-shirt, and some socks (not in that order mind you), he loaded his pockets full of shiny metal marbles.

His parents were running around in such a frantic mess, they never noticed Kevin head out the back door, and across the field toward the dying cows. One of these huge ten foot tall piles of brown noticed Kevin with its antenna eyes. It roared a blood thirsty roar as Kevin approached.

Kevin stopped in his tracks, he recognized these creatures! They were moving a little slowly, but fast enough to jump on cows, and devour them after creeping up for ten minutes. They were giant mutant slugs, about five of them.

Kevin almost shit his britches.

The slug that noticed Kevin started inching its way toward him, it was going to get its revenge for all of the slugs Kevin had killed, if it took all night! At this speed it just might too.

Kevin knew if it got close enough it would be able to jump on him, and eat him alive!

Kevin held the slingshot ahead of him, and loaded a metal ball into it. He pulled it back, and shot the target that was so big only Helen Keller would miss it. She had a 99% chance of hitting it too. When the ball hit, the slimy skin made a popping sound as slime, and ooze poured out of it. Somewhere Kevin could hear his father calling for him, but the roar coming out of the slug quickly drowned it out.

The metal ball only pissed it off, and now it was coming at him like a rocket! Well a rocked at slug speed that is. Then Kevin had an epiphany. He turned away from the threatening slug just fifteen feet away, and ran towards the tool shed.

Kevin grabbed a plastic bag that lay among a bevy of other plastic bags after throwing open the door to the tool shed. All of them read Wal*Mart, Family Dollar, or NJ Liquors.

He grabbed the biggest Wal*Mart bag he could find, and then a hammer. After that, he bolted out of the door. Kevin could still hear his father screaming desperately for him in the house. However, Kevin knew he could save the farm!

He broke into the barn like a snowplow hitting a freshly dead deer laying on the side of the road. He found the salt lick, and started beating away at it with the hammer. Nice sized chunks perfect for slingshot-ting fell away from the cow lick. He loaded them into the bag until it was full, then he headed back out into the field as Kevin’s father continued to yell for him inside the house.

He heard his mother yell to at one point, but he wasn't concerned about them. They could stay in the house where it was safe, he had a job to do.

He made it back out to the slugs, the one he shot had tried to follow him, and had made it about two feet!

These things were dangerous!

Kevin started firing at them. The salt chunks cut through the soft skin of the slimy bastards like a hot knife through butter! Kevin fired away at the slug coming after him! It reared back in pain, its body standing on its slug ass as it roared in agony! Kevin pelted it with more salt, and soon the creature lay dead, melting in an oozing bog of slug slime!

Kevin made light work of the others. They all attempted to kill him, to get revenge for their slug brothers Kevin had slaughtered before. However Kevin was the Slug Slayer!

In minutes he was victorious! He had them boiling over with guts, and slug slop out onto the fields. The battle field ran brown with remnents of Slug. Kevin only had one thing to say.

"DATS RIGHT MOTHA FUCKAS!"

Suddenly Kevins felt two arms grab him, and then he was being dragged across the field back towards the house. His father screamed, "I FOUND HIM! GET IN THE CAR!"

The family made their escape into the moonlit night, away from the power plant, and Kevin’s victorious battle.

In the following few days, it came to be that the whole meltdown episode was a false alarm. However, there was a leak of nuclear waste into the stream.

For days scientists, and men dressed in suits visited Kevin's farm.

They removed the bodies of the slugs, and tested the waters of the stream.

Then they were gone.

Kevin’s father was proud of his boy for saving the cattle. The farm was only missing ten out of thirty, and if it wasn't for Kevin’s quick thinking, they would have lost the whole herd.

Kevin’s father was so happy with him, he did eventually did buy Kevin a PS4!!!

THE END

#toy kevin farm slug slingshot family drunk freaky science fiction

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monkees-on-the-line · 6 years

Text

Soda Pop & Incense

Summary: Peter & Davy were a ‘thing’ for six months before Peter decides to take a year off of college for a soul-searching 1 year trip. That’s when things get messy.

Fearing commitment, Davy wrecks the entire thing. But when Peter comes back, will they mend things?

Words: 5,455

Ships: Jork & Dolenzmith

Davy had been feeling nostalgic lately. And not in the good way, no, this made him feel sick. His throat would close up and it would be impossible for him to catch his breath. Part of him wished that he could just forget everything that happened the year before. But the part of him that was still in bed laying next to him, would put up a good fight to stop that.

God, being in bed with him. He just had to start falling down that wormhole of memories, didn’t he? Curling up in those pile of thin blankets because it never occurred to either of them to buy a thicker one. Though, he did have that old ratty Scooby Doo blanket that must have been from when he was a kid, curled up & hidden under his bed. Davy had found it one over night visit and never mentioned it, just thinking about how cute it was...how cute he was.

He smelled like soda pop and incense. Davy couldn’t get enough of it. Until he did...or at least he thought he did.

“I don’t want this to be some sort of fling you forget about in a year, I actually have feelings for you.”

The words popped back into Davy’s head like magic, recalling the tone & the insecurity just the same as he’d heard it that night.

He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut for a second or two as he continued walking down the sidewalk. He pressed his thumb against the side of his nose. He was getting that feeling you get when you drink too much soda and the fizz sort of creeps uncomfortably at your nose, giving you a weird half-headache. An echo of what he’d felt that night.

Committing to someone was never Davy’s speed, let alone to a guy who was asking Davy to wait for him while he took a year off of college to go on some sort of trip. So anxiety got to him, so he ruined the only relationship he’d ever had that meant anything to him? Who cared? it’s the past. What’s done is done.

They’d only been ‘dating’ or ‘hooking up’, as Davy had mistakenly referred to it that night he’d left, for six months. Giving him just enough time to work his way into the group, to worm his way into Micky & Mike’s lives too. He was too damn likable.

Davy was over it...he had to be. He had a lot of time without him to think about it.

But yet, Davy was still aimlessly walking around with it all on his mind like some angst ridden teenager.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-”No, no. Micky, you don’t wanna come over today, trust me. I’m-I’m really ill, man.” Davy faded his chuckle into a cough with ease, fingers curled over the phone. His friend hummed on the other end, the way he did when he was suspicious and Davy fought the urge to huff in frustration. “Mick, if you don’t let me go right now...I might vomit onto my phone.” He pursed his lips, nose twitching in the cold. He hoped the slight anger in his tone might give Micky the hint.

But his friend was restless as ever. Just like when they were little tykes living in matching tan houses on a street called Beachwood Lane. The green grass of their lawns was waiting for them, Micky would say as he begged Davy to go out and play with him. Davy would act like he wasn’t going to say yes for at least five minutes before going out and maybe watching Micky fall off his scooter a couple times, whatever it was they used to do.

“Are you sure I can’t come over? I was gonna tell you-”

“Micky, I’m sick. I’m not in the mood.” Davy spoke the lie confidently and felt a jab in his stomach as he looked out at the open outside air. He shook his legs back and forth as they hung over the concrete wall he was currently sat on.

“But Davy, It’s important-” Micky tried once again to get through to his stubborn friend but Davy just came up with another excuse. Knowing he didn’t have much time left, Micky went with the last option.

“Bye, Micky-”

“Mike is picking Peter up from the airport, ok? Byeeeee” Micky spoke quickly to make sure he could squeeze it all in before Davy hung up.

It barely registered to Davy what Micky had said until a few seconds after he’d hung up. It had been a little over a year, hadn’t it? Peter had said he’d be gone for just a year but Davy had kind of been selfishly hoping that since they fought, Peter might not come back at all.

Davy groaned and immediately re-dialed Micky’s number, who picked up instantly. “Hey, already on my way-”

“I’m not at home, I’m by the beach.” Davy looked at the water in front of him, just past the warm sand, he shook his legs again.

“Fun! It’s a little cold for that. Should I bring the shovel so you can bury your feelings in the sand?” Though Davy couldn’t see him, it was easy to tell his curly haired friend was smirking.

“Funny, Micky.” Davy scowled while Micky laughed in his ear. He took in a deep breath just as small waves of blue crashed onto the shore and hung up the phone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why is Mike picking him up? Can’t one of his old pals get him?” Davy asked with narrowed eyes just as Micky started walking up to him, sneakers skidding in the grass that ended just where the little concrete wall began. Micky plopped down next to him, picking his right leg up to rest on the wall while his left hung loosely over.

“Well, Peter called to say he was coming back-”

“Hold on. He called you guys?” Davy held out his hand to tell Micky to ‘hold it’, who looked annoyed.

“Yeah, you call your friends when you’re gonna be back in town.” Micky shook his head and Davy scowled. “Davy, you haven’t spoken to the guy in a year. Did you really think he was gonna call you...and what? Warn you?” Micky rolled his eyes and Davy clamped his mouth shut.

“Anyway, Mike offered to pick him up. He likes the long drives.” Micky shrugged. “I get the fun job, Davy damage control.” Micky reached over to pat Davy’s shoulder who just smacked his hand away. Micky didn’t seem that bothered.

Davy looked back towards the water and leaned back on his palms, Micky stared at the side of his face for a second before copying the action. “So you guys are gonna pal around him again?”

“I dunno about ‘pal around’, maybe ‘hang out’? Or if we’re crazy maybe a ‘get together’ here and there or perhaps a-” Micky’s sarcastic voice was cut off when Davy looked back again with heat in his eyes.

“What do I say here, Davy? Yeah, he’s our friend. You don’t have to be around when he is, if you don’t want.” Micky pursed his lips and Davy gave a bitter laugh.

“That’s great. I don’t have to be around if I don’t want to.” He shook his head. “I expected Mike would keep in touch. But c’mon Micky you’re my best mate and you’re gonna hang around my ex?” Davy’s voice was thick with hurt and Micky frowned.

“Don’t make it sound like that.” Micky picked at his shoelace, feeling guilt in his chest. “The guy was so into you, he followed wherever you went with actual hearts in his eyes. And you-you just lead him on? When it was over, you told me that you two were just having fun. But Peter once told me that he could really fall for you-”

Davy widened his eyes, not ever aware that Peter had ever said anything like that.

“It’s not like he did anything horrible. He’s our friend.” Micky sighed, looking back to the water again. Davy felt his heart drop into his stomach and was overcome with the worst feeling of regret that he attempted to drown out.

“So...how was his trip?” Davy asked, though he really didn’t want to know the details. Micky sighed with thought and shook his leg.

“Good. He told me that it was really what he needed before he went back to school. He went all sorts of places...hearing him say it really makes you wanna do it, y’know? You should hear him say it.” Micky shrugged, his voice fading off in that higher pitch he used when he was nervous.

Davy shook his head, seemingly offended at the suggestion. “Look, I’m just thinking that you could talk to him....cause I mean, just ‘having fun’ for six months? Really, Davy? You were into him more than you say. You were really happy when you two were a thing” Micky sniffled from the slight chill.

“I’m not saying it was great to be six months into it and have Peter decided to go off on some soul-searching year trip. I would have been thrown off too.” Micky shrugged, the statement caught Davy’s attention. “But it was just a year of long distance. That’s not that bad. I know you really liked him, I don’t get why you had to make it seem like the whole ‘relationship’, whatever you wanna call it, was nothing to you.”

“I know you like to stick your nose into other people’s business, Micky. But-” Davy turned to fully face Micky who ran his hand through his hair. “Ok, maybe you’re right. I was really into Peter...like really into him. But Micky, I was freaking out.” Davy shook his head.

“Peter was the first guy I was really with...you know that.” Davy gestured and Micky nodded. “Commitment in general is not my thing, let alone to a guy. I knew that if I said yes to the long distance thing- that Peter and I were serious and I just-I wasn’t ready so I fucking blew it because I was scared.” Davy’s voice cracked and he turned away again.

“You could have talked to him or hell, even me. You know I had some trouble with my sexuality too.” Micky gently pat Davy’s shoulder, who just looked more guilty.

“I should have but I didn’t. It’s done. Nothing I can do about it.” Davy sighed, eyes a little watery.

“This whole thing is really complicated. I just want us to all be friends cause I love you guys-”

“You’re really naive, Micky. Did y’know that?” Davy intended to make those words sound harsh but looking at his friends face, they came out much softer. “I was real shit to Peter before he left. We aren’t going to mates, I can tell you that much.”

“But if-” Micky was interrupted at the sound of his phone and slipped it from his pocket. “Hello?-Oh, I’m with Davy, yeah. -Noooo, I left them on the counter.” Micky’s face was taken over by a small grin and Davy felt a little jealous.

“Look under the-No? They aren’t there?...Oh! You know what, I think I put them on the nightstand actually!” Micky smacked his forehead. Davy could hear Mike’s voice on the other end, annoyed but amused at Micky’s bad memory.

“Ok.....I love you, be careful. Bye.” Micky hung up and threw Davy a sympathetic grin. “He couldn’t find his keys, he’s gonna get Peter now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mike pulled up to just pick Peter up from the car but remembered Micky’s voice from the morning, nagging him about going inside to meet Peter at baggage claim. He sighed, turned his car around and went to park.

Mike got inside, bought himself a coffee from the stand and sat down right where Peter should be coming in a few minutes.

Mike kind of enjoyed the drive up there and he was about to complain about sitting around with a nice cup of coffee. He liked to watch the people passing about him and wonder where they were coming from or going to.

His good time was soon to be interrupted as Peter made his way towards his, picking his bag up on the way. The orange bag rolled behind him as he strolled over to Mike with a large grin. “Mike!”

Mike nearly jumped, having zoned out for the last five minutes or so. He stood with a small smile on his face. “Hey, Pete. How was your flight?” He stretched his back a bit and started to make his way out, Peter strolling next to him.

“Good, little rough but..” Peter shrugged, his smile taking over his face. “good. Thanks for picking me up.”

Mike sipped his coffee and nodded, holding the door open for Peter as he walked out. “No problem.”

“I’m guessing the meeting me in baggage claim was Micky’s idea?” Peter asked with a tiny chuckle, seeing right through Mike who had to chuckle too.

“Yeah. I was just gonna pick you up from the car.” Mike opened the back of the car for Peter to toss his suitcase inside and they went off to get in their seats. He couldn’t help but notice the sparkly little weed key-chain Peter had put on it. He rolled his eyes.

As Peter shut the car door, he tossed Mike a look. “Speaking of, I’ve been gone for a year so you two are up to around three years...?” Peter trailed off and Mike nodded. “Anything special going on for you guys?” Peter wiggled his eyebrows a little and Mike rolled his eyes, ready to dismiss him but felt a pang of insecurity.

“Do you think there should be?” He asked, dreading an answer as Peter hummed.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I believe in marriage, myself but- I think three years is the appropriate time for engagement.” Peter spoke casually but Mike felt a rush of emotions at the words.

“You don’t believe-? What do you mean you don’t believe in marriage?” Mike raised his eyebrow. “It’s not Bigfoot, Peter.”

Peter chuckled, opening his window the tiniest bit for a little bit of a breeze. “I think people can have a long term, committed relationship without having to do all that.” He gestured weirdly into the air and Mike rolled his eyes.

“But you think three years is the ‘appropriate amount of time’ before getting engaged?” Mike swallowed and Peter shrugged. Mike felt a rush of worry that he was supposed to be thinking about this a lot more than he had been. And worse, if Micky was thinking about it.

“Where is Micky anyway?” Peter asked and Mike was distracted from his own worries to remember what he should be worried about.

“Oh, he’s with Davy.” Mike shrugged, turning on his turn signal as Peter bit into his lip.

“That reminds me..” Peter shuffled in his seat. “I was gonna say, I mean- we’d only been friends for six months before I left and you guys have known Davy for a long time so-I mean, I could-” Peter was cut off with a hand gesture from Mike.

“Can I be honest with you, Pete?”

Peter nodded, a little nervous “Sure.”

“I think the whole thing with you and Davy is ridiculous.” Mike turned the wheel and narrowed his eyes to watch the road. “Davy’s my friend and all but I don’t think you two made a good match.”

Peter frowned. Mike could tell he really wasn’t good at this.

“I just mean-” Mike shook his head and breathed in to clear in his mind. “Maybe things happened the way they did because it’s not meant to be. Davy-He’s well he did a dumb thing...so maybe...”

Peter could see Mike’s struggle and tried to help. “I can do better?”

Mike nodded.

Peter appreciated the help but. ‘I really doubt it.’ He thought to himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“-And did Peter say anything about Davy?” Micky asked, tossing his fork around in the food Mike had brought home for them. Mike hummed, scratching the side of his face. He knew Micky was not going to be the biggest fan of the advice he gave.

Mike hunched his body over, sliding his arms onto the counter and folding his hands. Micky glanced up, feeling the heat from being that close to each other. “What did you say to him?”

“I didn’t say it technically...I was ramblin’...y’know like I do.” Mike lifted one of his hands to scratch the back of his neck and Micky let his fork go, it fell against his plate.

“What did you tell him?” Micky pouted, which Mike found supremely adorable though he was most likely in trouble.

“I may have lead Peter to the conclusion that he could do better than Davy.” Mike shrugged and Micky’s eyes flickered with heat. He immediately reached over and smacked Mike’s arm.

“Mike, you idiot! I’m trying to get them to work their shit out to get back together.” Micky scowled and Mike shook his head, standing up.

“Why?”

“Any idiot can see they still like each other.” Micky slouched in his seat and rested his chin on his open palm.

Mike bent over to get himself a drink from the fridge. “Apparently not every idiot though, huh?” Mike pointed to himself and Micky begrudgingly chuckled.

“I think they need to give it another go. A second chance.” Micky rubbed his hands over his face and Mike looked at him with uncertainty. It was like the two of them were just on a different wavelength.

“You didn’t hear what Davy said today. He-he messed up but, I mean, Peter going away for a year after six months freaked him out.” Micky shrugged as Mike pulled out a chair to sit across from him. “And Peter was the first and only guy Davy has ever been with, he was scared to commit and that’s why he ruined it. Not because he didn’t love Peter.”

“Did he say he loved him?” Mike furrowed his brows and Micky slouched.

“No but the rest of it is what he told me. I know he loves him though.” Micky sat up straight again and Mike rolled his eyes.

“You know that?” Mike formed it as a question though he was quite familiar with Micky and his naivety. Micky slid his fork from his mouth and swallowed.

“I know where you’re going with this and it irritates me.” Micky narrowed his eyes but Mike just shook his head. They were both familiar with where this was heading.

The air between them suddenly got heavy and they both pulled back. They each went back to silently eating their food in their own different worlds for the moment. Micky did what he usually did, tried to find something to do with his hand that wasn’t busy with the fork. He slid his finger through the key-ring on his house keys. His funky little key-chains rattled against the table and Mike briefly looked up from his food.

He was about to grin until the sight of Micky slipping the silver key-ring over his finger reminded him of something he really didn’t want to think about. He swallowed the hunk of food in his mouth and looked back at his plate.

“Why are you being weird?” Micky asked casually as he slipped his fork past his lips again and Mike wiped his hand down his face. Sometimes it just surprised him how well Micky could read him.

“I’m not-” Mike didn’t even finish the excuse before Micky gave him a look. “It’s just, you’re not expecting a proposal, are you?” Mike didn’t mean to be so blunt but that was something he was just too good at.

Micky pulled back like he flinched, eyes widening with shock. Mike could tell Micky was completely thrown off, it didn’t take a genius to know. He ran his free hand through his hair. “From who?” Micky asked, a small smirk on his face that eased Mike intensely. Classic Micky. His Micky.

“Don’t get all Mike about that.” Micky shook his head and Mike chuckled.

“All Mike about it? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh you know. When you overthink things that haven’t even happened yet and pull away from me.” Micky offered him a beautiful smile that Mike was distracted enough by to let Micky’s analysis pass. “C’mere” Micky tilted his head to the side, a few strands of his curly hair bounced. Mike was sold. He leaned over the counter to kiss him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Marriage?” Davy fumbled a little with his words as Micky just nodded over and over next to him on his couch in his little dorm. He’d been increasingly bitterly jealous that Micky and Mike were able to get their own apartment and he was stuck here. The place irritated him to no end.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah-Apparently Peter said something to him. So yesterday he asked me if I was expecting a proposal. I didn’t wanna say I wanted one if he wasn’t into the idea-” Micky was also stumbling on his own words. “I think he thinks I’m cool with his whole ‘I’m ambiguous about what I want’ get up but ooooh Davy, I’m not.”

Davy was having a hard time with Micky, who was a mile-a-minute talker. He tried to take it piece by piece. “Why would he think you’re cool?”

“Well cause I made a joke-but I was nervous.” Micky bit his fingernails. “I really wanna be with him forever. I’ve known since day one. But Mike...I know he loves me but would he marry me? Propose? In public? God, he can’t even hold my hand in public. One time he said that I asked him for the sauce too sexually at Taco Bell but to be fair I was trying to sound saucy but it was only to make a pun-”

“Micky, please. It’s not life or death, babe.” Davy pat his shoulder and shook his head. “But Peter said something to him that got him all wigged out about getting angaged?” Davy asked and Micky paused but nodded after a few seconds.

“S’weird. On our first...umm date thing, I asked him to tell me some interesting things about himself and he told me he didn’t really believe in marriage.” Davy shrugged, looking a little confused. “ ‘Course he also told me he liked that dumb little weed key-chain I found for him and he threw that out so I wouldn’t trust him.” Davy shrugged.

Micky paused on his issue as he remembered something Davy might like know. “Mike told me Peter had a weed key-chain on his suitcase.” Micky chuckled as he remembered how Mike seemed to be amused at that. Davy pulled back on his seat and frowned.

“You know, I invited Peter over tonight cause I haven’t really seen him yet.” Micky tilted his chin up with that hopeful little smile on his face.

“What does that have to do with me?” Davy asked, pretending not to know Micky’s intentions was just easier for him. Micky sighed and played with his hands.

“Just come. It’ll be fun and Mike and I will be there so it won’t be weird-”

“That makes it even weirder Micky!” Davy burst, standing up to collect his bag to storm out of his own dorm. Micky leaned back on the couch and watched him walk around the room, without saying anything. “I really hurt him Mick. And you know...I am very confident that he doesn’t wanna see me.”

“I’m sure he’ll be able to understand, at least a little bit, if you explain to him what you said to me.” Micky threw his hand up to gesture and Davy rolled his eyes. And with that, Davy did storm out of his dorm. Micky took a few seconds to sit on what Davy had said and put his face in his hands to let out a frustrated groan before standing up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One thing about being back in his hometown that Peter loved was that he had his old favorite place to smoke back. He would always come in the late afternoon when the sun was in just the right place to shin a little light spot on the concrete wall. It was always warm, no matter the weather.

Getting high was a little therapeutic at the moment. The waves just a ways in front of him were hitting the sandy shore and darkening the sand. Just as a small breeze blew his hair, he puffed smoke from his lips in rings.

He tilted his head up to watch the smoke fade into the air and caught sight of someone walking towards the beach in some kind of huff. It wasn’t until they got closer that Peter could recognize that huff and he was kind of mad at how his heart fluttered. For some reason, Peter turned his head away quickly and just waited for Davy to get close enough to recognize him.

“Shit.”

Peter rolled his eyes and glanced up, Davy standing just above him. He blew his smoke in the other direction as he seemingly froze in place. “Hey.” Peter rolled his lips together. Davy looked as if he was debating just booking it and running in the opposite direction.

“Hi.” Davy finally decided on replying, his fingernails dug into his skin with nerves and he looked momentarily towards the water. “How was the trip?” He grimaced at his small talk and didn’t want to look back at Peter.

“Good.” Peter nodded to himself.

“That’s all. Micky really talked up how great it was to hear you talk about it.” Davy shrugged and Peter gave him a side-eye. “Look, I wasn’t going to have Micky corner us into talking. I know he’s got the best of intentions but let’s face it, he’s not the best at plans.” Davy waved his hand, still standing.

Peter had to agree. Micky was a peacemaker...but a chaotic peacemaker.

“But since we’re here...let’s hash this out, huh? Get it over with?” Davy gently nudged Peter with his foot and Peter felt a rush of warmth. He licked his lips and thought about it before scooting over to show Davy he was all welcome.

Davy calmly sat down beside him and they silently looked over at the beach. Both of them were scared to talk first.

“I have to know something.” Peter put out his joint and turned to Davy, feeling very vulnerable. Davy turned just the same, they locked eyes for a nervous little moment before they both looked elsewhere. “Was I really just a fling to you?” Peter felt uncomfortable heat in his chest that made him sort of light-headed.

Davy swallowed. “No.”

Peter didn’t know whether he felt relieved or frustrated. He flickered his eyes back and forth from the wall to the beach. “Then why did you tell me that?”

“Look Peter, hear me out-” Davy held up his hand and Peter nodded. “You were the first guy I was with. And everything was going so well...really well.” Davy paused and Peter let himself smile at the memories.

“It was the best six months of my life.” Davy bit into his lip. “But then, when you started bringing up leaving for a year, I got freaked out. Long distance was this huge commitment and I’ve never been good at that. And it was a scary thing to fully admit to myself that I wanted to commit to a guy and not a girl.” Davy sighed.

“And you were so sweet. You gave me time to myself to think about it even though I completely tried to ignore it until the night before. And that’s when I blew it. I was scared. I told you that we were just a fling because I was terrified because I knew that we weren’t.” Davy sighed and put his hands over his face.

“I know that doesn’t excuse what I said to you that night. I know I hurt you because I was trying my best to make it seem like I didn’t care about what we had at all.” Davy’s eyes were watery and genuine.

Peter raised his legs onto the wall, pulling his knees up and crossing his arms over them to rest his chin on. A very Peter thing to do that made Davy’s heart jump.

“Micky told me that you told him that you could really fall for me?” Davy just had to ask about that and Peter was hesitant but nodded. “I’m such an asshole.” Davy shrugged, shaking his head.

“I don’t think you’re an asshole.” Peter spoke softly and Davy hesitantly looked back at him. “I think you did an asshole thing.” He said with a tiny grin and Davy chuckled, wiping his sleeve under his eyes. “But I mean, I did kind of spur of the moment told you I wanted to leave for a year.” Peter shrugged.

The sun was beginning to set just over the water as they simply stared at one and other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Micky rest his head in Mike’s lap as the man ran his fingers through his waves of hair. In his haste to fix Davy of his problem, Micky had almost forgotten why he’d sought out his friends help in the first place. He’d been very tempted to bring that engagement topic back up again but their day was going so well that he decided not to. He’d let Mike know of his failed attempt to invite Davy over as well and Mike had offered a simple ‘Maybe give it some time.’

It was only just turning into the evening, meaning Peter should be over soon. It was right around the time whatever afternoon movie the two of them had missed, during their busy work of the day, was on the obscure film channel & was going into it’s ending. Which meant they could chill together on the couch and try and guess what the movie had even been about. A little tradition they had.

“How long have there been aliens in this movie?” Mike squinted at the TV as Micky pulled the other mans hand from his hair and sat up a little so Mike’s arm could rest on his shoulders.

“The whole time I guess.” Micky shrugged with a little grin. Mike looked down at him and gave him a smile back. Micky snuggled closer, enjoying the warmth of his body heat. The movie was fading into it’s soundtrack and Mike tapped the beat out with his thumb against Micky’s shoulder, a habit of Mike’s that Micky adored. The quiet was interrupted with a knock and Mike sighed as Micky darted up.

“Peter’s here.” He grinned and Mike chuckled.

Much to his surprise, when he opened the door he found not just Peter but Davy. He pulled back a little before Peter reached over to hug him hello. Micky returned the gesture with confusion. “Mikeeeee, come look.”

Mike got up from the couch and paused just the same as Micky had upon seeing their two friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Micky and Davy sat on the couch in the living room while Mike got Peter a drink in the kitchen. “Soooo, how-I mean-what happened?”

Peter chuckled. “Davy and I talked. We’re cool.”

“Just friends cool or-?” Mike asked and Peter gave him a smile.

“We’re seeing where it goes from here.” Peter looked back over where Micky was basically eating up every word that Davy said, the look on his face was priceless.

“Why? I mean, I thought Davy really hurt you?” Mike simply couldn’t understand what was happening and Peter leaned against the counter, still looking at Davy.

“He did. But I forgave him-” Peter could tell Mike was gonna interrupt again so he held up his hand. “Because if you love a person, and you don't want to be without him, you forgive them.” Peter shrugged. “We’re seeing where this goes, slowly but surely.”

Mike couldn’t lie, the two of them looked much happier. Peter was practically glowing and Davy looked as giddy as a teenager as he spoke to Micky.

“When you wanna be with someone, be with them.” Peter smiled and Mike felt a shiver up his spine as he looked to Micky, his Micky.

He wanted to be with Micky. Might as well set it in stone. He was sure he could get his grandmother’s ring. He was gonna give himself some time to actually work up the nerve but Peter was right.

The four of them had dinner in the living room like the old days. Peter and Davy were a little hesitant, like new lovers again. And Micky and Mike were so in sync like and old married couple, which was definitely in their future.

#I PROMISE THE NEXT FIC TO GO UP WILL BE #WHAT WOULD YOU DO?#i finished this yesterday and forgot to post until now #sorry it's really bad #Jork #Davy Jones #Peter Tork #Dolenzmith #Mike Nesmith #Micky Dolenz

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