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willowbird · 3 years

Note

hi! im a sucker for mutual pining so can i ask for roommates!au+ childhood friends + “you know i’ll do anything for you.” for pynch? 💛

You sure can lovely, you know I'll do anything for you 😉 (see what I did there?)

I also decided to make this a sick fic because I can. Hope you enjoy!

Ronan Lynch woke up feeling like death warmed over. Now this wasn't an altogether unfamiliar sensation, but it usually followed a night of heavy drinking and too many tacos sourced from questionable food trucks. Last night Ronan had been fucking responsible, thank you. He could have gone out and gotten trashed with some not-quite-friends he knew from around town. Instead, he had specifically stayed home and not gotten shit-faced because he had important shit to do today.

See, responsible. He could do it. Fuck you, Declan.

With an enthusiastic groan of anguish, Ronan rolled over and made to push himself up into a sitting position. His hand slipped off the edge of the bed in the attempt, however, and two seconds later he was in a heap on the floor with absolutely no energy nor motivation to try again.

At least, not until he heard a light knock on the door followed by a familiar voice calling, "Ronan? You alright in there?"

"Fuck," he grumbled to himself - except his face was trapped between his arm and the floor, so it came out more like 'frushk'.

The door creaked open and Ronan managed to summon the energy to lift his arm just enough to see Adam's bare feet peak into the room. How had he never noticed how elegant Adam's ankles were? The man could be a dancer if he wanted to, Ronan was sure of it - not that he knew anything about dancing or what dancers bodies should look like. Adam was wearing his pajama pants still, which was odd because Adam was always up way before Ronan and was usually fully dressed by the time Ronan dragged his ass out of bed - which he only ever did when the time was still in single-digits if he had absolutely no other choice (or if Adam was making breakfast... so... almost every day, but then he went back to bed). It was a shame, though, because Adam's calves were elegant, too. One wouldn't think men's calves could be pretty, but Adam's were. They fit the line of his legs like calligraphy, gently curving while holding all of this strength. That was to say nothing for his thighs. Ronan would happily be crushed by Adam's thighs.

"Um..." said Adam, and Ronan realized that he'd grabbed the hem of Adam's pant leg and was lifting it up, his body attempting to listen to his (likely fever-induced) inner ramblings and desire to see more of Adam's (perfect) legs.

With no energy to explain or defend himself, Ronan grunted and just let his hand drop back to the floor. A moment later he felt the air shift around him and when he realized he'd closed his eyes he forcibly peeled them open again to see that Adam had crouched down beside him.

Ah fuck, look at that bedhead. This was unfair. Ronan should get to see Adam's cute bedhead every day. But no, Adam had to be one of those people who got up at the asscrack of fucking dawn. He had to be one of those jerks who owned a comb. Despicable.

Adam caught his hand, the wayward limb having lifted to reach for aforementioned cute bedhead against Ronan's will.

"Alright, come on now Lynch, let's get you back in bed." Adam's voice was soft and very close now, which was funny because Adam was supposed to be far away. Adam was always too far away. Except this next time when Ronan opened his eyes he realized that Adam wasn't far away at all, he was right there, with his arm around Ronan, helping him sit up.

"When'd you get buff, Parrish?" Ronan grumbled as Adam all but deadlifted him from the floor to get him back on the bed.

Adam's quiet chuckle brushed against the side of Ronan's neck like a kiss. "What, did you think me going to the gym four days a week was for show? Gotta be able to lug your ass around."

"You calling me fat?"

"Yes."

"Bitch."

This time, Adam's laugh was a bit more full but it stayed quiet, like Adam knew about the angry cotton that had taken over the inside of Ronan's skull and didn't want to antagonize it.

Ronan was horizontal the next time he opened his eyes and Adam was woefully far away. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, adjusting the covers, which really wasn't all that far, but look -- it was too far. His hands were eager to obey his inner ramblings apparently, because without Ronan's say-so they had lifted again, reaching for Adam.

Adam caught them easily in his own and squeezed. "I hope you didn't have any big plans today, Lynch. You've definitely got a fever."

"No I don't," Ronan protested, half-distracted by how nicely his and Adam's hands fit together. He'd almost forgotten that, how good it felt to hold Adam's hand. They used to hold hands all the time when they were kids -- because that's what kids did. He remembered always reaching for Adam's hand. Sometimes to pull him up when he fell down, sometimes to grab him to go play, sometimes just because it felt... good to do it. They've been best friends since the summer before kindergarten, them and Gansey and Noah. But it was always Adam's hand Ronan wanted to hold.

But boys don't hold other boys' hands once you reach a certain age. Which, actually, was utter and complete bullshit and Ronan was going to do something about that as soon as he was able to get vertical again. He didn't know what, but he would come up with something, dammit.

"--nan? Ronan? Hey, you still with me?"

Ronan blinked away some cobwebs and focused back up at Adam's face, which was drawn together in concern. "The fuck you talking about Parrish," he rasped out. "I didn't go anywhere."

One of those strong, elegant hands dropped his - but before Ronan could mourn the loss it reached forward to press gently to his forehead, then to his cheek. "Maybe I should take you to the doctor," Adam said through a frown.

"'m fine," Ronan growled out with attempted authority. Adam only stared at him and Ronan rolled his eyes. "It's just... just a stupid cold or something."

Adam was already shaking his head. It took all of Ronan's willpower not to whine when he pulled his hand away, but he managed.

"What're you doing?" he grumbled suspiciously as Adam produced his phone from the pocket of his sweatshirt.

"Texting my boss."

The shock of confusion that lanced through him at that was sharp enough to kickstart his brain and wake him up a little bit. "What? Why?"

Adam gave him another look, and damnit if the man didn't look like a sexy, disapproving librarian - even without the glasses. "Ronan, you're sick. If that fever gets any higher you really will have to go to the doctor."

"So?" Something was not computing. Why should Ronan's stupid body being stupid sick have anything to do with Adam texting his boss? Did Adam's boss know something about fevers?

"So I'm not leaving you by yourself all day."

"You're asking your boss to hire a fucking babysitter?"

"No you ass, I'm calling off for the day."

Ronan blinked. He closed his eyes, counted to three, then opened them again - but Adam was still there. He was looking down at his phone, swiping across it as a message came in. Then he gave a nod and looked back at Ronan. "And it's done."

"Wait. What?"

Adam's expression clouded with worry again, lips pursing and brow drawing in. "Ronan, I just told you..."

"Shit. Fuck. Yeah, I got that. Wait. You're calling in?" Adam Parrish had never called off of work a day in his life. Ronan would know - since he'd been a part of it for about twenty years now. Three weeks after they'd moved in together, Adam had come down with strep throat and had still tried to go into work. His boss had ended up calling Ronan to come haul his ass out of there since Ronan was listed as his emergency contact.

"I'm going to call the doctor..."

Ronan cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I'm not a fucking amnesiac, Parrish. Why the fuck would you call off work for my sorry ass?"

Adam gave him a look, then, and it was a look that had the rest of Ronan's confused protest dying before it even reached the tip of his tongue. When Adam spoke, his voice was softer and his hands - his hands - had abandoned the phone and had returned to take both of Ronan's.

"C'mon, Ro," he said in that quiet, steady voice, "you know I'll do anything for you. Don't you?"

Ronan's throat constricted and his hands curled into fists, except Adam's hands were already tangled in them so he only ended up gripping those hands tighter. It took a moment for him to process that, his brain addled by fever and distracted by confusion.

When the words and the tone and the look in those blue of blue of blue eyes finally clicked, Ronan swallowed hard. Then he opened his mouth, maybe to say 'no I don't' or 'do you mean that the same way I do?' or 'if you fucking no-homo me on this shit Parrish I will kick your ass'. Instead, he rasped out a dazed, "What the fuck time is it?"

Adam blinked, then gave a tired grin and shook his head. "A little after five."

"...AM? Five in the fucking morning? Jesus Christ."

"Don't blame me on this one, Lynch. You're the one who threw yourself out of bed before I even had a chance to shower."

Ronan snorted, then looked up at the other man through bleary eyes, considering his options here. After a long moment of deliberation (that honestly might not have been that long, considering how wobbly his interpretation of time was this morning), Ronan laboriously shifted his body over on the bed so that he was tucked more against the wall. He then patted the newly empty space beside him. "C'mon."

Adam looked at him, then the bed, then at him. "What?"

"Should I call the doctor?" Ronan mocked, then rolled his eyes. "Come on. You don't have to work, and you're up to early. This way you can make sure I don't die in my sleep."

"Not funny, Lynch," Adam warned - but he also set his phone on the bedside table and crawled onto the bed, letting Ronan hold the covers up for him so he could sink into the warmth. Their apartment was too drafty for Adam's bird blood to put up with that sleeping on top of the covers shit. Besides, they'd had how many sleepovers growing up? Sharing a bed was nothing new to them.

The flutter in Ronan's chest when Adam met his eyes, that wasn't all that new either.

"Go back to sleep, Ro. I'm right here."

Ronan sighed, but being given that permission to say 'fuck it' to the rest of the day and just sleep off the haze of sickness clinging to the backs of his eyelids and slinking down his spine was enough to sap the rest of his energy. He closed his eyes, sleep already tugging at him. Later, he wouldn't remember whether or not the soft press of chapped lips to his forehead was real or a dream.

Fun little prompt thingies

#asks #of stars and moon #ficlet prompts #trc fanfic #pynch #ronan lynch #adam parrish #sick fic #childhood friends #roommates fic #also they share a bed #and there's a forehead kiss #pining #lots of pining

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kookicrumbs · 3 years

Text

╰ pink love

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader genre: fluff word count: 2985 warnings; like one super minor curse word (hell)! just some cutesy stuff for ya today! summary: jungwon and y/n go on a build-a-bear date! a/n: i really wanted to do something sweet beacuse i love fluff a whole lot, so please enjoy c:

“Are we there yet?” I pout, tugging on Jungwon’s sweater. I attempt to sway him with my best puppy eyes, but he continues walking, pulling me along with him.

“This honestly reminds me of a movie,” He laughs out, “Since when did asking a million times get us there faster?”

I’m not actually that annoyed, but it’s fun to tease him. “What if this is all a movie? Ya think we can break the fourth wall?”

“I don’t know, I’d consider us powerful enough to. If this is a movie, I’m obviously the main character. Since you’re my girlfriend, you can be my sidekick!”

“Ohh, ha, ha, ha. If I’m the sidekick, pigs can fly.”

He puts on a shocked expression, pointing up into the air. “Did I just hear an oink all the way up there?”

“Shut up!” We giggle, shoving each other with our shoulders. Our footsteps match each other as we pad through the open-air mall. Warm sunlight drifts down, encasing us in a soft bubble of relaxation.

“Hey look, I think that’s it!” Jungwon tightens his grip on my hand and we take off towards the familiar shop. As we run, the eyes of other passerbys follow us, but I don’t take the time to feel embarrassed; life’s too short for that.

My legs are shorter than his, so I nearly trip several times. The universe is totally watching out for me today though, because we manage to arrive at the store’s entrance without suffering from a single scratch or bruise.

The Build-A-Bear logo passes overhead as we make our way inside. We are still glued together, buzzing from the excitement of our date. We’re going to make bears for each other! With any other guy I might have found it cheesy, but when Jungwon suggested we do it, my heart fluttered in a strange way.

“Hello! Welcome to Build-A-Bear Workshop! My name is Kiana,” A sunny looking lady welcomes us with a large smile on her face. The cute bobble headband perched on her hair seems to wave at us as well. “Will you two be needing any help today?”

Jungwon throws one arm over my shoulder and presses me tight to his side. His dimples peek out playfully as he responds. “I think we’re okay right now, we’re gonna make some bears for each other. This is my girlfriend!” He looks so proud as our eyes meet, and my stomach twists. Even though we’ve been dating for one and a half years now, whenever he looks at me like that, it feels like the day I first met him.

We’d been at the movie theatre, not together, but coincidentally there on the same day. Jungwon was sitting in the seat in front of me with a couple of his friends, while I was there with my own. His buddies were being idiots and throwing popcorn and other snacks at each other, when a whole bucket came flying at me. Being my easily scared self, I screamed and jumped backwards, simultaneously kicking my legs out and up. It took a few seconds to realize that my feet hadn’t collided with Jungwon’s seat, but instead his head.

I’d been absolutely mortified, and my friends’ muffled laughter didn’t help with that. I’d expected a huge tantrum from him, considering his friends seemed the type to start a huge fight over it, but his reaction was the complete opposite. In fact, he was apologetic and blamed it all on the buffoon who launched the snack at me.

I immediately caught feelings when he laughed and complimented my kick; apparently he knew taekwondo, and he thought I’d be good at it. He got that from a poorly done, unaimed kick to his own skull. To this day, I think I knocked something out of place there, but what can ya do.

Regardless, we ended up exchanging numbers, which is something that confused the hell out my friends and I. A month later, we started going out. I’ve dated some questionable people, so getting the chance to be with someone like Jungwon is a dream come true for me. Another plus, I finally get to check “Build A Bear date” off of my date idea list!

“You guys look adorable together!” Kiana gushed. My cheeks heat up, but not in an awkward way. “We have all our plushes over there. You can take a look and pick one, and then we’ll get that all filled up for you.”

“Thank you!” Jungwon and I say at the same time before strutting towards the plushies.

“We should split up so our bears, or whatever we pick for each other, stays a surprise! Okay?” I’m already looking at each option, and I begin to wonder how I’m ever going to pick just one.

“Since it looks like the queen has already laid claim to this particular piece of territory, I’ll go browse the accessories so I can get your plush decked out in a gorgeous outfit.” He winks and makes his way to the rows of plushie-sized clothing.

The variety of options is amazing. There’s the classic bears, but there’s also other cute things, like lobsters, giraffes, and seals. I’m a sucker for the classics, so I want to pick out a bear for Jungwon.

Two specific bears are in a fight for my love. One is a simple vanilla color with rainbow sprinkle accents, and the other is a pink bear with heart shaped ruffles. Oh god, do I just… buy both? No, that’s be stupid. Eeny meeny miney moe, a classic just like the bear.

I’m not disappointed when my finger lands on the pink bear, meaning I made the right choice and won’t have to switch to the vanilla bear out of a previously hidden lust for it. Awesome.

I peek my head around the aisle and still see Jungwon sorting through racks of outfits. In the time I’d spent picking a plush for him, he grabbed a basket and began filling it with stuff I couldn’t make out. Comfortable with the fact that he isn’t looking, I sneak over to the filling station, the pink bear clutched tightly in my hands.

“Hi! I’d love to get this guy filled, please!” The man working at this station has a name tag that reads, “Jordan”, and he looks equally nice as Kiana.

“Good choice,” He leads me to a filling spot. “Are they for you or for someone else?”

My chuckle causes the worker to smile. I reply while he gathers a few items. “My boyfriend and I came here for a cute date, so it’s for him! This one is super cute so I had to get it for him.”

“Aww, I’ll have to write that down. I'm sure my partner would find it a great idea too!” Jordan sweeps his arm across in a grand gesture, showcasing the variety of hearts and other button-looking objects that sit before him.

“Would you be interested in adding a sound to your bear? You can pick from any of these or you can record your own.”

I pick quickly, sure of what I want to do. “Mm, I’d like to do a recording, if possible. Make it extra special, right?”

“Of course, let me grab that for you and you can record your message!” He gets the heart and let’s me know what to do. Once again making sure Jungwon is not nearby, I record my message and hand it back to Jordan. He puts it in the bear, a small smile playing on his lips. Did he hear me?

“Alright, perfect. Any scents or are you ready to stuff?”

I choose a sweet raspberry scent and get the bear stuffed. It’s fun to push the pedal and see the stuffed animal become plumper, until I finally fill them all the way up. Hugging it feels like hugging a cloud.

I thank Jordan and hide the bear behind my back as I go to the dressing area. Jungwon seems to have moved on, as I spot him at the plushie picking station. I wonder what he’ll get me. Knowing him, it’s going to be adorable.

His eyes meet mine and I suppress a squeal, making sure the bear is out of sight. My strange salute makes him smile and he turns back to picking a plush for me, but not before making sure I won’t look while he gets one.

“So, what would you wear…” I whisper to the pink bear. He seems fashionable and needs something that fits his personality.

Each outfit makes me want to curl up and scream. They’re all so cute and tiny, and I can’t help but want to grab a whole bunch. I create outfits in my head, imagining each on the plushie. Letting the bear try them on seems like a step too far. Instead, I pick up a white button down shirt, pressed pants, little shoes, and a pair of heart shaped sunglasses from my pile and get to dressing.

Putting everything on the pink bear proves to be a struggle. “Come on… tuck in your tummy!” The bear’s legs don’t want to squeeze into the pants I picked. Looks like Build-A-Bear needs more size options. After a somewhat graphic commotion involving lots of pulling, pushing, and whispered yelling, he is finally clothed.

“Jungwon better like what I picked because I don’t think that’s ever coming off.” I brush off my shirt and hope that no one was watching my heated argument with an inanimate object.

I swiftly finish up the washing part of the process, which consisted of pressured air being blown at my plush. I enjoyed seeing the bear’s fur waving around luxuriously. It really fit his vibe. I end up having to consult an employee about what to do next since my amnesiac brain likes to forget simple things: it’s naming time.

After I scan the pink bear’s tag, a naming screen is brought up. I’m given suggestions like Mr. Cuddles, Tiny, and Snuggles, but I choose to make his own name. What do I name you?

Maybe Love? Too plain. Bear? Way too basic. Pink? Pinky? I clearly don’t get around to naming things very often. If it hadn’t been for my siblings, I would have named our dog Cat.

I rack my brain for anything. At this point, the next thing that pops into my head is gonna be his name. No turning back. And my brain provides. Sir Loves-a-lot is inexplicably forged in the depths of my mind, and it shall be the name of this honorable bear.

I imagine a knighting ceremony for Sir Loves-a-lot and enter his name into the computer. It goes through and I get a printed certificate with his name on it. I’m extremely excited to give him to Jungwon and see his reaction.

Jungwon seems to be finishing up at the washing station, so I pay and wait near the entrance of Build-A-Bear. I swing around my finished bear, which is tucked neatly into a bag so Jungwon can’t see it yet. Our date is soon to reach its peak: when we get to see our finished products.

“Hey! Look what I have!” Jungwon skips over to me in a playful manner. His joy envelops me as he gets nearer. His eyes are alight with what looks to be the same thing I’m currently feeling. Is it love?

I show off my bag, my competitive side instantly coming out. “I’ve got yours right here too! If you want to see it… you’ll have to catch me!”

Adrenaline shoots through me as I take off running, Jungwon quickly shifting into a quick runner. My laughs impair my speed as I hiccup and yell, Jungwon’s voice matching my own. We both giggle like idiots while our shoes run thin on the hard ground and our bags crinkle with the whip of the wind.

“Got you!” Jungwon takes care not to throw me onto the ground, instead grabbing my shirt and pulling me to his chest. He lets out an umph as I knock into him full force, still reeling from the sudden shift in direction.

“Jungwon!” A shriek of laughter explodes out of me as we tumble to the concrete with a soft thump. No one is around as we breath off our fit of giggles, still in a heap.

“Looks like my bear made it.” He lifts up his unscatched bag. “Can I say the same of yours?”

A strike of fear hits me, but quickly dissolves when I see my bag looks fine. “I am pleased to report that Combat Bear Number 2 has survived.”

“Combat Bear Number 2? Don’t tell me that’s his name. What a mouthful!” He puts a hand to his chest and sighs dramatically.

“Don’t be stupid, I named him Sir— wait! Don’t try and cheat!” I softly whack him on the shoulder, earning a look of faux-sadness.

“Ouch. But you named him Sir… something. What a noble name! Of course, nothing but the best can come from you.” He holds out the Build-A-Bear bag. “But I’m actually dying to exchange these, so swap?”

“If that isn’t the most relatable thing ever.” I hand him my bag and he gives me his. “You can open mine first!”

“Ooh, don’t mind if I do.” He eagerly opens the bag and pulls out the tissue-paper wrapped bear. The material easily comes off and he holds it up. His eyes seem to glow with delight.

“Oh my gosh.” Jungwon swipes at Sir Loves-a-lot’s fur, fascinated by the heart-shaped ruffles. “He’s so cute! His clothes are... so tight,” His face betrays his confusion, and I snicker as he speaks, “but he looks hella fashionable! I really hope mine will live up to these standards.” He seems to get nervous so I hold his hands to try and calm him down.

“What do you think I named him?”

His mouth shapes into an “O” and he pulls out the certificate. His previously timid face transforms immediately as he reads it.

“Sir Loves-a-lot? Why?! So cheesy but so good!” He crumples onto himself, his head coming to a rest between his knees. I’m overjoyed by his reaction and I press forward to hug his side.

“I love him so much. I’ll cherish him forever.” He looks at me pointedly, almost like he’s trying to tell me something. He switches course though, gesturing to the bag that lies at my feet. “Now open yours!”

I cross my legs to get more comfortable, and I open the bag, wondering what he made for me. My heart dances when I see what he chose. It’s a blue bear with stars in her fur and white wings protruding from her back. I didn’t even see it when I was picking my bear for him.

“Woah…” I hold her up, noticing a soft scent coming from her fur. When I lift the bear up to my nose, I can detect citrus. “Jungwon, you made her smell like lemons! I love lemon… and—and look how pretty! All the stars, and the color… she’s perfect.”

I look at the certificate, all bright and new, and see her name: Mrs. Lovey. Mrs., not Ms.

Jungwon looks at me innocently. “What do you think, am I making my point clear? The future is never far away and I—”

I can’t help but turn away as I feel a prickle in my eyes. Never will I ever cry on a date.

“Awww! Don’t cry, you’ll make me cry!” Jungwon leaps towards me, catching me off-guard. I end up falling backwards with a yelp, but he throws his hand under my head and catches me before I can slam into the concrete.

We stare at each other for what seems like hours but is in actuality only seconds. The silence is loud, but Jungwon slices right through it when he whispers to me, “Is this a kdrama?”

“And… off!” I sit up, hugging my bear closer to me. I’m overwhelmed by Jungwon’s confession. He wants us to really stay together. As in, I’d be his “one”.

“Is—is that what you want too? It’s okay if not, I’ll understand if you wouldn’t be ready, even in the months it would take to get there, unless sooner is better, and I—” He rambles, more emotional than I am, before I put a finger to his lips.

“Yeah, it’s what I want too. I think we should go with your plan, um, wait a little longer since we’re so young and I don’t want to scare my parents.” That earns a laugh out of us both. “But the answer to “would I want it?” is definitely yes!”

Jungwon hugs me tightly, squealing in my ear. I squeal right back, suddenly lighter than ever.

“Dude, I want to say something. Yep, here I go. I— I love you!” Jungwon yells out to me, loud enough to wake up everyone half-way across the world. My heart expands when he says it. I want to scream it back and kiss him under the blue sky, but he continues speaking.

“Okay, look, even though I would have totally respected you for saying you wouldn’t want what I want, I’m feeling so relieved right now. Like whooh! I could jump off a plane! Ride the biggest wave! Sir Loves-a-lot here would come with me, wouldn’t you?” He high fives his bear.

I’m confused when his eyebrow raises. “Did you put a sound in him? Why didn’t you tell me?” Truthfully, I’d forgotten too. However, I smirk as I remember what I recorded.

“Press it.” I urge him to push on the bear’s paw, and he does, putting it near his ear so he can hear it better. The clear sound of my voice comes through, bringing waves of pink, soft love to both Jungwon and I.

“I really, really love you.”

#jungwon #yang jungwon #enhypen #enhypen fic #jungwon fluff #jungwon fic #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #jungwon scenarios #fluff fic #kpop fic #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #enhypen writers

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kashimos-hajime · 4 years

Text

slipping away | b.b.

summary: and now, he’s not your bucky anymore.

WARNINGS: ANGST, hospital talk, swearing, vomitting, pairing: amnesiac modern!bucky x gender neutral!reader word count: 5.3k

a/n: a small study on a long-term relationship and the strains and disagreements that come into it. it’s been a hot sec since i’ve posted any marvel stuff. still tryna get back into writing for bucky, but this is written for @mushyjellybeans. prompt is bolded :)

“I don’t think this is something we should be arguing about,” you mutter, throwing your phone down into the car’s cupholder as Bucky’s grip on the wheel only intensifies. You slide hands over your thighs, stretching your legs against the red carpet of his newly refurbished Mustang. If there’s one thing you haven’t argued about yet, it’s the renovated ‘87 Mustang Bucky’s done over with his father, not completely done yet, but still, it looks hell of a lot better than it did before. “It shouldn’t have been made an issue tonight, of all nights.”

“You wanted to make it an issue.”

“Because all you ever want to do is fight!”

“I don’t want to fight!” he exclaims, his voice still barely containing itself and you cross your arms, slinking into your seat as you toss him a glare. “I just asked if you could see yourself even considering marrying me, and you said no.”

“Because you said I could take my time with this decision,” you snap, eyes darting from his face to the tense paleness in his knuckles. The car is thrumming beneath your thighs, purring down the highway and you shift your gaze to the window. He always drives fast when he gets pissed. “Put your fucking seatbelt on. You always get so reckless when things don’t go your way.”

The barb is meant to dig in deep, and it does because he doesn’t put the seatbelt on to spite you.

“Bucky, seriously. Put the fucking seatbelt on,” you growl, head snapping to him again. He ignores you, and you sigh incredulously, planting your chin in your palm and glowering out into the night. “Fucker.”

He’s shutting you out. He’s shutting you out, and not listening, and you’re about to throw yourself out of this car if you don’t roll down the window.

So you do and as they travel over a speedbump coming off the highway. It’s green lights ahead, and you hope the twenty minute drive to his parents’ house is enough to let things cool off a titch, but you know it’ll only crop up because his mom will ask when Bucky’ll propose and—

Fuck. They’ll have to talk about it at home later tonight.

Bucky switches on a playlist on his phone to fill the uncomfortable silence and you think this is the kind of choice you don’t make when you’re eighteen. You never thought you might break up with Bucky because of the thought of marriage. When you were eighteen, you thought it would be something like cheating, or university, or some other factor that would force you apart.

But no, it’s marriage. A union.

Ironic, that is.

You bypass the first green light easily and in the distance, you can see the next. Leaning your head against the side of the car, you rest your arm along the window sill and just let the wind whip at your face, numb it until when you breathe, your lungs seem to freeze. The wind softens when they approach the intersection and Bucky slows down just enough to scan the road before heading forward to the next one. There are side streets feeding into the main road but there aren’t many cars. Not a lot of people drive in the suburbs on a Sunday night, and it’s been an easy drive otherwise. As they head for the last intersection between them and Bucky’s parent’s house, you spot the green light and feel Bucky speed up.

He’s eager to get out of this suffocating car, too. An uneasiness curls up in the pit of your stomach as you hear another car’s engine growling into the quiet night. Straightening up, you look around and spot no car in their direction coming close to the speed Bucky’s going. He’s pushing the speed limit, his hand fidgeting with the seatbelt as it tries to slot into the buckle and you reach forward with your closest hand and help it slot into place.

You don’t miss the way his lip twitches in thanks and you merely turn your head back to the road, watching with an empty mind, letting his music wash through you as the growling of that speeding engine somewhere down the street grows louder. You’re about to ask Bucky if he hears that when a car speeds through a red light from a side road.

“Bucky, stop!” The words are torn out of your throat as you throw your hands out in front of you.

His foot slamming the brakes, the harsh whine of the tires burning against asphalt rings in your ears before a sickening crunch sends you forward. Glass cracks, something thuds, and the last thing you know is blood slowly dripping your face, something smoking in the distance and the screams of someone before everything goes black.

The lights are bright and blurry as you let out a muffled groan.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got you.”

Your face is splitting pain and you groan, trying to turn your head but you’re frozen in place. Something’s wrapped tight around your neck, keeping you in place as someone shines a light into your eyes. Lungs seizing, you let out a choked cough, back arching off the bed as you try to raise your arm to the plastic mask digging into your cheeks. Something is prodding your stomach, something runs along your legs—there’s too much all at once and you try to shift away from whatever keeps touching you, but hands take you, keep you still.

“Try to stay still. I know it hurts, but you’re safe now.”

“Bucky.” His name slips past your lips, throat burning, but there’s no response. There are voices buzzing at the edge of your hearing and you blink, trying to clear your vision. Your head is spinning and you try to raise your hand weakly. Fingers take you by the wrist, gently ushering your arm back down to the bed. “Bucky.” Eyes slipping shut, your mind plays the crash over and over again. You’re nothing but a bystander.

Where are you, Bucky?

“We’re losing ‘em. Give me the paddles.”

Are you still here?

“Clear!”

Please. Stay for me.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“How’re you feeling, Y/N? C’mon, stay with us.”

Who? Steve, is that you?

“Bucky had to have brain surgery, Y/N. They said… they said it went well but they won’t know how well it really went until he wakes up.”

He’s alive? Oh, thank God. Thank you, thank you, thank you—

“But he’s getting stronger. He hasn’t woken up yet, but they think he’s getting stronger. Nat and Sam are sitting with him, now. We’re taking shifts to make sure the two of you aren’t alone.”

That’s nice of you, Steve. Thanks for being here.

“Oh, God, hey.”

Yeah?

“Hey, can you hear me?”

Loud and clear, Captain.

“Hey, nurse! I think they’re waking up!”

Eyes opening, you squint at the warm lamplight in the darkness of the room. Your throat is burning and your stomach is twisted, nausea swimming behind your eyeballs as your eyes flutter shut again. There’s something digging into your skull, your abdomen sore, and your whole body is wracked with an exhaustion that barely allows you to move. It’s a slow, dull ache all over you, pressing you deeper into the bed.

“How’re you feeling, Y/N?” one of the nurses asks quietly and you groan, voice cracking.

“I’m thirsty.” As they slowly raise you into a half-sitting position, your eyes barely open and you spot a shape in the corner. “Steve?” The shape moves closer and you spot golden hair gleaming in the lamplight and you laugh despite how much it aches in your chest. “Thought it was you.”

“Hey. How’re you feeling, huh?” Something nudges at your lips and you part your lips just enough for a straw to slip in. Sucking down water like you need air, you let out a silent groan. The water pushes down like a thick block of ice down a swollen throat as you manage to keep it down. “Feeling like turning away from the light?”

“Feel like I got run over by a truck,” you mutter, head sinking into the pillow and Steve’s relieved laugh soothes the ache between your temples. “Where is he?” Blinking, you see Steve’s face clear before you and his lips press together. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face looks a bit too splotchy, but you don’t point it out because it’s Steve and you love him. Your best friend’s trying to be strong as he tries to find a gentle way to put it.

“He’s asleep right now.” Asleep, you repeat dully in your head as Steve sits down by your bedside. “When you’re stronger, we’ll go see him, alright?”

“Okay.”

Bucky looks like he’s dead.

It’s the one thing you can’t help as you push yourself to his glass door. He’s inside, awake and talking to your friends inside and there’s a thickness to the air as he sits up straighter. Your whole body is still aching with a pounding in your stomach as you pause at the edge of the glass, frowning when Steve says something that makes Bucky shake his head.

It’s been only a day since the crash and you’ve just gotten strong enough to get up into a wheelchair, and although you’d insisted on wheeling yourself to his room, your nurse still stands a few feet away as you watch Natasha reach out a hand towards Bucky but he slaps it away, running his hands ragged over the bandages wrapped around his skull. Like he wants to pick himself apart because he’s missing something and you know.

Somehow you just know because there’s an emptiness in his gaze that spears right through you.

Tears already begin to bite at your eyes, and you open your mouth but not a sound comes out. He’s paler than a ghost and his expression is one of blank agony. He’s scrambling for something to hold onto and you think you can hear Steve beg, a quiet, trembling thing that frightens you because Steve doesn’t beg.

“So you remember nothing?”

“Nothing.”

The silence that follows hollows you. You turn to the nurse, you think her name is Linda, and silently ask her to take you away.

It takes a long time for someone to come find you. Blinds pulled closed, door shut, your room is drenched in darkness beside the lamp on your nightstand. You feel numb everywhere, but your heart is in pieces in your hands as you shove food down your ungrateful throat. Every bite feels like another bone broken and you stare blankly at the wall ahead of you.

“Bucky, stop!”

If you’d just been quicker—

“Y/N? Can I come in?” Blinking, you swallow the thick pudding, feel it stick to your throat as you let out a hoarse ‘yes’. Sam enters the room, eyes scanning the area and soaking in the bleak aura that is your recovery room. You set down the pudding on the tray beside your untouched lunch and blink again, turning your gaze away dismissively.

“What?”

“Bucky’s awake,” Sam says, closing the door behind him. You can see two other shapes outside your room as you cross your arms over your chest and lean back into your bed that’s frozen in it’s sitting position. You don’t want to look at him—have to look at him and watch his mouth form the words that’ll destroy you. “Doctors give him a clean bill of health. He’s going to have to come in for PT and checkups, but otherwise, he’s good beside a few deficits.”

“Yeah?” You feel sick, feverish. You feel like your stitches are splitting open with every second Sam doesn’t tell you the truth you know is bottled up inside him. “Anything else?”

“He doesn’t remember who you are.” But he knows you, you assume bitterly in your head and you finally look at Sam. He’s staring at you with something you might think it's pitiful and it disgusts you because you don’t want to be pitied. You don’t want anything except Bucky and you can’t have him. “He doesn’t remember anything after graduating high school, so… that’s seven years he doesn’t remember.”

Seven years.

Seven years of his life gone like smoke.

“Anything else?” you grit out between clenched teeth. Sam’s eyebrows rise but you merely set your jaw and meet that incredulous gaze of his.

“They don’t know whether or not it’s going to go away, they don’t know why it’s that time span, but it just is. They say maybe the amnesia will go away but it's a chance, and he has to regain his strength. So he’s going to have to go through a lot of therapy. It’ll help if he has a support system, you know?”

“Okay.”

You don’t mean to sound cold, but you do, because if you’re anything but, you will shatter. You know Sam wants you to jump at the chance, jump out of your bed and run up to see Bucky. You think Sam might hope that the instant he sees you, all of it will come back like something out a fucking fairytale but this isn’t a fairytale.

You’re not enough to bring him back. You’re not a miracle worker.

Tears are clotting in your throat and it’s becoming hard to breathe when you add, “Is there anything else, Sam?” He’s clearly taken aback but you can’t bring yourself to care about Sam in this moment as you grab your banana pudding again and swirl your spoon within just to make yourself look busy. You look from the yellow goop to him, a smile pulling strangely into your cheeks.

His eyes flitter from your untouched meal to your face, and he shakes his head.

“Let us know if you wanna see him, I guess,” he murmurs and you keep that tight smile on your face until he leaves. When the door clicks shut, you toss the pudding back onto your tray, grab the plastic receptacle the nurse left on your nightstand, and throw up everything.

Water, pudding, breakfast, it burns its way up your throat as you try to keep yourself quiet. You can hear your friends talking outside. Struggling to keep yourself quiet, you choke, spitting saliva out of your mouth as you grab the water from your food tray, swishing it in your mouth and falling back into the bed.

Your whole body clenches as you spit out the water and rinse your mouth again. Every movement is an aching thing as you set the receptacle down on your nightstand and close your eyes.

Your wait until you’re sure your friends are gone before you break.

You fall apart slowly, like pieces of you peeling away until you’re nothing more than your broken heart. The sobs that wrack your body are relentless and you shove your forearm into your mouth to muffle your cries. You want to bite into your skin. You want to distract yourself from the agony tearing you to shreds. You want to feel anything but the pain.

Tears sweep into your hair, cloud your vision and your whole face floods with heat as you try to breathe through the pain. You’re cleaved into pieces on that bed, eyes squeezed shut as the tears keep flowing, and your throat burns.

Shoulders shaking, you suck in gasping breaths as your hand crawls over your face, smearing tears across your cheeks, fingers digging into your skin. You’re suffocating and behind closed eyes all you can see is your Bucky, launched through the windshield. Your Bucky, bleeding as you reach for him but you can’t. Your Bucky, left behind on the scene because they extracted you first and you’re screaming, screaming for him to be alive, and then it’s your Bucky, smiling and laughing and whispering confessions, and he’s crying and then he’s sick with the flu and he’s finished his bachelor’s, and he has flour on his cheek, and—

And then it’s your Bucky, shouting, begging, your Bucky with his back turned, your Bucky frowning and there are new lines in his face, and new questions that never would’ve cropped up, and it’s your fault, your fault, your fault; damaged, damaged, damaged.

Your Bucky slipping away between your fingers.

And now, he’s not your Bucky anymore.

Your fault, your fault, your fault, a voice you can’t shut up in your head chants quietly.

You’re inclined to agree.

You sit in the cafeteria, watching as lunch hour draws to its close. You’re nothing but cracked glass slapped together with duct tape and it’s beginning to peel.

It’s only been a day since your world has fallen apart around you and you haven’t spoken to anyone. There’s nothing to say.

Natasha pokes half-heartedly at what’s left of her salad beside you as you stare blankly at the napkin holder. Your own lunch tray is empty because you’ve forced it down your own throat, but every bite had been bland—nothing but a soft mush in your mouth.

“Y/N,” your best friend begins, and your eyes drag dismissively towards her. Her blue eyes are soft, eyebrows drawn together as she sighs. “Don’t you think you should at least see him?”

“Why? He doesn’t even know who I am,” you mutter, dragging your arms towards yourself and crossing your arms over your chest. A heaviness pulls at your shoulders. “Maybe it’s better that way.”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Natasha scolds. “Don’t ever say that.”

“Why? It’s not a secret we were basically on the brink of breaking up and it’s not like you’ve told him who I was. Told him that I even existed,” you spit coldly, sinking in your chair, Your gaze drifts off to the little fake plant decorating the cafeteria table and you think, How lucky you are to be forever. “You know, at least this way, he doesn’t get hurt.”

“Except he is hurting,” she says. “His life has been wiped clean and he has no idea what to do next.”

“Get better. Move on.” The words crawl out of your mouth, torturous, and Natasha shakes her head, frustrated, but you don’t care. You’re sick of feeling like this, but you can’t help it. You can’t help feeling half-dead and exhausted and the need to look over your shoulder constantly has become second nature because you don’t want to see the man you love as nothing more than a ghost. “What do you want me to say, Nat? He wasted seven years on me and I couldn’t even say yes to marrying him. I couldn’t give him the one thing he really wanted and he gave me everything.”

“That’s not what matters. What matters is that he loves you and just because he doesn’t remember, it doesn’t mean it’s not real. He knows you’re out there. He knows he loved someone because Bucky has so much love to give, you know that.”

“He was going to leave, Nat,” you tell her quietly. The words drag against your throat like a cigarette against skin and it burns so much you have to close your eyes against the pain. “I know it. He was done.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“He was.” You never needed eyes to see it. You know him in a way no one else does. You know that every time he looked at you, he wanted the future, and it was something he couldn’t pry out of you. “He had one foot out the door last night, so it’s a fucking blessing he doesn’t remember.”

“But you miss him.”

The words ring you hollow.

“Of course I fucking miss him. What kind of question is that?” you ask with half a forced laugh and your chest aches so much you think it might burst. “What kind of question is that?” you repeat, softer, and the laughter is gone because you want to melt away. You’ve missed Bucky for ages.

“Then, maybe you should fight for him. Maybe, you should see this as your second chance,” Nat whispers just as the door opens to the cafeteria and your head jerks up to see Steve push someone in on a wheelchair and she stands immediately. Your eyes find his pale figure before you can help yourself and you chew on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself present.

He’s better, although a bit unsteady, and he’s regained some colour but he’s still pale. He looks sick to his stomach with every second he stays awake. Natasha heads over to take the tray from Steve’s hands and retreats back to your table, setting it down in the space on the other side of you. Once Bucky slides into the empty spot beside you, you barely manage a slight smile before picking up your fork and pretending to be interested in your own lunch.

“This is Y/N,” Natasha says and your lungs spasm when you meet his blue gaze. They’re bright, warm but tired, and you swallow, trying to formulate an appropriate response. How long has it been since Bucky—your Bucky—looked at you like that? “We, uh, we were just chatting while I was waiting for you guys.”

“Hey.”

“I’m James,” he says, textbook because that’s how he meets every new face, and if you think you remember eighteen-year-old James Buchanan Barnes, his next words will be: “But everyone calls me Bucky.”

Like you said, textbook.

You drop your fork and shake his outstretched hand, ignoring how warm he is, and it’s like history is repeating itself.

“Nice to meet you.” You want to smile and the corner of your mouth lifts as Natasha grabs her lunch tray and gets up.

“Sam’s probably waiting for us to get him some coffee. He has a shift starting soon,” she says with a pointed look at you. Steve shoves his hands into his pockets and smiles at Bucky when he sends him an unsure look.

“We’ll be back in a jiff, Buck,” Steve says. “Y/N’ll take fine care of you.”

“Uh, okay.” Bucky’s eyebrows quirk and as your two friends leave, you can’t help the anger licking at your insides. You hate the feeling of his gaze on you so you resort to staring after your traitorous companions. “Sorry about that. I can go, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” you dismiss it quietly, resigning yourself to your fate. It’s not like Bucky can go without someone else’s help and his nurse is chatting to yours in the corner of the cafeteria. You don’t want to bother her. You’ll yell at your friends later. Right now, you just want to sleep it off. “Natasha’s nice.”

“Yeah, she’s like that once you get to know her,” Bucky returns, digging into his mashed potatoes. You pretend you don’t notice how he lowers his head as much as he can so not too much food is lost on its quivering journey to his mouth. His hand is so visibly unsteady, it aches to watch but you know he won’t want your help. “What are you here for? You look a bit banged up.” His eyes dart to the bruises along your arms and your smile grows at the concern laced behind a curious question.

“Got into a crash.” you say with half a shrug. You’ve grown used to the bruises by now. “Wasn’t too serious for me. Just a bit of a scratch on my liver.”

“Oh, me, too. I had a partial splenectomy” he says. “My brain got the worst of it, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, can’t remember a single thing after eighteen. So, that’s seven years ago?” he says it like he’s desperately trying to remember and your smile flickers. His face is wrought with distress now that their friends are gone, and his lips are pressed into a tight smile. “Glad I still kept with the same people, though.”

“Yeah.” He brings a scoop of mashed potatoes to his mouth and his smile sinks into your gut when he notices you’re not eating. “Are you hungry?” You blink at him, at his offer. He even looks younger without the burden of your time together.

“No, I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you insist before clearing your throat. Your gaze goes from your lap to Bucky just eating and you try to formulate the words you want to say into a coherent sentence. Do you remember even part of who I am? Can you even see me? “Uhm, do you… do you, like, remember a bit of what you’ve lost?” Your eyes widening, you put a hand over your mouth and duck your head. “Oh, that sounds stupid. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Bucky smiles again, easier, as if he’s happy to talk about it, and it’s so startlingly bright your heart flips in your chest. You duck your head and grab the glass of orange juice just so it doesn’t seem like you’re just watching him eat. It’s sweet in your parched mouth. “I get what you mean. Uh, no. It’s like an empty slate,” he says and you don’t know whether or not feeling so fucking relieved makes you a shitty person or not. “I think I know time has passed, but when I try to think of those years, nothing comes up.”

You’re quiet for a long time, letting it sink in. So, he doesn’t remember the bad at all. The pain, the screaming, the empty beds and silent dinners, and you think you could cry from relief and cry from how you’ll never hear him call you dolly again.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, eyes flickering from his food to you, and your shoulders fall at those eyes. You’d fallen in love with those eyes first. They grounded you when your world was toppling—ever so steady, so collected. Now, they’re weary, lost, and you know it’s your turn.

Reaching forward, you lean on your forearm and place your other hand over his wrist. His hand, on instinct, flips over and your hand falls into his so easily. Your skin is burning at the contact as his fingers wrap over your palm.

“I’m sorry,” you utter quietly, choked out and raw, and his eyebrows knit together as they run over your face. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“Uh, it’s okay,” he says with a lilt of his lips. He’s trying so hard to be happy.

“You don’t have to lie.”

The hand holding the spoon tightens, knuckles blanching and you smile softly. That’s your Bucky, trying so hard to keep it in. You scoot your chair closer, not letting go of his hand and he sucks in a harsh breath. You can hear it tremble in his throat as you sit down close enough that your knees touch and you tilt your head to catch his gaze.

This could be a fresh start, a voice in your head whispers. He doesn’t remember the pain you brought him. You could disappear.

“It’s okay. I’m nobody,” you tell him quietly. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” He blinks, lips trembling and pale with how hard he’s attempting to keep the cries in before he drops the utensil in his shaking hand and he brings his palms to his face, hiding himself away as in shame but you only chew on your bottom lip, wrap your arms around him.

He leans into you as if on instinct and you suck in a shuddering breath at his soft weight against you. You’re holding the love of your life. Almost.

Cradling his head against your chest, you let him sob as his shaking body shrinks in your arms. His hands wrap around your arm, fingers like knives digging into your flesh. They’re talons that sink and drag down, falling limpy into his lap, and you let your eyes close, simply using your free hand to brush through his hair.

“It hurts so much,” he whimpers, his hot breath against your arm as he pushes the words out, gulping breaths filling the silence and you feel tears slip down your cheeks. “I can’t… I can’t remember anything. I can’t do anything. I can’t…”

“I know.” You pull your chin back, admiring the mess in your arms and you smile for a moment as he lifts his head up and his gorgeous eyes are glistening with tears. He lowers his head again, drawing back in your arms to wipe at his face with weak, shaking hands and you take the napkin to help him.

You gently wipe his cheeks down and his cheeks are burning to the touch.

He’s blushing.

“God, here I am,” he begins miserably, “sobbing on someone I just met. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The words come out hushed and you smile, running your fingers over his hair again because you know that’s what he likes, and his smile is barely a ghost, but it’s there and that’s all that matters.

“It’s fine. I’m a great shoulder to cry on,” you joke and his smile grows just slightly. “Well, at least it’s better than my first impression on my… ex,” you say, and your throat cinches shut as he arches an eyebrow. You pull your arms back towards you and pick up your fork hesitantly. He nods, eyes focused on you, and you sink the fork into the mashed potatoes, bringing a bite into your mouth.

“How’d you meet them?”

“Uh… at university. First day, freshman mixer or something. I was a bit drunk.” Fresh-faced, doe-eyed Bucky Barnes in a vest and jeans bumping into you. Still a picture perfect moment in your mind where you met eyes with him and didn’t want to be a goner but you were, no matter how much denial was there. “He bumped into me, spilled his drink all over me, and all I could think was, ‘What a handsome guy.’”

“Was he?” His whole face lights up, like he’s genuinely invested in this, and your smile grows, bittersweet as you nod. His smile grows sly and you want to scream. “Better looking than me?”

“I, uh—” You clear your throat— “No. Not better looking than you.”

“So, what’d you say? Or what’d he say?” Bucky asks, sniffing, and you watch as he grabs his spoon again, other hand reaching for the tissue. He blows his nose and you grab some napkins from the napkin holder for him. He dips his head in thanks as you lean against the table.

“Well, he was stumbling through his apology and I just let him finish.” Your body fills with warmth as you remember his embarrassed smile, the way he shoved his baseball cap farther down his head, chin tucked to his chest, trying to hide that face. “When he was done, I opened my mouth to say something polite but what came out was ‘You look like someone I’d very much like to kiss’.”

“And did you?”

“Did I what?” you ask, smiling.

“Kiss him.”

“Yeah.”

He smiles, then, happy for you for a moment before he remembers ‘ex’ and then there’s a silence in the cafeteria.

“Do you love him still?” Bucky asks quietly. His gaze is cast off, some far off corner that you don’t see, and you realize you’re still close to him. Close enough to smell the sickness clinging to his skin, the sweat. He smells like an antiseptic grave of all the memories lost.

“Yeah. I didn’t believe in love until I met him,” you say softly, watching as Bucky raises a trembling spoon to stab at his potatoes. It’s you. It’s you. It’s you. Your heart is screaming, but your mind is a muzzle. “I wish he was here.”

“I wish he was here, too.” He blinks and it’s like he’s back with you again, gaze on yours. “I wish he was here for you. You deserve a shoulder to cry on, too.”

You barely croak out, ‘Thank you’.

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callmearcturus · 3 years

Text

guys

this game is so fucking dangerous

I downloaded it Monday and despite working a full 8am - 5pm job, i have put 17 hours into it.

I cannot overemphasize how much I should not like this game. I am not a fan of Akira Toriyama's art style, and I have always gotten bored out of my fucking skull at games that want you to manage (but not directly control) a village of NPCs.

But THIS GAME!!!!! THIS ONE? FUCK.

1. This game's look is so beautiful and charming and VIVIDLY colorful that even Toriyama's style cannot put me off of it. I actually think I love the monster designs a lot? And since I can be friends with a lot of the monsters, that's great tbh? It reminds me of when people talk about how they wish Minecraft had better graphics or shaders or something.

2. That sulky motherfucker with the spiky hair and red eyes? Hi, he's my best friend. His name is Malroth, and I think???? He might???? Be an amnesiac avatar of destruction? But I'm not sure yet.

He's my bestie. He is way more powerful in combat than I am, and follows me around when I am wandering the beautiful world. He will hit monsters way harder than me, but also when I start collecting materials, he will help. If I start gathering dry grass or clamshells or fresh wood, he literally starts helping! He will gather stuff with me, then swap to monster-hunting if something gets too close to us.

I cannot overestimate how much this has endeared me to this fucking guy.

Also early on, I made him a new wooden club to hit things with. Then, a few hours later I gave him an upgrade, a stone axe. And he was happy, but also told me "I'm still gonna keep the club. It's the first thing you made me so it has sentimental power," and y'all. I had to have a fucking minute.

(And I went "oh that's the game's way of explaining why NPCs don't give back the equipment you give them, that's a fun way of making it a narrative bit" BUT THEN LATER, OTHER NPCS GIVE ME BACK SHIT WHEN I GIVE THEM UPGRADES

SO NO. MALROTH CHOOSES TO KEEP YOUR GIFTS. BC HE CARES. FUCK.)

Anyway. He's my best friend.

3. The.... world is actually kind of interesting? I think this is a continuation of an older Dragon Quest game in which The Bad Guy Won, so the Church of Destruction took over everything until the entire world basically decided "destruction is good and creation/building is a sin."

But its been going on so long they... don't have anything else to destroy? So there are members of the Church that side with you, A Sinful Builder Who Makes Things, because they are starting to realize that they need more balance, or they won't have anything to destroy anymore and won't that anger their god? 8C

It's really fun.

4. THE FUCKING SYSTEMS ARE IMMACULATE. Again: I don't like games like this. But I love this game.

So I have a village of NPCs who will just mill around aimlessly. The game tasks me with creating buildings for them so they'll be less useless.

If I made a small room with a stool, a bed, and a nameplate, that will be someone's bedroom and they will start sleeping there.

If I make a BIG room and put in 3 washtubs and a big bath and some towel racks, that becomes a Bathhouse, and at the end of each day my villagers will happily go to have a soak.

This is modular too! So I needing a kitchen. A kitchen is a room with 3 cooking bonfires, 3 sacks of grain, and 1 community chest. I made one, and two NPCs starting taking all the wheat and sugar cane and fish and food materials, and they started making food! And the villagers would eat that food every morning before work.

OKAY AND THEN. The kitchen room was a little big. I looked at it, went "hm" and remember I had a 'recipe' for a dining table (large table + dining set + stools).

I made two dining tables and put them in the kitchen on a whim, and it upgraded into an Agricultural Cafe in which people came in for food every day. The cooks would even bring food to the tables for the NPCs who wanted to have a meal.

Like. Oh my god. The way this is about to balloon is truly terrifying.

5. When you place your block, you can keep hitting the "place" button and it will continue to build in that direction in a straight line. This is an incredible Quality of Life feature that Minecraft should straight up fucking steal, it's so good.

Anyway. Holy shit. This game is dangerous.

And its currently on Game Pass, so if you have that you can just try it out i mean if you want to i guess but don't say I didn't warn you.

#arc plays games #save me #long post #aaaaaaah its so good

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sheeepdog · 3 years

Text

Kind of a dissection of the c!dream smp folx and their viewpoints?? Yea

Almost every memeber involved in the primary plot of Dream smp, is in fact, selfish.

Not a single Character can, or refuses, to understand a perspective different from their own.

Most notably, Tommy and Techno refuse to understand each other’s side, which although could be shoved in a closet and shut for a considerable amount of time, eventually breaks out through a catalyst, and tears them apart.

Techno is right! He has been seen solely as a weapon by every member on the L’manberg side dubbed "The Blade" unwillingly and has been taken advantage of for his skill and blood god tendencies. Techno has always been upfront with his intentions, never ignoring them, and has never truly done an act of betrayal. Government can be bad, and in his eyes, chaos is the only answer to this.

Tommy is also right! He is a child abused by years of political warfare, manipulation, and has grown into intense trust issues, needing attention, and extreme loyalty and protection to those he deems worthy of it. Tommy never dreamed of siding with techno when his home was destroyed by him on November 16th. But when Tommy came to his lowest point ever, he crawled his way to the only protection he knew, his brother. Like I said, Tommy and techno could sweep their political views aside for the time being, and I’d like to believe that they really loved each other’s company. Tommy’s helmet, sneaking into L’manberg, being deemed "worthy" of the Axe of Peace, Tommy put the past behind him. I think that when Tommy told techno that he betrayed him again today, it wasn’t necessarily from his home being destroyed in totality. It was that he let himself trust techno again, and his brother hurt him. Just like every other brother he’s had. Just like his father. Tommy is allowed to be upset at everyone for ignoring him in exile, and while I’m sure that some of the peoples intentions when seeing him weren’t pity, they only visited him once and never again. Quackity simply came to make fun of him, not consoling him when he clearly needed friends. He’s right when he says he was abandoned, and if Tubbo missed him so much, he should have gone and seen him.

Tubbo struggles with being president, being completely destroyed by others comparisons to the first President of L’manberg, and his manipulator. He’s been kept under the thumb of Dream since his country has been rebuilt, and has no other option but to comply with exiling his best friend when pushed too far in one direction. Tubbo wanted to see Tommy in exile. He realized it was a mistake. But Tommy never fully disclosed to Tubbo what happened to him in exile. Instead of understanding, Tubbo gets angry when he realizes that Tommy is still alive. Tommy gets upset that Tubbo never visited him. Tommy says some things that root from anger and abandonment, that were meant for someone else who wears a mask and holds tnt in one hand and obsidian in the other. Tubbo was never graced with the knowledge of Tommy’s exile trauma, and therefore can’t know what Tommy’s been though.

Philza refuses to understand Ghostburs pain, simply saying "youll understand one day", instead of consoling his son who has to pay for the destruction of his home and belongings his father caused in favor of his brother, who worked for peace and love and was met with the cold response of his father not even apologizing nor sympathizing his sons pain. He can’t put his own anarchism ideals to the side for a second to allow his son to FEEL.

Niki is left behind. She’s talked over, had everything stolen from her, has her kindness used as a weapon against herself, and has been met with nothing but harshness from the people she gave love to. She has a right to be angry. She has a right to hate Tommy.

Ranboo is seen as a traitor to the country that he never sought alliance to. He’s seen as an indecisive amnesiac who can��t understand the basic concept of a country (when in reality he does, and he still doesn’t care) ((If you ask me, Ranboo is right. You should chose people, not countries. ))

Most of these problems stem from c!Tommy, we can all agree. Tommy is tunnel visioned, and has been purely seeking the discs for quite a long time. The thing is, that if people just TALKED, to one another, maybe L’manberg wouldnt be gone right now.

These people are selfish.

If Tommy realized that techno is tired, and wants to be seen as a friend more than a weapon, that Tubbo deserves to be a kid again, just like himself, that Niki deserves fucking respect, and that ranboo isn’t a traitor for having friends, then maybe L’manberg would still be here.

Techno doesn’t fully understand Tommy’s trauma, and is concerned only with the destruction of government (which frankly shouldn’t have been built right in front of him), to which would never have affected him in retirement. He doesn’t understand Tubbo trying his best to lead the country handed to him at too young of an age, but instead sees him as a ruler of a government, therefore he =bad.

Niki doesn’t know that Tommy went through absolute hell in exile, that he wasn’t going to be there for the festival if things got any worse, and that he is genuinely trying to be better.

These people are selfish. While their causes matter, they will never look at the other side. They will never understand why there’s conflict, why someone is angry with them. And that’s why we will always have interpersonal conflict between almost every character on the smp. They all refuse to cast their own views aside, to understand how others are affected by their actions (aside from Niki, I don’t think she’s ever done anything wrong on the server)

President Wilbur used to have a rule, a law in place for dignity and integrity. To always fight violence with words. You see what happens when you hold a sword, a wither skull, a parcel of tnt, rather than the hand of your opposite.

#dreamwastaken #dreamsmp #dream smp #tommyinnit #tubbo_#ranboo #wilbur soot #not happy with today at all #everyone’s acting was absolutely fantastic #all of the shoots were hilarious too #everyone say thank you to every content creator involved

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mcyt-trios · 8 months

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The winner of this poll will go on to face Schlatt & co. (Jschlatt, ConnorEatsPants, IAmTy)

PROPAGANDA:

Chaos Siblings:

Hi, sschaos here. If i say please will you think kindly of me? I hope so, i love tumblr polls. Me and my two siblings by memes are pretty iconic what with the whole "i dont know whats going on but I guess adopting this eldritch being from the void as my dad" vibe

The Chaos family started as a mini story from ssChaos. A family that spanned across time and space, all connected to a single parent figure who is described as the run off energy created from personifying ideas (like chaos). Every Chaos is a sibling to eachother, which allows for the unique moment of hearing someones last name and just shrugging and accepting a new family member. On Alliance SMP, Saturn is a mad fea scientist who is heavly implied to be at fault for the previous queens death. They care deeply for Ash, who claims to have never met Saturn before. Ash is a necromancer fea who has been living with the humans after an unknown event. The only living human of the Chaos siblings is Serenity Chaos (ssChaos) who runs a museum of oddities and weirdness. Serenity has a bad habit of sticking her nose where it does not belong and having "sticky fingers" (stealing anything that she can pick up). Which has caused her to get repeatably cursed. When Saturn found out about Chaos no longer being able to see glass due to stealing emeralds, Saturn laughed. Serenity is largely unbothered by these things due to them "being funny" Ash Chaos and Saturn once had a picknick together where there was many deaths and mayham. Nothing was destroyed though talks of becoming comic book villains and taking over the world. This has not happened though Saturn and Serenity are on track to accidently destroying the fea monarchy, again.

Fruit Trio:

They are both so silly and so tragic. Trapped in the maze, they bond over having fruit related names and become friends and they're so fun together, until UH OH I mean how many of the trios on here had one member of them kill the other two? That's pretty cool... *Starts crying*

3 amnesiacs in a maze. 2 have horns one doesn't. They build a cheese cake factory together. They make pie together. The joke is, Apo sounds like apple. Owen is orange. and Rasbii is similar to raspberry. so their named after fruits and its all really cute and sweet. UNTIL APO PULLS A LEVER THAT KILLS HALF A CLEARING AND LIES TO BOTH OF THEM! And then when they do find out they exile him and go by fruit duo but it doesn't stick. Apo escapes prison and into the maze. Rasbi becomes paranoid someone in the clearing is out to kill her and isolates herself. Owen is trying to lead everyone and failing every chance he gets. they find a skull with Apo's horns and mourn. a year later Owen returns to the maze after someone told him there is a chance Apo might be alive. He finds Apo! And then gets all his memories back. Including ones about killing Rasbii's sister! He then KILLS APO. BECAUSE APPARENTLY HE THINKS ALL DEMONS ARE EVIL. AND THEN GOES BACK TO THE CLEARING AND KILLS RASBII. But she does get to stab him with a poisoned wooden spike. Owen then gets found for his crimes after killing more demons and is forced to have lava rise from the ground up as hes locked in the same prison Apo was. In his final moments he heard and felt memories of his time spent with his best friends before taking his final breath. None of them escaped the maze. Truly the most tragic of trios. Also outsiders smp is really cool.

#mcyt-trios #mcytblr trio bracket #polls #round 1 #did my best to get the proper skins for these guys despite not knowing these smps #if its wrong sorry!

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beneath-the-mask-imagines · 3 years

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Hi, hey, and welcome to my blog for Persona 5 ♦️

You can call me whatever you'd like.

I will try my hardest to keep this blog spoiler free - however, spoilers will be inevitable at times, but I will always tag them.

Unless stated otherwise, requests are always open for scenarios and headcanons, with match-ups being an occasional, special event.

Please note that I have not played Royal! While I would love to, I currently do not have the means to do so. This [unfortunately] means I will not be able to write for any Royal characters, nor do I know any of the additional content..... yet.

As of starting this blog, I've only played through Persona 5 once - so I've yet to unlock all content. Please forgive me if I miss something, or get something wrong!

Rules -

1. No NSFW - meaning, I will not be writing any detailed NSFW scenarios or headcanons. Expect occasional jokes, hints, and innuendos - but anything NSFW will be left at that.

2. Limit of four characters per ask. I'm very fine with it if you send in a set of four for one ask, then another set for the same request in a separate ask, but please limit the amount to only four per ask.

3. Currently, I only write for the Phantom Thieves - including Morgana (platonically), but excluding Akechi. However, this can change! I'm open to adding Confidants, side characters, etc, to who I write for if they're requested enough. I will not write for Kamoshida, Madarame, Kaneshiro, Okumura, or Shido.

4. I'm willing to write angst, although I occasionally may have to turn down a request, depending. Everything WILL be tagged accordingly, and under a read more.

5. [Added 12/19/20] I only write character x reader! This blog is specifically for character x reader requests, so please, no character x character! Character A helping Character B confess their feelings to reader, multiple characters vying for reader's attention, etc, are perfectly okay - but I do not write character x character. I'm sorry!

Not exactly a rule, but my preferred name for the protagonist is Akira, though Ren is also perfectly fine as well. I'm also making my way through the anime and manga slowly, so requests involving events specifically from those are fine as well!

Reader will be defaulted as the female s/o for requests, so if you want something different, please specify.

I'm always open to receiving DMs and non-request asks! but please do not take it personally if I don't reply right away. This isn't my first rodeo with a writing blog, however, to... put it bluntly, my social skills are very lacking and I tend to feel extremely shy when it comes to more personal levels of interaction, so it may take me a little to work up the courage to reply at times. Please bear with me 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♂️

I may add more rules down the line, or change some up, but for now, that's it - thank you to those who are willing to give my blog a chance.

Now, let us start the game!

Masterlist;

Akira Kurusu [Joker]:

x amnesiac!s/o

Ryuji Sakamoto [Skull]:

x reader who enjoys baking for him

crushing on his childhood best friend

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voidsentprinces · 3 years

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Sorry to bang on about this again, but Stormblood is fucking weird.

We go to Ala Mhigo to liberate it but the Resistance has scarce resources and man power. Despite that we get a victory to push back a Garlean Patrol. And like...immediately despite the Skull reports in the Peaks. Raubahn thinks its best we push for the Bridge despite Rhalgr’s Reach’s flank being clearly open.

After a massacre lead by Zenos puts a pin on the whole Ala Mhigan revolution. Our plan becomes: go to Doma and release it from Garlean rule. Which takes the form of the Pirates of the Ruby Sea pushing the Garleans back into Yanxia. Yanxia is like one village and an underground spy network against a well entrenched Garlean Force. But because this time Zenos is super bored and has part of his helm broken. He just abandons the insurrection and leaves it to Yotsuyu. A woman who he abuses physically and mentally for the fun of it and who has been set on a war path due to the wrongs Doman society has inflicted against her as well as her family and because Zenos wanted to see what she’d do with power. Despite having all the time in the world to nip the Namai insurrection in the bud, she sends her Roe bodyguard who isn’t exactly the Garlean Caesar to push into unfamiliar territory with a sizeable but not overwhelming Garlean Force. To hunt the Warrior of Light and hope that the natives don’t take offense to an army just willy nilly waltzing into its territory.

Speaking of the Azim Steppe, Hien meets us, goes hunting with us, and then decides to use us as a bargaining chip along with his friendship with the Mol. To force himself into a sacred culturally significant battle of the clans to crown head leader of the Steppe. While doing this, Gosetsu of all people becomes super narrow minded. In a world of giant fly metal ships, spirits, mythlogical and demonic beings, and the fucking Warrior of Light. Gosetsu draws the line in his belief at a singular, diminished clan of Au Ra who believe in direct reincarnation. Which he openly besmirches in front of them all and...truth be told I don’t think he ever makes amends or wraps his head around by the time we do leave the Steppe.

The Garlean force is destroyed and pushed back but like I said, while it was a sizeable force it was by no means their entire fucking force. There was nothing stopping them from just sending a bigger force against the Namai village and drawing out the House of the Fierce forces nearby. But no I guess just tying a bunch of explosives to the Doman Castle on the off chance you could kill Hien was just the best possible option. So the battle of Doma Castle goes down and we leave Hien to rebuild a castle and retake any outlying Castrums, by himself.

Get back to Ala Mhigo, who have not really gained any new resources or man power. But at least Thancred is here now and the Scions have pitched in. The Scions being...a very small rag tag group of people. Who were outsmarted like four times by a very arrogant man, his obviously on a pay roll Lalafell commander, and a dude who couldn’t even be trusted to handle Garlean shipments let alone be considered a good candidate for Crystal Braves. But because Zenos has become lethargic and even though he has a Scion hostage. He just sits back as we take a bridge, the entirety of the the Peaks, push the entirety of forces back to the Lochs and practically snuff or capture them there. Handing control over to Fordola. Who he’s seen is socially and mentally abused and made a pariah in the Garlean and Ala Mhigan ranks before...also giving her power to see what the fuck would happen....fucking christ.

We accomplish this all without the help of the Domans who we went to liberate for the purpose of having their man power to help take back Ala Mhigo. In fact, we get 3.9/4 way through the recapture before they show up to help us with. *checks notes* Taking care of a small force of Lupin Beastmen...and some flying Garlean Machinery. With no guarantee that we would even be able to best Zenos. Who diminishes his own power by fusing with a Primal which we are practically masters at fighting at this point. Only for Zenos to cope out at the last moment securing victory for Ala Mhigo. Because we gave Zenos mouth bleed.

After successfully taking out Garlemald in Doma and Ala Mhigo. Alphinaud takes a victory lap by going with Arenvald on a treasure adventure. Which funds the reconstruction of Ala Mhigo. We then decide to take an already Pariah Fordola and put an explosive on her neck if she even thinks of betraying us. Before throwing her at some Primals. Cause she goes a sharingan now, giving her the Echo which is...Hydaelyn Tempering for all intents and purposes. Sending her to fight Gods. During this down time we also secure a Salt trade deal between Ala Mhigo and Ul’dah. Allowing for the transfer of leadership between Raubahn stepping down as the Flame General to leave to his people. A situation which you would of thought the Monetarists would of taken advantage of. But, I guess because we consulted Godbert and Lolorito. I guess they ain’t gonna do nothin.

We do however do something useful in helping teach Meffrid’s friend how to defeat the Loch’s marauding creatures. Before going back to learn off screen two of the worst people in the world, who also were responsible for the Crystal Braves betrayal and the sacrifice of hundreds on Baelsar’s Wall. Have now been side line to being arrested off screen and thus far are never seen or heard from ever again.

We then invite Tempered Beastmen to a peace meeting and act surprised when they summon Lakshmi to summon everyone. Lyse then runs to get Fordola to help on a gambit and gets there and back to the Throne Room faster than we can fly to the Ala Mhigan Quarter and back. We then run off to Doma because Gosetsu might be alive, Alphinaud racks up a huge bill with the Scions by buying a sword. We then fight off an invading force of Garleans before ferrying an amnesiac Yotsuyu and crippled Gosetsu across the Ruby Price. Whose pirates are nice enough not to fucking charge us for damages rendered. We then don’t force one of Yotsuyu’s past abusers to stand trial because he was kind of useful to the Doman Spy Network erasing all wrong doings. I fucking guess.

We are then visited by Asahi who might as well of shown up mustache twirling. Because after learning from one of her past abusers that Yotsuyu was sold to a brothel by her parents. How the fuck would you ever even begin to consider talking with her brother? But fine, I guess you needed the Doman people taken to Garlemald. Which, Asahi does eventually bring. Only to find out, he brought a bunch of crystals with him to turn his sister into a Primal.

After both are dead. Alphinaud, despite knowing that the Ascian possessed Zenos has just sent Asahi to kill them. Decides to go back with the unpopular Popularis to try to be diplomatic with ASCIAN POSSESSED ZENOS in the fucking court. Alphinaud also clearly forgetting how peace-forward the Emperor was when we both ran into him back in the Sea of Clouds.

...this story...is fucking baffling.

I might be forgetting a few details...maybe I am missing something that makes some part of this make sense.

#{ long post }

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murielisbestmountain · 4 years

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Skfjhdf i just read your angsty Muriel fic this was BEAUTIFUL, ASTONISHING, i love everything about it:> you said that you will do a fluffy part 2 if requested and i REALLY hope you don't mind me requesting, again, a wholesome, fluffy part 2 for this,,, in which some myrrh (?) helps the apprentice remember Muri and everything is good and cute again:3 please don't rush with this and take your time and don't overwork yourself!

When somebody loved me (pt 2)

Muriel x reader - gender neutral apprentice, fluff, angst with healing, big soft bear man, falling in love all over again, smooches, big hugs, Inanna is queen, Spoilers for Muriel route.

The woods used to be so comforting, so inviting.

Large tree trunks hid Muriel’s form as he patrolled, walking about and foraging. Not a thing could have disrupted the peace. No storm, heat, or cold could prevent the forest’s beauty from shining through. Yet, as the days go by, the vibrancy of the forest loses its beauty. The leaves grow gray, the flowers reek of decay. There is no warmth or light.

Of course, reality bends to the perspective of the individual. And the individual in question knows no vibrancy. How can the world be beautiful? The death of his people, the Kokhuri. Fighting in the Colosseum. Lucio rising once again...(y/n).... He had found someone who made the terrifying universe that tortured him feel gorgeous. Everything on the planet became beautiful when (y/n) was near.

Even Muriel, for a moment, felt beautiful.

The crunching of sticks and leaves startles a nearby bird and alerts the mountain man. The distant form of a cloaked figure walking around in mild confusion, basket on their arm. Muriel sighs, knowing that nobody will notice him with his cloak. The figure looks around, a tad frantic and desperate. Letting out a barely-there sigh, Muriel turns and carefully makes his way away from the stranger.

He’d been having dreams again. Not particularly sexual in any capacity, but instead viciously intense. The feeling of a life he’d been unable to fulfill.

“Bear~” a soothing voice coos into his ear, the weight of someone on his hips pressing Muriel further into the soft bed.

“Mm...” the mountain man grumbles, his eyes squeezed shut. (y/n) lays down on his chest, one hand petting the mountain man’s scarred cheek. Soft kisses are peppered along Muriel’s brow, his lips pulling into a sweet smile as he places his hands on (y/n)’s pajama-clad hips.

“Wake up, dear,” they whisper, kissing his forehead and petting his hair softly.

“No...” Muriel huffs, pressing his fingertips into the soft skin of his lover. Tenderly, as though he could shatter, the magician presses a soft kiss to his forehead, then his cheekbones, and finally each eyelid.

“Open your eyes,” They whisper, “let me love you...” Slowly, Muriel looks to his dearest, their skin glowing from the early morning sun. They lean down, cupping his cheek and parting their lips to give him a nice good-morning kiss...’

It’s always then that he wakes up, soaked in sweat and his own tears. At some point the mountain man decided to just sleep less to avoid the ghost of his amnesiac lover. Dark circles hang under his eyes, his mossy gaze dull and lifeless. Some nights he’d avoid sleep altogether, hearing the same words over and over. (Y/n)’s voice haunting his skull.

“Hello?....”

They’d never leave. The audacity of them to just make him fall so deep in love and then forget him? It’s cruel.

“Hellloooo...”

Kissing them under the open southern sky acts as a veiled memory ever-present in his mind.

“HEY!!!”

Turning, Muriel acknowledges the small figure tugging insistently on his cloak. Two (e/c/) eyes stare up at the giant man, their hood pulled back to reveal their lovely face.

“Jeez,” (y/n) grumbles, adjusting their basket, “I’ve been trying to talk to you man, could you not hear me??”

“oh um,” Muriel blushes, looking away and trying to ignore the screaming in his head, “Sorry...Do you need something?” the magician nods, lips pulled into a sweet smile.

“Yeah, actually,” they hum, “I need some help finding a few herbs. My friend Asra and I are working on a new potion.” one soft-looking hand is stretched out to Muriel, a list clasped between their fingers. A volley of panic shoots through the man’s head as he takes the parchment.

“I um...” Muriel sighs, knowing it would be best to just help them despite the pain in his ribs, “I’ll help you look. I know these woods well...” A brilliant grin stretches across the magician’s lips, their whole body shaking a little with the joy of progress.

“Great! Lets get started.”

Hours pass, some herbs and plants taking a lot longer than expected to find. But (y/n) remains positive, their warmth radiating into the hermit’s very core. Though, as the sun rises in the sky, the duo decide to break for a snack.

“So,” (y/n) smiles, staring over at Muriel and relaxing against a large tree, “Tell me about yourself.” Muriel sighs and looks away, frowning.

“Not much to say,” Muriel huffs, eyeing the engagement ring on (y/n)’s finger, “...Nice ring.”

“Oh this?” (y/n) smiles, fiddling with the piece of jewelry, “Thank you.” Envy rears its head in Muriel’s soul, his eyes searching for a sign that they even remember him in the slightest.

“Who’s the lucky person?” Muriel hums, shifting in his spot on the ground and bringing his knees to his chest. (y/n) fiddles with the grass by their legs.

“Actually,” they blush as they speak, “It’s not an engagement ring. Asra gave this to me and said to never take it off. I think he’s just protective.” Relief surges through Muriel as he grins, shaking his head softly with a sense of pride for Asra blossoming in his chest.

“Huh,” Muriel grins, “I guess you should take his advice.” (y/n) smiles, blushing heavily as they look into the distance.

“If I had to marry anyone,” They begin, “I’d choose the handsome man I keep seeing in my dreams.” Muriel blushes, head tilting to the side in confusion and leaning towards the sweet magician. “It’s this man in a masquerade costume, his face covered by this mask...it looks like a bear. But he dances with me and is so gentle despite his size. He’s...not good at dancing, but he tries his hardest.”

“Does he have a name?”

“I...don’t know,” (y/n) frowns, “I just call him Bear.” Muriel smiles, staring a bit before standing up and grinning.

“Stay here,” He commands, turning and rushing off into the trees like a nearly seven foot tall child. Sticks crack under the man’s boots as he races up to the hut. The image of the bear mask in his mind as he enters the small space. Grabbing the mask off the table, Muriel struggles to calm his intense breathing as he barrels back into the woods. The very notion that his beloved (y/n) could love him again has his bones shaking.

“Oh hey, there you are,” (y/n) giggles, watching as the man sits down in front of them, “you okay.”

“I know who the man in your dreams is,” Muriel grins, tears pricking his eyes. (y/n)’s face breaks into a delighted grin, their hands clasped excitedly in front of them.

“Really?” They gasp, “Who is it??” Silently, as though a word may shatter the moment, Muriel hands over the mask. The magician looks down in confusion, their brow furrowed in confusion. Carefully, they trace the features of the mask, gears in their head turning at the speed of sound. Slowly, however, the excitement fades into pain as Muriel begins to fear the worst.

“Do...you not remember me?” Muriel whispers, “Please (y/n)...” The magician looks up, tears welling in their eyes as they stare at the mountain man. Unfamiliarity dwells in those (e/c) eyes as they stare. Looking down in shame, Muriel frowns and tries to hide the tears trickling down his own scarred cheeks.

“I should have known,” (y/n) whispers, shifting along the mossy forest floor, “He...always smelled like myrrh in my dreams...” looking up, Muriel almost jumps in fear at the sight of (y/n)’s face mere inches from his.

“I-I’m sorry?” the magician ignores him, pressing their face into his cloak and breathing in.

“....Muriel...” They whisper, pulling back and shifting into his lap.

“(y-y/n)??” Muriel lets out a gasp as the young magician cups his cheek, leaning in pressing their forehead to his.

“It’s you,” they breathe softly, “my Muriel, my handsome Muriel...” fearfully, the mountain main hugs the tiny individual close and shudders.

“Do...you remember?” tears fall down (y/n)’s cheeks as they stare at him.

“I remember everything...” (y/n) finishes the statement by pressing a tender kiss to Muriel’s chapped lips. Pain, fear, relief, amazement, love, and even a little anger explode inside Muriel’s chest, his arms gripping his dearest close as he kisses them almost a tad aggressively. A delighted groan hums in the magician’s lips as they kiss back, hands flying up to tangle in his hair.

“Mmm....” Muriel grins into the kiss, standing and holding his lover with one arm and the basket of herbs with the other. Together, the duo return to the trail and come to the hut, door ajar from Muriel’s intense exit.

“M-Muri,” (y/n) giggles, holding onto the giant as he ducks into the hut, “Did you just steal me?”

“Yes,” Muriel huffs, setting them down and pulling the ring off of their finger, “And i’ll be replacing this.”

“Replacing?”

“Mhm,” Muriel scowls, the intensity of it all glowing in his chest, “You heard me.” (y/n) sits on the bed, smirking and relaxing.

“So you’re going to ask me to marry you?” (y/n) giggles, joking and watching the giant pull his shoes off and climb into bed.

“hush,” Muriel huffs, climbing up close and pinning the magician to the bed. A heated kiss is pressed to (y/n)’s plush lips, the couple melting into the embrace as they share the tender moment. The world outside grows silent as the lovestruck duo melt into each other.

tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

All sound is ignored, all concept of the outiside is ignored, and so are the footsteps....

“Muriel!!” Asra hollers, yanking the door open in a panic, “I can’t find (y/n) any-oh...” (y/n) blushes, hiding their face as Muriel glares daggers at his best friend. A heavy blush settles on the mountain man’s face as he stares at the doorway.

“Could you maybe not?” Muriel huffs, glaring intensely.

“I...didn’t think you two would be,” Asra gestures to the currently-pinned-down (y/n) “yknow...” Muriel reaches over, snagging a boot from the ground and throwing it at Asra, who barely shuts the door in time.

“Now,” Muriel huffs, brow furrowed intensely, “(y/n)-”

“We don’t have to continue,” The magician squeaks, aware of their lover’s shyness, “It’s okay if-” the giant presses another reassuring kiss to his lover.

“I love you (y/n)”

“...heh,” the magician smiles, cupping his face and staring up at him, “I love you too, Muriel.”

And the world, in all it’s complexities, became beautiful once more. For the mountain man knew that he was indeed loved once again.

fin

#the arcana #the arcana x reader #arcana #the arcana game #muriel x reader #murielxreader #murielthearcana

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solitaria-fantasma · 3 years

Note

Um for the Super Ghost AU I am just imagining that The Question managed to figure out basically everything about Gawain and the Mystery Skulls, but instead of it being his paranoia getting to him it's because he accidentally learned Gawain was a ghost, wanted to learn why he's a ghost and then he was going down the rabbit hole and by the time he climbed out of it he's just wondering what is Gawain's life, unlife, whatever and the life of his brother. Just, this came to me and refused to leave.

((*cracks knuckles*))

Question hadn't seen sunlight for nearly six days, and it had finally paid off.

He leaned over his hands on the edge of the desk, staring at the pin board before him. It was crisscrossed with color coded strands of yarn, and little push pins that held up photographs, newspaper and magazine clippings, and printed Internet screenshots. It wasn't the most complicated web he'd ever built, but it tied up neatly, and that was enough. Not every mystery had a a million twists to unwind.

The trail started in London, England, and stretched all the way across the Atlantic to a tiny town in Texas, USA, barely large enough to be a speck on a map. He had birth records, school enrollment records, science fair awards, promotions, Visa applications, mortgages, home appliance purchases, swing dance trophies, company picnic photos, a missing person's report, and an obituary, all leading to a giant question mark scribbled over a photo of a young blond man, with the word 'whereabouts?' written beneath it.

This photo connected to the next item in the chain with a quick arrow of blue, and another long, arching arrow connected a birth record from earlier in this leg to the same thing - a newspaper article from that small Texas town, talking about the mysterious case of a young boy with amnesia being found on the steps of a local restaurant. There was an article about the boy's adoption just a few months later, and then another article congratulating three local kids and their dog for solving a small time mystery.

The chain ran through several articles like this one, and the kids grew older as their mysteries evolved from misplaced mail and lost pets to package theft, poltergeist activity, and cryptid sightings. More and more, the articles talked about ghosts, creatures of urban legend, and even sightings of demons and occult activity. Around 2008, the newspaper articles became printed blog posts, and seemed to be written by the kids themselves.

Question laughed quietly to himself. Kids after his own paranoid heart, all three.

The articles came to an abrupt halt in 2014, with a missing persons report for the amnesiac boy (now an adult), and a series of articles about a groundbreaking prosthetic limb, developed by a genius young man who tested his prototype on himself after tragically loosing his own arm. There were a few more articles about the prosthetic, and a few photos to go along with them that showed the blond man from previous articles, and then there were a few clippings of local tabloids from a truck driver who swore he'd been carjacked by 'a flaming skeleton with great fashion sense'.

There was silence for a month or two, and then concurrent newspaper articles and blog posts about the miraculous return of one Lewis Pepper, thought to be dead from the same tragic caving accident that cost his best friend his arm. The blog posts about the supernatural returned, and the prosthesis research seemed to slow down. Coincidentally, a young man named 'Merlin Knight' with an eerily familiar face was hired at the local auto shop.

Question wondered if the entire town was playing dumb, or just stupid. The only real change was the clothing, and that long blond hair being braided.

This employment record connected all the way back to the obituary from the first leg of the chain, and proceeded on to connect with screenshots from a social media account of a robotic body, and the building of what would be, within a few month's time, the town's own local hero.

Question breathed out through his nose. A local hero who would go on to help save the world, and found the Justice League itself. Had that been part of the plan?

The web wrapped itself up quickly from there. Supernatural skills and abilities not possible by modern science, knowledge of other realms and creatures only known to mythology, and the tiny little clues he'd been hoarding and observing for a full year all pointed to the same conclusion. It wasn't as fantastical as it sounded, in all honesty, though Green Arrow had looked at him stranger than usual when he'd first said his conclusion out loud.

There were legitimate aliens, sorcerers, and demons in this reality - why not ghosts, too?

There was one final piece missing from the web, however, and he was out of clues to tie in. There was a near twenty year gap between the last known sighting of Gawain Kingsmen, and the appearance of 'Merlin Knight'. What had the man been doing for all that time? There had been no sightings of anyone even remotely matching the appearance of Gawain or 'Merlin' anywhere in that time, and without even the slightest whisper of a rumor on an Internet forum or library archive, there wasn't much more he could do to find out.

Question straightened up from the desk, and rolled his shoulders to try and stretch them out. There was no way around it.

He was going to have to get more...direct from here on out.

.......

"What does a dead man do for twenty years?" Gawain froze with a potato wedge half-raised to his shoulder at the question, and Bran - unwilling to wait for her snack - leaned her head down to snatch it up anyway. Gawain turned his yellow LED eyes over to Question, who had planted himself in the chair across the table without so much of a 'hello', and tilted his head.

"...I'm sorry," He apologized. "But I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"I know you do." Question leaned one elbow on the table. Bran nudged Gawain's still-raised hand, hoping for more potatoes, and the hero absently picked up another wedge to feed to her. "I know most people believe the 'advanced AI' cover story, but I'm not most people. I know you're a ghost possessing an armored suit like that old anime." The potato wedge vanished, and Question wondered if the little ghost was actually eating it, or just storing it for later.

That was a mystery for another time, regardless.

Gawain had turned to face him fully, now, and his two other ghostly companions were now peeking out of hiding from behind his shoulders. They weren't hostile, but their stares were, nonetheless, intense, and Question smiled behind his mask. He knew he had their full attention, now.

"How did you find out?" Gawain asked, keeping his voice low.

"I saw you from the ground in that fight with Mr. Sorcerer Superior, Magnus Creed." Question replied. "You ran into that warding slip like a bird into a clean window. A robot wouldn't have been stopped by mere paper and superstition." Gawain tilted his head slightly to one side.

"Some superstitions hurt." He argued, just the slightest bit defensive. "...what was your question, again?"

"What does a dead man do for twenty years?" Question asked. "There's a two decade gap between your presumed death and your reappearance. You could stand to work on that secret identity, by the way." He advised. "Someone's going to notice your resemblance to a dead guy from twenty years ago, if you ever let down your hair." Gawain's LED eyes narrowed, and one of the spirits - Chopper, the one with the upright spines - hissed in response.

Vixen walked by with John Stewart at her side, and both Chopper and Gawain made a visible effort to drop any outward signs of irritation. Question remained where he was. People were used to seeing him tense and suspicious, by now. It wouldn't raise a single eyebrow.

"...I was lost." Gawain spoke up quietly once Vixen and John had passed out of earshot. "I woke up in the middle of an unfamiliar forest, and I just couldn't get out. Not for a while."

"You were lost in a forest for twenty years?" Even Question sounded skeptical. "I've seen what you're capable of. You should have been able to handle a little thing like being lost."

"It was ten years," Gawain retorted sharply. Bran raided his plate for the remaining potato wedges. "And I wasn't just...born being able to do that stuff. I had to grow into it. I had to learn." A strange gust of air blew past the table, scattering someone's forgotten paper plate and napkin to the floor, before Gawain unclenched his fists, and visibly calmed down. Question still didn't move.

"Death...does things to you." Gawain lowered his voice again. "To your mind. You can't think straight for...a long time - and that's if you're lucky." He lowered his hands to the table, and Bran automatically wound herself around one arm with a pleased sound. "I found my way out of the forest after ten yes, and then I went...home. To Tempo."

"Your parents had moved away by then." Question knew. He knew how the story of the living family had played out, from there. "Your brother was living with your uncle, and your friends were off at college." Gawain's shoulders drooped, and the third spirit - Griflet, if he remembered right - patted at the side of his helmet sympathetically. Chopper was still glaring at him.

"They had." Gawain made no effort to hide the disappointment in his voice. "I guess I couldn't fault them for not wanting to stay in town after all they went through, but back then, I didn't know it had been ten years. It only felt like a few days, to me."

"That must have been difficult." Question said, and he meant it. Sympathy wasn't really his thing, but Gawain was being cooperative, so it was the least he could do. "And the other ten?"

"I was hiding." Gawain laughed humorlessly. "I somehow convinced myself that my family-...that my brother, and my uncle, would be afraid of me, if they saw me like that, and I just...never came forward." He shrugged. "I just sort of watched, and listened, and followed them for another ten years, and I thought that was pretty good, you know?

"I couldn't interact with them, sure, but at least I could still see them. It was...better than nothing." The hero fell silent, for a few moments, and then looked Question in the eye. Or...as close as he could get. The featureless mask tended to throw off people's frame of reference for facial features. "What are you going to do now?"

"Absolutely nothing." Question casually leaned back in his own chair. "I've already put the pieces together. This was just the last piece I needed to finish the story." He stood up, and pushed the chair in under the table. "This time, I just wanted to satisfy my own curiosity." Gawain seemed surprised, and remained sitting as Question walked out of the cafeteria.

He could feel four pairs of eyes burning into his back, but for once, being watched didn't bother him. Curiosity killed the cat, they said, but satisfaction brought it back, and Question was very much satisfied with this answer.

Now, he could focus on more important matters...like the long-ignored connection between Girl Scout cookie sales and the appearance of crop circles in Midwest America.

#mun's writings #ask #Anon #Gawain #Reptilitones #AU: Super Ghost #((I haven't written with Question before so pls forgive me if he's a little out of character))#((thank you for the prompt!!))#((I know your original prompt involved the Skulls a lot more but this was getting long))#((I'll see if I can do a part 2))

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