#i had the worst bout of anxiety a couple of days ago and i still havent recovered from it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 1 year

Note

Tw domestic abuse, sexual assault, suicide, self harm and eating disorder mentions (those last two not in detail, just mentioned)

Nickname: turquoise

Looking for advice, either on how to get out or just come to terms with this being the rest of my life, either way.

So I have a situation kind of similar to this ask posted just now.

https://www.tumblr.com/traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors/712807834009665536/tw-romantic-partner-violence-hey-so-ive-known

I've been with my wife for seven years now. A lot of her issues come from childhood trauma, but it's just...been wearing me down lately. Nearly from the start there were emotional issues between us, and physical violence and one sexual assault within the first six months (she said I agreed to let her do stuff while I was asleep but I don't remember that, and either way she didn't stop when I asked her to). I'm honestly not sure why I stayed but that's neither here nor there. Maybe I kept thinking it would get better but it didn't and at a lot of points I was genuinely scared for my safety, especially since the one time I did try to leave she found me in under a day and the friend I'd run away to decided I should go back home with her since, in her words 'well, you are kind of a bitch'. Anyway, there would be times when things got better but they'd always get bad again. We're in one of the better periods, though recently there's still been a lot of emotional stuff, some minor physical stuff (only small bruises and no lingering pain) and two sexual assaults last week. Still, things have definitely tapered off from a couple years ago, and she has been putting in more effort to be nicer, so if nothing else it's been a while since I've been balled up on the floor trying to be a small target so that's something. Still, as much as I should be happy about that I just...honestly I feel like shit a lot of the time, and I can't seem to stop being on edge no matter what happens, even though she gets mad at me whenever she notices that.

Also over the past two years she's developed significant anxiety, to the point where even after being on meds and in therapy for over a year she says she can't work.. We have no income now and I have a lot of my own mental difficulties that have made jobs difficult for me for most of my life (not self dxing, but likely autism and ADHD and a PD that have never been treated, along with a lot of past trauma from her and people before her, that's she's sometimes triggered on purpose or been dismissive of, though she is trying to stop that), but more difficult since I met her, especially since I've spent the past year at least in one of the worst depressive episodes I've had in my life, with my self harm and eating disorder getting worse again (both of which she knows about and does not respond well to at all), to the point that I'm pretty much always passively suicidal and have attempted a few times. At the very least I'm out of the bout of drinking I dealt with for a few months. I'm not outlining this to make anyone feel bad for me, just to point out that a full time work week, especially in the kinds of fast paced, people centric jobs I could reasonably get, would be very difficult for me to handle at this point. I've asked her if we could both work part time, since I thought a few days a week for each of us would be easier to handle, and at first she said yes but now she's flat out refusing, saying that since she supported us for a while she deserves a long break too, completely glossing over how often she hit me during that time and how generally shit she made me feel every day, or the fact that the abuse didn't stop when I went back to work, or that the circumstances that led to it being best for only her to work in that time were out of our control.

Basically, I want to leave. Ideally I'd just leave her, but she says she can't survive without my support, and that she'll kill herself if I actually go. I don't know if that's true or not but I don't want to find out the hard way, but I also know I can't handle both working full time and taking care of her full time (she refuses to do anything at home or to manage and organize our lives either, sometimes to the point of yanking me out of bed after only a few hours of sleep to make her food even though she is able to cook, arguably better than me).

Im basically never happy, and I want to leave but I can't, not with the way she is mentally now, not with what she might do, especially since the only person I know she could go to is her mother, who wouldn't be accepting of her being trans which isn't something I want to put her through. I've been thinking of asking a friend or relative of mine (what few I have left after she isolated me for so long, since I can't drive and for years she's been in charge of if I leave the house or not, which she rarely lets me do), to let me stay with them during the work week, since it would be easier to find and keep a job that way. I'd have limited contact with my wife, only seeing her on the weekends and preferably not talking much during the week, but still with me supporting both of us.

I don't know if she'd go for this, or even how to ask, but I know I can't handle dealing with both work and her and my own issues at the same time. I've tried to say this a bit and she's said I'm just being whiny and lazy, so I just don't know what to do or how to fully broach the subject, but I'm just so scared for the future between us in general.

I'm sorry this was a long post my thoughts are just not organized sometimes. Thank you for everything you do.

Amendment from turquoise. Abuse mention.

I just really wanted to clarify that I don't want anything I said about my wife to be attributed to the fact that she's trans. I don't think any of the mods of this blog would do that, but I just worry that others would, or that it came across as me saying her abuse and her gender are somehow connected but I swear I don't think they are and if anything came across that way I never meant for it to. I know most trans people don't hurt others (not to mention I'm trans myself but that just didn't seem relevant, still not sure if it is here)

Basically I just hope I didn't paint an entire group in a bad light and I really didn't mean to if I did sorry I was just worried about that.

Hi turquoise,

I'm so sorry about what's been going on. Also, I wouldn't worry about potentially coming off as transphobic, I don't get that vibe at all and I see what you mean to say quite clearly.

Just because the abuse has been tapering off doesn't mean you should tolerate it. Being assaulted violates your boundaries, and it's important to respect and assert them. Just because it's tapering off doesn't mean you're supposed to be happy in this relationship. It makes absolute sense why you still feel like shit. You're on edge because you may have developed trauma responses and you're around someone who your brain has been conditioned to perceive as a threat.

Emotional availability is essential for the longevity of a relationship. For your partner to not be there for you or respond well to depressive episodes or even suicidal thoughts is definitely a problem. I feel like if she truly cared about you she would make a better effort to be there for you, especially when you're contemplating suicide.

It sounds like your partner is refusing to share the responsibility of any productive or reproductive labor, which puts unnecessary stress on you. Just because she's been working doesn't mean you have to do everything. Most people just continue working without breaks, you know? So how is it fair for her to refuse to work when that means no income? It would make more sense if she was overwhelmed with burdens, but she really has pushed virtually every responsibility of hers onto you and is expecting you to be absolutely fine with that.

It seems like you've tried communicating with her but she's given you a hard time. If it is safe to do so, it may be helpful to simply assert a boundary such as "I feel x when you do y. If you continue to treat me this way, this isn't going to work." Just letting her know where things stand may be helpful in terms of communication, but if this would be unsafe to do, then it may be best to simply leave without warning.

Like I said in the other ask, if she is going to choose to mistreat you then it is your right to leave if necessary. It's a hard decision though of course, because you don't want her to go back to her abusers, but really, that's not your problem. If you need to leave then you need to leave, where she goes is not really for you to worry about. It's important to assert your boundaries and put your foot down when you've had enough, even if it doesn't benefit everyone.

Abusers often block the exit in various ways, and that can include threatening suicide. Please know that it is manipulative for someone to blame suicide or self harm on someone else. It is your right to leave when you want or need to. Your partner's actions are her responsibility alone. Breaking up does not hold you liable to what your partner chooses to do as a result.

If anyone else has any comments or suggestions, feel free to add on. Otherwise, I hope I could help. Please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

#mod bun #trauma talks #tw abuse #tw sa #tw r #tw emotional abuse #tw self harm #tw sui #turquoise #trauma details

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bisexual-inuyasha · 3 years

Text

Xingese Gold

Prompts: pining/hands/nature. “Please just hate me already.”

Wrap your arms and hold me still

I don't wanna think about what I will

Speak in tones that I can't hear

And tell me how no one knows anything in here

-- Jade Bird “What Am I Here For”

A young boy with black hair and dark eyes sat in his mother’s field. His face was serious, mouth twisted into a frown. He was a very stern child, hair pulled severely back into a bun.

For most kids his age, the object of their concentration would be something colorful and loud. Or maybe even ants crawling along the dirt or the dried out carcass of a worm. For this child, scrawny and tired, it was the flowers. His fingers--nimble, gentle, fleeting like tiny birds--brushed over the golden strands. Petals remained safely caged behind spindly stamen. His pants were soaked at the knees, his bare feet covered in broken grass and mud.

His mother had taught him about these flowers. It couldn’t have been more than a month ago, after a similar heavy bout of rains. The lesson came after the worst news in his young life. She had died only a few days later, protecting him from one of his brothers from another clan. Forty one siblings would be easier to kill than forty two. He’d written the name down in a book, tucked that book into his shirt, and watched his mother be buried in the only silk his clan could muster. It had not been a good season.

She had called these flowers Xingese gold. According to her, they were the only flowers of their kind in all the world. Other places had yellow, red and white. But only the Yao clan from Xing had golden spider lilies. They were proof, she’d said, that he was meant to ascend to the throne. Only the Emperor could wear gold, after all.

He glanced around the field and rocked back on the balls of his feet to get a better look. When he was sure the coast was clear, he plucked a flower and tucked it into the middle pages.

The list of the names in the book grew longer as more and more clans fell to assassination attempts. His mother’s children, his half-siblings, resented and revered him as their downfall and their only possible salvation. For many years, he had no true friends.

And then Lan Fan found him, visiting the now overgrown field, plucking Xingese gold. And she swore, for the price of a single flower, she would protect him. Her hands were clean and her clothes neat when he took him to the humble house she lived in. Her grandfather’s face was hard. His lessons were harder. But his kindness reminded Ling of a childhood wrapped and buried in silk. And with the old man’s guidance, and Lan Fan’s friendship, Ling’s body hardened into a weapon.

His personality sharpened like a knife, quick and cutting and so unassuming.

But it was his instincts that set him apart. He lived with his finger on the pulse, twisting around the existence of others like a hesitant snake. Curious and fleeting, never lingering long, taking only what he needed.

And this is how Ling Yao became a teenager who crossed the desert, determined to find the key to immortality.

**Amestris, before the end of the world.**

Ling lay on hot tiles, tapping his toes against the burning roof. He was waiting for the right time to drop through the open window. This golden haired alchemist was well known around this country for his search for the philosopher’s stone. The philosopher’s stone was well known for being the only alchemical way to achieve immortality. If Ling believed in fate, he’d almost think they were meant to find each other.

That wouldn’t do right now.

Ed had all the cards. Every scrap of information Ling wanted existed behind those golden eyes. Whatever Ed didn’t know about the philosopher’s stone, he knew how to find. Ling sensed that maybe, this stone and Ed’s life, were intrinsically linked. Linked in a way far more certain than fate.

Al left the room. The metal man had taken to leaving when he could tell Ed needed to rest. It was less lonely for him to spend those hours exploring the city. Or at least that was the reason Al gave. But it didn’t take the dragon’s pulse to see that Edward Elric was thinning out.

Not physically. His body was fit as ever, though no taller for having increased his intake. But Edward himself seemed more and more distant. Al may be afraid of disappearing inside his armor, but Ed was disappearing into himself. The golden hair alchemist was becoming lost in a maze of problems and responsibilities that seemed to grow new walls and corridors every day. Ling had his own knots to untangle. He couldn’t help lead Edward out of his.

“I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance to talk with you.” Ling slid through the window, grinning.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” Ed’s metal arm was over his eyes. Ling had noticed he did this when he was too warm. The metal had to be cool against his skin.

“Do what? You can’t even see me.” Ling sidled down onto the couch. Ed’s bed was clear across the room. He could have sworn the set up was different when the boys had first settled into this room, but he wouldn’t complain. “Lan Fan and Fu want me to stay hidden for a couple of days, until Bradley loses interest.”

“What, did you get bored?” Ed snickered. “Or did they just run out of food?”

Ling patted his tummy forlornly. “Do you mean to say you have food? I do feel a little faint, now that you mention it.” He went limp, feigning unconsciousness. His stomach growled for good effect.

Ed’s footsteps padded on the hardwood floors. The metal clunk of his foot was muffled by the sock he wore over it, but it was still an unusual gait. Distinct, and comforting. It had been a signal to Ling that he was safe, since Gluttony. Since he’d listened for those footsteps in the dark, and the blood. Ling opened his eyes and stared at the moonlit ceiling. Just the thought of Gluttony made him feel slimy. Filled his nose with the scent of blood. Suddenly his appetite was gone.

He still accepted the bowl of scallion chicken soup when Ed handed it to him and took a large spoonful. “Cold.”

“Yeah, well, that is what an icebox does.” Ed pulled his hand through his hair. “Still good though.”

Ling took another large spoonful. His stomach clenched. He put the food down. He tried not to look revolted but Ed was watching him all the same. “Good, but maybe not what I’m hungry for tonight.”

“Hm.” Ed tapped his fingers against his chair. His mouth was tense, body full of restless energy. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Do you ever think about how we’re just… kids?”

Ling waited for the horror to cross Ed’s face at what would usually be a difficult confession, but tonight seemed to be a night of honesty.

“I haven’t been a kid since before I met Lan Fan. I don’t contemplate those kinds of things much any more.” Ling leaned forward to rest his chin on his hand. Ed was still in his black tanktop and work pants. He’d taken to sleeping in them more often than not. “What makes your mind so heavy today?”

Ed didn’t answer for a long moment. Outside, Ling could hear the never sleeping cars of Amestris trotting along the cobble streets. Ling followed the line where Ed’s hair met his jawline. It looked so different outside of the braid.

“I saw Al’s body. It’s just. So young.” Ed stood, pacing. Ling listened to the pad-thunk-scrape-pad-thunk of Ed’s steps. “We’re all so young. I can see it in the Colonel’s eyes when he gives me orders. I can feel it when Riza talks to me and there’s all this… this sorrow. Like she’s stealing something from me. Something I’ll never get back. And some part of me knows she’s right.”

Ling could taste the metallic stain of blood on his tongue. His fingernails still had some of Gluttony stuck in the beds. When he closed his eyes, he could still see Envy’s souls calling out to him, begging him to free them. “I’m tired, Ed. Have you been sleeping?”

Ed’s eyes narrowed. His arms crossed. In a small, miffed voice he admitted that no, he hadn’t really been sleeping. “Don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“You’re too young to be contemplating loss of youth.” Ling grinned. It was full of too many teeth. “Come on, lighten up Ed. You probably just need a nap.”

“I don’t want to nap. I just. Want to feel like I’m going somewhere.” Ed flopped back into his seat. Ling’s response seemed to have deflated him. “I’m just trying to get back to where I was before I lost Al’s body. But what do I do then? Most people spend this time figuring that out, but I’ve just determined I don’t want to stay a State Alchemist.”

“That’s a good start.” Link chuckled, and despite his best effort, it was not as lighthearted as he usually managed. “Being able to decide you don’t want to do something is a luxury some of us don’t have.”

This was an unusual visit. Since Ling and Ed’s day spent in the belly of Gluttony, Ling had gone to see Ed whenever the sun went down and the smell of blood filled his nose. Usually, Ed gave away his leftovers and they snarked back and forth at each other until Ling fell asleep on the couch. The next morning, Ling would sneak away through the window he snuck in from.

Ling’s chest felt tight. The room was too hot. He didn’t want to think about lost childhood, lost time. He didn’t want to think about fate and choosing his destiny. Ed’s problems weren’t his problems. Ed was upset he hadn’t been utilizing his time choosing what to do after he inevitably succeeded in his goal of finding Al’s body.

If Ling didn’t succeed in becoming emperor, all of his clan's people would die. And whoever became emperor could kill a lot more than that. His success depended on a goal so outlandish that most people dismissed it as a childish fantasy. Success meant a long life of being more responsible for more people than he could count in ten lifetimes.

A heavy touch landed on his shoulder. Ed must have been talking to him, but he hadn’t heard anything at all.

“Are you ok, Ling?” Ed’s earlier anxiety was replaced by worry. Now that Ling had been pulled out from his thoughts, he could feel Ed’s other hand on his knee. Anchors to the present.

Ling smiled. He opened his mouth to assure Ed he was fine and maybe he’d take a nap since Ed wouldn’t, but Ed was already shaking his head.

“You don’t have to do that.” Ed let go of Ling’s shoulder and leaned back against the couch. He laid his head back, staring up at the window Ling came in. “I don’t have anyone I can actually talk to either, you know. Everyone expects something of me.”

“I expect something from you, too.” Ling leaned back beside Ed. Their shoulders bumped into each other on the couch, skin against skin. The smell of blood receded. Ling’s stomach growled again.

“No, you want something from me. That’s not the same as expecting something of me.”

Ling turned to look at the alchemist, surprised. “Explain.”

“Winry expects me to keep her and Al safe, to keep all my promises and then return home. Al, of course, expects me to get his body back. And I will. I want to. He should expect it of me. The Colonel and Hawkeye expect me to be an amazing alchemist, but they also expect me to be ok. Compared to all of that…” Ed sighed. “Compared to that, telling you about the philosopher’s stone is just a conversation. Just me telling you about Alchemy and my research.”

“So you’re saying you would have told me about the philosopher’s stone without me blowing up Gluttony’s head?”

Ed scoffed. “Don’t pretend you didn’t feel like a badass.”

“I was terrified. I'd like to see you stick your whole arm in that thing’s mouth.” They both laughed. Though truly, Ling was terrified of Gluttony. And Envy. All of the Homunculi who had too many souls. He thought Ed probably was, too.

“Well, you certainly looked confident. And fast, too. You’ll have to teach me some moves. Maybe I'll finally beat Al in a fight.”

They didn’t talk for so long that Ling drifted into sleep. His side pressed against Ed’s. Their legs touched hip to knee. Ling could feel the jutting edge of the automail through Ed’s jeans. To his surprise, Ed’s head leaned into his, stirring him. Ling turned to see if Ed was asleep and was greeted with a face full of golden hair.

Ling moved carefully. Ed was fast asleep. He didn’t even seem to notice Ling’s arm move to circle around his shoulders.

The memory of the dark, and the blood, and the souls crying out dimmed. Quieter, until Ling could almost convince himself those monsters had just been a bad dream. He ran his fingers through Ed’s hair and considered.

They’d grown closer, since their run in with Gluttony and the desperate run from Father’s base below Central. Since his introduction to Ling, both Envy and Wrath had been relentless in hunting him down. And still, he came here. Still, he waited out the nights with an anchor that told him the darkness was safe.

“You know, I’m going to use that stone eventually.” Ling kept his voice low. He didn’t actually want to confess anything to Ed. Not while the shorter man was sleeping so soundly. “No matter how it was made, I can’t let all my people die.”

Ed didn’t stir. Ling hummed. A thought twisted through his chest. “It would probably be better if you hated me now instead of later. But I just can’t bring myself to warn you. I’m a selfish, selfish man.”

Ling drifted off again eventually. It was hard to sleep on the couch without ending up awkwardly wrapped around Ed or falling off onto the hard wood.

When he woke in the morning, he was surprised to find Ed still leaning on his shoulder, fast asleep. The sun flooded the window and suddenly Ling was back in Xing, in his mother’s field. Strands of gold spilled between his fingertips.

“Xingese gold…” Ling murmured.

“What?” Ed yawned and sat up. “God, your breath stinks.”

Ling snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

Ling’s face burned. Every time he’d done this before, Ed had slept in his own bed. They’d come dangerously close to cuddling. With Ling’s increasing dependency on his visits with Ed, he wasn’t sure how to interpret the new developments.

“What’s Xingese gold?” Ed stood and stretched.

Ling smiled, remembering his mother sitting among the flowers. He pulled his book from his pocket. “I’ll show you.”

The flower was faded and fragile. Ling didn’t dare move the flower off the paper. “Only my clan in Xing can grow this specific shade. My mother called it Xingese gold.”

“That’s… random.” Ed shrugged.

“Just a dream, that’s all.” Ling stretched his grin wide again. “Though, your hair is the exact same shade.”

Ed’s cheeks tinged pink. “Hey, about last night…”

“No one has to know Edward Elric thought I looked cool when I fought the homunculus.” Ling patted Ed’s head, a motion he knew the short alchemist would hate. Ed fumed, but didn’t shout like Ling expected.

“Just so you know, Ling. If you accept that stone, I’ll fight it out of you.” Ed turned, picking up a new set of clothes for the day. “And if it kills you, it won’t make it to Xing to rule with your body.”

The anxiety in Ling’s chest burst. Fear, anger, worry splashed around his insides, coating his thoughts with an existential dread. Ed had heard him last night. Had heard him and rejected hating him.

Ling climbed into the window.

Edward didn’t look back to see him leave.

Besides, no matter how Ling felt about what Ed had said, they both knew he’d be back when the darkness came.

#Ed/Ling #EdLing #Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood #m/m #rarepair

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demonicintegrity · 4 years

Note

Kwat and Harris find out after the fact that Jamack was captured by Emilia?

Oooo a prompt! Took me a hot second to figure out what you wanted tho lmao. So how bout it’s set in a verse where Harris and Kwat live, but they’re still in the Mod Frogs and thus don’t really know what Jamack is up to.

Sure they had heard from colleagues that he had joined TheaOtters and they had heard about this Dr. Emilia he and Kipo was worried about. But they were too busy with other matters to really pay attention. The Mod Frogs had a lot to figure out now that Aurum had fell through. Harris and Kwat couldn’t afford to dwell on their former colleague, knowing he was alive and seemingly safe was enough for them to push him out their heads.

Then this HMUFA thing started. Ms. Sartori laughed at it, all Mod Frogs did, they were expected to get along with snakes and wolves? Fat chance! They ignored the offer. Thought that’d be the end of it. Then the reports starting coming in and they were odd. There was a lack of mutes on their borders and at some point it seemed like the Dubstep Bees had left completely! It made the frogs scratch their heads in confusion.

Then “Prahm” was being held. Ms. Sartori laughed at it again. Humans were trying to apologize to mutes? Mutes were going to dance and eat alongside humans? Laughable, like that’d ever work. However, Ms. Sartori figured there’d be useful information to be gathered with such a variety of mutes in one area, so she sent Kwat and Harris to go join Prahm. Just to gather information, see where the mutes have been what they’ve been up to.

Harris and Kwat arrived and were genuinely surprised by the amount of mutes and humans there. After an awkward start, things seem to have started to get a roll on.

The two Mod Frogs didn’t give Kipo much conversation when she said hi, opting to stay to the sides and just watch. The interactions happening were interesting to them. Some mutes were genuinely starting to get along with humans. It was surprising. Harris looked off to the side and saw Jamack, for a second his jaw dropped. The former colleague was dancing and laughing! Having fun!

Harris elbowed Kwat and shared a look. They didn’t think about Jamack being here. With a curt nod from Kwat, the two made their way over to him. He was dancing with some human. Not one to care if he interrupted his fun, Harris tapped on Jamack shoulder.

He turned his head and his expression immediately changed from happiness to shock.

“Harris? Kwat?”

“Yea.” Harris said curtly. “Come talk?” He tilted his head towards the tables.

Jamack nodded and after saying something to the human he was dancing with, followed the two to the table.

They sat down and after a beat of awkward silence, Jamack spoke first.

“What are you two doing here? I thought Ms. Sartori laughed at the Human and Mute Ultimate Friendship Alliance?”

“She did.” Harris said. “But she said a function like this is too good to pass up. Sent us here to see if we could figure out what’s been going on with the other gangs.”

“Well not a whole lot since Emilia started her attacks. All of them here were hanging out with the Timbercats up until a few days ago.”

“What!?”

“No way.”

Harris and Kwat were shocked.

“They were staying with Timbercats? Even the Wolves?” Kwat asked, earning a nod from Jamack. “Why!?”

“Well Emilia was after us all. And after some mutes were captured a week or so ago, they joined HMUFA for protection.”

“Emilia captured mutes?” Harris was grilling Jamack now, not caring that he needed the information for his report but more for his own shock and curiosity. “Where? Who? She really was trying to devolve them?”

“Yea she was. Still might be? I don’t know. Her and the humans she’s with are based on boat somewhere.” Jamack said, fairly patient with the two frogs who were really out of the loop. “They got a humming bomber, an umlat snake, a narwhal and me. Kipo came-“

“She got you!?” The two frogs said in unison, loud enough to draw some looks.

Jamack was taken aback, Harris and Kwat never really got loud in conversation before. Especially not Kwat, even in the worst of arguments she kept her voice cool. It took Jamack by surprised, but what was more surprising what the level of concern in their voice and face.

Harris was frowning, his teeth showing as his mouth was open and his eyes on Jamack, concern written all over. Even Kwat looked concern, her eyes also trained on him, looking him up and down as if to try and spot an injury. Her breath caught in her throat. They both were leaned forward, hands gripping the table. Jamack had never seen such an obvious concern for him from those two before.

He cleared his throat. “Yea.” He said, looking away to avoid their gaze. “She had got me when I was coming back to camp with TheaOtters. She used some dart and it knocked me out.”

Telling the specifics of his capture out loud made him feel bad and he didn’t know why. Feeling the gaze of his former friends filled with such worry didn’t help with it at all.

“But I was fine! I’m fine!” He said looking up at them. “I was lucky, Emilia seemed to have messed with the humming bomber most. Plus, Kipo came shortly after and saved us so it’s all fine!” He was trying to assure the two. “She’s really amazing at what she does, she’s the one who organized HMUFA and Prahm, she’s doing great things and improving mute-human relations!”

Kwat and Harris calmed down a little bit, actually breathing and regaining their composure. The two took a moment to process what he had said. Jamack nibbled on some pancakes to do something than just sit there with them, feeling unable to talk for once.

It was awkward silence for a bit before Harris sighed, earning a look from both Jamack and Kwat. He reached forwards to put some pancakes on his plate.

“Guess Mod Frogs really missed a lot not being in this alliance, huh?” He stated, picking at his pancakes.

“I guess so.” Jamack was unsure of what else to say. “But maybe you could convince her to join after this? I mean, it seems to be doing good despite.... setbacks.” He looks to the side and spots Amy holding Brad and a pain fills his eyes.

Kwat and Harris follow his gaze when they noticed the change in tone and gasp, quickly looking back at him.

“No.” Kwat gasped.

“Yes.” Jamack said rather grimly. “She got a few.”

“Then why are they trying to get along now!?” She hissed out. “The damage has been done! How could they forgive that!?”

“I don’t- I mean...” Jamack looks up to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know. It’s up to each mute I guess. Many didn’t want to come and forgive them. But I think they’re trying anyways because... a future where we each got along is appealing. It’s nice. And it would make everyone live better I think.”

“And you?” Harris asked. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna forgive them for trying to take your... your mind away!”

“I mean—“ Jamack looks at Harris. “It sucks yea and I didn’t like being captured or the thought of being cured but I’m talking to these humans and it seems like they just didn’t know! They didn’t know mutes were anything but some barbaric animals who hurt. And hell, after Scarlemange mind controlled them I don’t exactly blame them for being scared!”

Kwat and Harris stared at him in pure disbelief.

“What? Wouldn’t you two be fearful if you were brought to the surface only to see every mute cheering on for your enslavement?” He asked incredulously. “Don’t tell me you’d believe that mutes would be something more than just animals looking for their own gain.”

They both opened their mouths a couple times but nothing came out. They just looked at him, with shocked faced still processing the fact that he’d forgiven humans for this, for capturing him. The Jamack they’d none had held grudges and beaten mutes for far less.

A lot really has changed. Jamack has changed. The relationship mutes have with each other and humans is changing. It confused the two Mod Frogs, shocked them, and also made them upset for some reason. How was this going to change things for the Mod Frogs? How was Jamack alive and okay and sane after all that?

“You’re fucking crazy.” Harris said with a dry chuckle.

“No. I’m happy.” Jamack said with a smile and eyes full of pity. “I’m happy to be getting along with others instead of fighting them all the time Harris. Believe it or not, these pass few months have been pretty good despite everything since I don’t have to intimate or scare other mutes. I get to just... do whatever I guess.”

Harris shook his head slightly as Jamack kept talking.

“I’ve taken up singing, I hang out with Kipo and her friends and with TheaOtters often, hell I’ve been learning how to mediate from a raccoon! Things are oddly nice when you’re not focusing on work and reports and being professional all the time.”

Kwat scoffed.

“I’m serious! Life without the Mod Frogs has been pretty okay! It took a while for me to be happy with it but I’m doing pretty good now. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy and relaxed before. And I’ve been getting to know humans both here at Prahm and the few with Kipo, and they’re actually pretty cool. They’re not cruel and once they get over their anxiety they’re kinda fun to be around.”

Kwat and Harris couldn’t believe what they were hearing.

“I’m just saying,” He took a breath after really looking at their shocked expressions. “Give them a chance. They’re not that bad. Not even the other mutes are that bad. We’re all on common ground actually, we just wanna live feeling safe.”

Jamack looked out to the dance floor, his attention caught by Kipo being excited. Looks like Scarlemange and Wolf are finally here. He smiled. Kipo looked very happy.

Kwat and Harris were stunned silent by Jamack, still trying to process everything he was saying. How could do much have happened? How could he change so much?

And the night wasn’t even close to being done.

#holy SHIT this got LONG I just kept going and going omg #ask #kataow #mod frogs live Au #kataow Au #kipo s3 spoilers #kipo and the age of wonderbeasts #jamack #Kwat #kataow harris #mod frogs #drabble #underfrogs

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plus-size-reader · 4 years

Text

Little Steve

Bucky Barnes x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1644 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Bucky takes his best girl to the carnival when it comes into town and wins her a stuffed monkey.

———————————————————————————————————

You and Bucky were inseparable.

In most ways, you always had been. From the moment you met on the playground in elementary school to this very second-almost a hundred years later.

You had always been polar opposites, much like him and Steve, who joined your jolly little twosome and turned it into the most legendary friendship ever. He was a calm, easy going guy with big dreams and a heart of gold, and you were every bit as sweet, with a sharp tongue and more anxiety than any other woman Bucky’d ever met.

He always joked that you would start fights, just so he could finish them and looking back on it, he’d been right.

You were untouchable and everyone in Brooklyn knew it, because Bucky had made sure of it. No one would bother you without fear of upsetting the guard dog that followed you.

...But it wasn’t all sticking up for you and barking threats at anyone who looked at you wrong.

In fact, Bucky was more sweet than brooding most of the time and his bark had always been worse than his bite. He wasn’t aggressive by nature but something about you brought it out of him.

It always had.

Still, whenever you had a free moment and you could think back to all those years ago, it was never that rough and tough soldier that came to mind.

No, when you thought about Bucky now, you found yourself going back to all those times when he’d make cheesy jokes at your expense or slobber kisses all over your face after too many drinks at the bar.

-Before he became the man you knew today.

Maybe you just missed the time before he was so troubled and plagued with guilt, or when the world was easy. For whatever reason, you couldn’t keep your mind away from the forties and the good ole’ days.

...No matter how strange it may have seemed.

One memory in particular had always been your favorite.

You were just kids at the time, with not a care in the world but that didn’t stop you from worrying about every little thing that you could. You worried that your socks didn’t perfectly match the ivory of your blouse, or that your curls wouldn’t stay in place.

You worried about everything, but somehow Bucky always seemed to come up with some silly way to take your mind off of it.

This time, you were worried about the school dance coming up over the weekend. They had never been much of a big deal, not really, but for the social scene at the time, they were huge.

It would be the talk of the school if you didn’t go, but you couldn’t very well go alone.

That would look even worse than just skipping it completely.

You were in the middle of expressing this to Bucky one day when he stopped you, leaning over to the passenger side of the car to place a finger to your lips.

“Y’know, that carnival’s in town...what do’ya say we go?”

It was off topic and as sour as you were about being interrupted, all that was quickly forgotten at the idea of the carnival. You, Bucky, and Steve had been talking about going for a week or so but hadn’t gotten around to it.

“What ‘bout Steve?” you wondered, thinking about the second man. You knew he would be upset if he found out you went without him and you didn’t want that.

However, Bucky only shrugged.

“We can go check it out first, then take him if it’s any good” he suggested, secretly hoping that you would agree just so he could take you with him. He loved Steve but sometimes he just liked spending time with you, alone.

There was silence for a moment as you thought over what he was proposing. It wasn’t too terrible an idea, considering that the carnival wouldn’t just pack up and leave after tonight.

There would be time to take Stevie if you really wanted to.

Finally, you nodded, fiddling with your gloves as Bucky started the car and headed off in that direction. You likely would have picked a hole into the thumb, had Bucky not taken your left hand in his own to keep you from messing.

This whole thing must have really been bothering you.

In all the time Bucky had known you, he’d never seen you so torn up about something and it bothered him. All those jerks that you went to school with didn’t know what they could have had.

They didn’t see how great of a girl you were, because they were too busy chasing skirts.

It was stupid.

“Just forget about the whole thing huh? We’ll have a good time” he suggested, speaking once you two made it to the fairgrounds. You nodded, it was going to be hard but you knew that Bucky was right.

Right now, all you needed to do was have a good time with your best guy.

That was all.

“So, where to first Princess?” he wondered, swinging your hand in his own as you walked. There were flashing lights and loud noises coming from every direction but you didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, you had this huge smile on your face that Bucky could have looked at forever.

“What about games?” you gushed, pointing over with your free hand to a series of booths, all filled to the brim with cheap, neon colored toys that would likely fall apart in a matter of hours.

...Not that anyone cared.

It was the fun of it, having a good time and having something to remember the memory by after it had passed.

“Sounds good” he allowed, leading you that way.

You did pretty well at first, hitting a few of the milk bottles with the red rubber ball but kept falling short. No matter what you did, you couldn’t knock down the last one and it was starting to frustrate you.

In fact, you got to the point where you were ready to just give up and get a funnel cake but Bucky wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Hold on now, Doll face, let me try” he suggested, taking the last ball from your hands. You briefly considered arguing but it couldn’t hurt to let him give it a go. You figured you’d only miss again anyway if you tried.

Almost unnecessarily, Bucky knocked all three bottles down on his first try, a laugh leaving his throat at the win.

He wasn’t even sure that he could do it, but when the carny handed him a big stuffed monkey with bright purple fur, it was all worth it. “For the lady” he teased, handing it to you with a goofy bow.

You were shocked at the little gift, but couldn’t help the little squeak of happiness that left your lips at the present.

It was probably nothing, and you didn’t want to look into it too much but you couldn’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach when Bucky’s hand took yours again.

Bucky had given you gifts before, but something about this seemed different.

It made you feel weird.

“What are you gonna name him?” he wondered, watching the way you held the stuffed toy close to your body, as if someone would come snatch it from you at any moment.

It was adorable.

“Little Steve” you decided after a second, earning a hefty laugh from Bucky, who hadn’t been expecting that. “He’ll love that” he grinned, imagining the look on Steve’s face when he heard what you’d picked.

It was quite the name, to be fair.

“Alright so, about all this dance nonsense” he started, after about half an hour of aimlessly walking the fairgrounds. Bucky couldn’t get the whole thing out of his head, there had to be something he could do to make it better.

You nodded, not interrupting him as your oldest friend clearly wasn’t done with his thought.

“Why don’t I just take you?” he wondered, clearly it was the best option and in fact, he was kind of hurt that you didn’t ask.

Sure, he’d graduated from that stupid school a couple years ago but that was no reason for him not to go. That was the one drawback to becoming best friend with someone a bit older than you, when he graduated, you were all alone.

Still, you were shocked by his question.

It hadn’t even crossed your mind to ask him. “Usually couples go to those things Buck, I didn’t think you’d want to go with me” you shrugged, recalling how he’d went with Scarlet Hunt when he was in school, a girl he’d dated for a few months.

“Of course I’d go with you, I love you” he huffed, insulted at the comment. There was no one in his life that Bucky loved more than you and if you really insisted on going to the stupid dance, he’d never let you go alone.

It just wasn’t going to happen.

“You love me?” you questioned, not wanting to look into it too much. You knew that he probably didn’t mean it in the way that you were taking it, but you couldn’t help how your stomach flipped.

If there was ever anyone you loved, it was Bucky but you weren’t ready to hear it...were you?

There was no way he meant it like you were hoping he did.

“I love you” he repeated, bringing his right hand up to your cheek. It made you panic, though it wasn’t in the worst way, you just weren’t sure that your heart was going to keep beating.

It was only mildly concerning.

That being said though, you were in love with your best friend and apparently, your best friend was in love with you too.

#bucky barnes #the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #avengers #marvel #bucky barnes x ps reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #the winter soldier x ps reader #the winter soldier x plus size reader #the winter soldier x reader #james buchanan barnes x plus size reader #james buchanan barnes x ps reader #avengers x plus size reader #avengers x ps reader #marvel x plus size reader #marvel x ps reader #marvel x reader

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mrs-geuse · 4 years

Text

Empty (Hank Anderson x Reader)

This one is purely a twist of a page from my own diary.

I’ve had some requests for pregnant!reader and Hank and...I just can’t do that right now. My husband and I have been struggling with infertility for a year and a close friend just announced her pregnancy today, my niece was born 3 weeks ago...it’s been emotional for me.

This is purely a therapeutic attempt at getting through this for me and I’m sorry if it disappoints.

Warnings: Infertility, mentions of alcoholism, mental health struggles, and (a history of) self-harm.

Hank hears a slam from somewhere in the house and he’s instantly peeking around the corner, down the hall, warm pizza long forgotten on the kitchen counter.

“Y/N? You alright?” he calls. No response. “Y/N?” His mind is instantly working quickly, running through possibility after possibility of the worst shit.

You’d been going through it lately, your mental health at an all-time low for the last few months. It drove you to do some crazy shit and he was always there to pick up your pieces. He worried you’d resort to some of those old coping habits he knew you had. You’d told him you hadn’t done that in years, but it was still a very real possibility to him and it kept him up at night, the image of you bleeding out.

Tonight, he thought you were doing better. You’d been working on getting answers for what was bothering you…you’d spent a lot of time working through things together and – though the touchy-feely stuff was a little hard for Hank to vocalize – you were in a better place than you’d been in, well, ever.

“I’m fine,” you finally call to him, but he can hear in your voice that you’re so not fine.

“Sweetheart, come on, what is it?”

He peers into the bedroom, sees your phone face-down on the nightstand, your body on the bed, back to the headboard, knees pressed against your chest.

“It happened again,” you start, voice breaking a little bit. This could be one of two things, he knows.

Either another friend is pregnant or your period showed up.

Hank knows it’s not the latter, based on the positive ovulation test on the sink, the fact that you’ve been all over him for the last few days…

"Fuck, sweetheart…”

You shake your head, shake it off, try to take a breath.

“I feel like such an asshole, yanno? I’m happy for her, I really am, but I’m so fucking tired of it not being us. It’s been a year, Hank, a fucking year…”

He knows this, is very aware. He knows because you’ve been to the specialist, done the ten vials of bloodwork, the ultrasound up the cooch, the follow-up. Hell, he’d even done the jizz-in-a-cup thing just because he knew how much this broke you that you weren’t a mom yet.

He can remember the anxiety for those results, remember what it felt like to think it was him. He’d been convinced it was him. Hank hadn’t really thought about having another kid after Cole…and then he met you. Young, you, and that almost scared him off – the knowing that you were gonna want kids.

Hank was a drinker, for years, still is – only now he has someone to hold him through the night and that makes the drinking a little less necessary, makes life a little more bearable.

Only the results showed that his swimmers were still good. And your results showed that your stuff was all good…so, what the fuck?

He remembers holding your hand in that office as the doctor told you news, remembers your sleepless nights up filled with guilt, for whatever reason. If there was something wrong, it was nothing to feel guilty for, yet he couldn’t talk you down from that.

The doctor rambled about how some healthy couples can try for a year with no success, have nothing wrong with them…twenty percent. Twenty-fucking-percent of couples and apparently you fell right into that group.

The agony this caused you, on top of everything else you’d been through. That year consisted of monthly breakdowns in the bathroom when the bleeding started. You’d been through your share of symptom-checking, so convinced you’d been pregnant that month – you’re not normally queasy, you’re not normally late – yet Aunt Flo always reared her stupid, fucking head and each month he’d have to hold his girl and reassure you that eventually you’ll be carrying a child, things would work out…

Hell, there were months you both went sober – just in case that might help. Only it didn’t, it only made the both of you more anxious, made the constant sex almost a chore, drove you both into arguments and bullshit…

It was only recently that you sat at that kitchen table wearing his police shirt, going on about how you needed to live a little, how you needed to learn to let time do its thing. In theory? Great idea! In practice? There were so many fucking roadblocks to that happiness.

Including when your friends post on social media that – surprise! – they’re expecting!

It’s always like a gut-punch, always feels like falling and anger and guilt and ‘how-dare-I-feel-this-way-it’s-not-their-fault’ yet each month you watch them update with pictures of pregnant bellies and then eventually they post that the baby has arrived. Not to mention the monthly updates from everyone about what their little bundle is into and what things they can do and milestones reached, first steps, first words, pregnancy announcement number two…

You’d been through it all and honestly Hank just wished you’d quit the social media bullshit, cut it out, and focus on the two of you and Sumo.

And then your brother’s wife got pregnant at month one and, fuck, did that send you spiraling. Day drinking, driving drunk, crying all the time. Hank didn’t know if you’d ever get out of the funk.

Yet somehow you did. You were so damn strong, he was excited for that piece of you to grow with a baby, couldn’t wait to see what that child could become, hoped it took more of your traits and none of his.

At first, he was tentative about a child. After Cole, he couldn’t imagine the amount of anxiety he would have. But he knew how much you wanted it, how excited you were every time you went down the baby aisle at the store…

Now all you do is cry, avoid that aisle, look away.

You’d gotten through your sister-in-law’s baby shower just fine and now that the baby’s here and you’re seeing your parents step up as first-time grandparents…that hurt is real and raw.

And it’s not their fault, you know that, and you don’t hold resentment. You do avoid, though. Avoid calling, avoid social gatherings with the family. The shame you feel for not being a mom is something Hank can’t understand as a man, he just can’t. You told him once that it makes you feel like less of a woman and that shook him to the fucking core.

What kind of society puts this kind of pressure on the ‘natural progression of life’? How many people had asked about her getting pregnant, making assumptions that you weren’t trying, that you weren’t having issues.

“How did you let your sister-in-law get pregnant before you? You and Hank have been married longer, he’s old!” -the words of an actual family-friend. What a mess. How fucking painful for you to go through. He remembers that night vividly, remembers you walking him out because he was about to fight someone, remembers the way your tears looked as you paced in the parking lot, wondered how you were gonna go in and face everyone.

People suck, that’s for sure, and this is no different. People don’t understand and no one talks about infertility, you’re realizing. No one talks about the shame of it, the pain, the emotional devastation, what it fucking does to a happy marriage…

The two of you have come through stronger and you’re on a more positive, upbeat path but you still have your down days and Hank is very aware that you haven’t had one in about three weeks…

“Maybe we should start the adoption process,” you mumble with a sigh as he sits beside you, the bed dipping under his weight.

Only he knows you, he knows that you want to carry a baby, knows that there are options…like adopting an embryo…you’d researched your heart out. Researched about proper positions, different tricks, supplements, spent so much money on ovulation kits and doctor visits and pregnancy tests…

“I’m for it if that’s what you want, if you’re ready for that…” he rubs your shoulder.

You sigh, bury your face in his chest.

“I’m just so tired of waiting. I’m so tired of trying and getting hopeful and then bleeding. I’m tired of hearing from my parents that it’ll happen. I sort of wish something was wrong because then we could intervene. But now, what, we wait longer? It’s just bad luck? I’m fucking done with being told to wait and be patient, and that I’m too stressed. I’m pissed that people can have unhealthy habits or try for a month and get pregnant no issue while we have been doing our best to be better and this has been a full fucking year. Hank, we could have a three-month-old right now…right now! Holding a three-month-old. What the fuck?” you let a few tears slip by.

“I’m right here with you. I’ve seen how hard this has been on you. You’re stronger than anyone I know, baby.” He kisses your temple, rubs up and down your back. “You’re gonna be a great mom. And it’s gonna happen. No matter what I have to do, I’m gonna make you a mom.”

He doesn’t care how much money it’s going to cost; he needs to see you happy again. He misses it. You were so full of life once, you’re like a wilted flower now.

“You’ve been great with all this, Hank. Thank you.” You kiss him, lean into it more and Hank feels that spark, feels his arousal start up again.

“Fuck,” he sighs, “I know what you want,” his fingers dance across your neck. “How ‘bout we eat some pizza,” he kisses you, “and then,” another kiss, “we come back in here,” a kiss to your neck, “bring the whipped cream,” you smirk at that, “and enjoy each other.”

You hum. “That sounds so good right now, Hank…”

He nods. “Gonna run me dry by the end of this week,” he stands with you to head to the kitchen.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, big man.” You smack him on the ass.

So maybe your life isn’t perfect, but it’s yours.

#Hank Anderson x reader #detroit become human #detroit become human hank anderson #hank anderson reader insert #detroit become human hank x reader #reader insert #detroit become human reader insert #detroit become human x reader

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izzielizzie · 4 years

Note

Hi. Could you write a one shot where Nate and Bronwyn are childhood besties. And do everything together like tissue masks on a Friday or something? And they secretly like eachother?

Hi! Yes! This is very long and not my best work so I apologize, but enjoy! Also there are some notes at the end (because I obviously need to make this longer than it already is)

Thirteen Years Ago (age three):

Anna Rojas did not expect anything extraordinary to happen when she took her oldest daughter, named Bronwyn, to daycare for three hours. All she wanted was a break from the overly curious toddler, who had been pulling her younger sister Maeve’s auburn curls to see if they would fall out. Needless to say, neither Anna nor Maeve were very impressed.

Bronwyn, who had been surprisingly calm as her grey eyes surveyed the room filled with loud children and multicoloured toys. Finally, her eyes stopped at a small bookshelf, and her face lit up. “Mama! Down!”

Anna obliged, and she watched as the small girl walked towards the books. The daycare runner stepped up next to Anna. “She’ll be in good hands Annalise.” Anna turned to look at the woman next to her, who had the same vivacious red hair and clear grey eyes as she did.

“Don’t call me that, sis”

Annalise’s sister, named Eabha, just grinned and gently pushed her towards the door. “Have a good three hours! I’ll make sure your oldest is in one piece and ready to pull hair when you’re back!”

Yes, Anna did not expect anything extraordinary at all.

Ellen Macauley didn’t think that three year olds needed to listen to their parents arguing, which was why she felt it was a good idea to send her son Nathaniel to a local daycare. The daycare itself was a child haven, but her anxiety was piling on. What if something happened? Knowing that if she stayed for too long she would take Nathaniel back home, causing even more anger from her husband, Ellen left as fast as she could. Through the haze of tears that disgusted her, Ellen couldn’t see where she was going, and she walked straight into a woman with bright red hair who was dressed fashionably in a cashmere sweater and black leggings. Everything about her screamed money, Ellen thought.

“Sorry,” Ellen mumbled, stepping back and nearly stumbling. The woman clamped an arm around her forearm.

“Don’t worry about it,” the woman pulled her up and looked at her closely. “Are you crying honey?”

Ellen didn’t know why this woman cared, but her expression was so motherly that Ellen found herself talking about how she was afraid that her arguing with her husband would hurt her son and that she was always so anxious and tired and she wanted to make sure her baby was okay.

The woman, who introduced herself as Anna Rojas, gently guided Ellen to the front window of the daycare. “Which one is yours?”

Ellen didn’t look through the window, but recited his looks: black hair, dark blue eyes, wearing a green shirt and black jeans. Anna gently squeezed Ellen’s arm and pointed through the window.

“Is that one Nathaniel?”

Ellen looked through the window and saw a red haired woman who looked remarkably like Anna sitting with a book in her hands. One side of her was a girl with dark curls. She had a bright, curious expression on her face and she was looking at the picture book intently. Sitting next to her, with his hand clasped tightly in hers, was Nathaniel. He looked happy. Ellen released a small laugh. “Yes it is. He looks so happy.”

“He’s with my little sister and daughter. He’s in good hands I swear.” Anna paused and looked at the woman standing next to her. “Care to get a coffee with me?”

“Sure,” said Ellen.

Three hours later the two women were good friends. They expected to maybe see one another a couple times around the city. But they didn’t expect their children to become inseparable.

Five Years Ago (age eleven):

Nathaniel was used to screaming. His parents argued so frequently that he couldn’t remember the last time it was quiet. He just stuffed his head under a pillow and tried to zone out. He was surprised however, when the arguing stopped. He could hear his father screaming “Come back!” over and over again, a door slammed, and everything was silent. Fearing the worst, Nathaniel climbed out of bed and crept into the living room. His father was standing in the middle of the room, staring at nothing. He turned when he heard his son.

“She’s gone. I need to get out of here.”

Nathaniel was suddenly terrified. He had no idea where his father was going, his mother was gone, and on top of it all, a thunderstorm was in that night’s forecast. The thunder terrified him, especially at night.

“Dad, where are you going?”

“For a drive. I’ll be back soon.” He became suddenly very serious. He grabbed Nate by the shoulders and shook him hard. “You don’t leave this house do you understand? And don’t let your mother in. If she comes back I’ll… I’ll…”

Nate could imagine a couple of things that his father would do. His father shook him again. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

“Yes,” mumbled Nathaniel.

With that, he was gone, just as a clap of thunder shook their rundown house. Nathaniel jumped. He knew what was going to happen: his mother would come back the next day, argue with his father, and leave for good. His father would drive and drive until he found a bar with enough beer to tide him over, and he’d show up tomorrow afternoon drunk and tired and ready to argue with anyone and everyone.

He needed someone who would stay with him tonight, he decided as the thunder became more frequent. Without thinking whether he should or not, he picked up the ancient phone on the coffee table and dialed the one number he knew by heart.

Bronwyn arrived, soaked from head to toe. Her aunt, who she had been living with for the past few months as her younger sister underwent chemotherapy for her Leukemia, honked her car’s horn once to alert them that she was pulling out of the driveway. Seeing Bronwyn’s bespectacled face calmed Nathaniel. He and Bronwyn were both in agreement that the best day of their lives was the day they met. When Bronwyn was panicking over school or her sister’s health, she turned to Nathaniel. And when Nathaniel’s home life became terrifying, he stayed with Bronwyn.

“Nathaniel, I’m so sorry,” Bronwyn stood on her toes to give him a big hug, which he returned, despite getting the front of his shirt soaked. Nathaniel closed his eyes. He felt better whenever he was around his best friend.

He pulled away. “Yeah, well, not much I can do. But we should get you some dry clothes.”

Nathaniel led Bronwyn to his room, where he pulled a sweatshirt and sweatpants out of his drawers and handed them to Bronwyn. She walked to the bathroom, and while he waited for her, Nathaniel lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was strange really, how three hours ago he came back from soccer practice feeling hopeful. He had scored three goals in a row, a personal best. Never had he imagined that this would be the day his whole life changed. Nathaniel didn’t move until Bronwyn came back and curled up on the bed next to him.

“Nathaniel? What are you thinking?” Bronwyn asked him this a lot, especially when he put up walls and ignored everyone.

“I need a new name. Like, I don’t know, Tim.”

Bronwyn scoffed and rested her head on his shoulder. Even in his clothes she managed to smell like green apples. “Tim sucks, you need something better.”

Nathaniel appreciated that Bronwyn didn’t question why he wanted a new name. She knew why. She knew that Nathaniel carried too many connotations. She knew that Nathaniel was the result of a dysfunctional family. She knew that names carried power.

“You’re right. What about Dante?”

“You wanna be named after an Italian poet?”

“I have no idea how you know that, but no, I don’t.”

“He wrote about hell or something. I read about it in a book the other day.”

“You read a lot. What about Niel?”

“That’s worse than Dante.” Bronwyn snuggled closer to Nathaniel. She was silent for a long time, and Nathaniel thought she had fallen asleep when she suddenly sat up, nearly knocking her glasses off. “I’ve got it! Nate!”

“Nate?” Nathaniel sat up too.

“What, do you not like it?”

“No, no, I love it. Bron… it’s perfect.” You’re perfect was what he nearly said. Embarrassed at himself, but also overjoyed at the new names that somehow fit him, Nate lay back down and stared at the ceiling again. Bronwyn, who was used to Nate’s bouts of silence, simply took off her glasses, put her head back on his shoulder, and drifted off to sleep. Nate stayed up longer, turning his new name over and over in his head. After a few minutes, the word Nate lost all its meaning and he turned instead to Bronwyn, who was snuggled up against him. He watched her for a moment as his chest grew warmer, a strange new feeling overtaking him. It would be nearly three years before he figured out what the feeling was.

It was love.

Present Day (age sixteen):

Friday nights always came as a relief to Bronwyn, who could take a break from her stressful life and just relax with her best friend. Although, since most of her stress was caused by her best friend, tonight would not be relaxing. Bronwyn wasn’t quite sure when she crossed the line from friendship to love with Nate Macauley, but she had some guesses. Maybe it was the night she lay in his arms and helped him come up with his new name as his old life came crashing down around him. Perhaps it was the day he came running into her little sister’s hospital room, barefoot and still in his pajamas, just to be with her when the doctors were sure that morning would be Maeve's last. Or maybe it was when he too cried tears of joy when Maeve pulled through. It was the first time she ever saw him cry. Or maybe it was the night he stood out in the rain with Bronwyn so they could wait at the bookstore to get the final book in her favorite series. Or maybe it was when he punched Evan Neiman in the nose when he wouldn’t leave Bronwyn alone.

Or maybe, Bronwyn Rojas had always been in love with Nate Macauley.

Love, unrequited or not, was always better dealt with on spa nights, as Bronwyn’s other best friend Addy had said that morning. Which was how movie night turned into spa night. Bronwyn was surprised Nate agreed with the change. Now, as he rang the doorbell, Bronwyn wasn’t sure she wanted to spend any time with Nate, lest she say or do something stupid. She couldn’t afford to lose this friendship. Before she could pretend to be sick so she could back out of what was certainly going to be an awkward night, Nate was bounding up the steps and barging into her room.

“‘Sup Bronwyn.” Nate collapsed onto Bronwyn’s bed. He looked really nice in black jeans, a black leather jacket, and a deep blue shirt that brought out the colour of his eyes.

“Not much.” Bronwyn turned in her desk chair and stretched out her feet so they were resting on the bed beside Nate.

“Nice. So, spa night? Why?”

Bronwyn shrugged in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. “Felt like changing it up. Also, it was your turn to pick a movie and you were just going to pick Ringu weren’t you?”

Nate shrugged. “Do not ask and I shall not lie.”

“That’s not a real saying.”

“Whatever Bronwyn, let’s just get this over with so we can eat a bunch of your mom’s brownies.”

An hour later, Nate and Bronwyn were lounging on the couch, charcoal sheet masks on their faces and a plate of brownies between them. Nate looked away from the TV, which was tuned to a kids show the pair used to like.

“God Bron, what does your mom put in these?”

“Coffee,” said Bronwyn as she took another brownie from the plate.

“I wouldn’t mind some coffee.”

“Nate, it’s nearly nine. No one drinks coffee this late.”

“Ah, but Bronwyn, you are mistaken. I drank coffee at one last night.”

“This morning.”

“What?”

“One in the morning Nate.”

“Yeah, yeah okay. Anyway, the spring dance is coming up.”

“Yes it is. Are you taking Amber?”

Amber and Nate had been a couple since freshman year, and it definitely didn’t bother Bronwyn at all.

Nate gave Bronwyn a weird look. “Um no, we broke up.”

Bronwyn sat up and nearly knocked the plate to the ground with her foot. Nate lunged for it and caught it just in time. “The brownies are safe!” He declared before popping another one into his mouth. Bronwyn took the plate from him.

“First of all, no more, you’re gonna get a stomach ache. Second of all, why did you break up with her?”

“No Bron, you have it wrong. She broke up with me,” Nate paused and looked at his hands. “She thought I was in love with someone else.”

Bronwyn paused. She was about to stand up to put the brownies in the kitchen, but she seemed rooted to her spot. Not another one, she thought.

“Well, are you?”

“Am I what?”

“In love with someone else?”

“Oh. I mean, yeah.”

“Who?”

Nate gave Bronwyn a pitying look. “You sweet naive girl,” he said. He took the plate from her hands and leaned forward until he pressed a small kiss to her lips. He pulled back and grinned at her.

Bronwyn’s head was spinning (the fact that she wasn’t wearing her glasses wasn’t helping anything), and she wasn’t quite sure why Nate had kissed her when he was in love with someone else.

“Wait, but, who is it?”

Nate closed his eyes and sighed. It seemed like he was praying for patience. “You obviously, you idiot. I’ve been in love with you since we were eleven, although I didn’t realize it then. I mean, who else would I do this with?” He waved at his face, which still had the mask on it.

“I, but, Amber?”

“Amber was just an, I dunno, an attempt to move on. You obviously don’t care for me that way, so…” He trailed off and stood up. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to mess up this friendship. I should, I should go.”

Bronwyn was stricken dumb for only a second. Nate was heading towards the door. Bronwyn jumped off the couch and raced after him. “Wait!”

He turned around, looking hopeful, and Bronwyn stood on her toes and put her hands on his shoulders. “Nate?”

“Yes?”

“You still have a mask on your face.”

“And?”

“You should probably take it off before I kiss you.”

Nate grinned slowly. “Hey,I kissed you and you have one on too, Rojas.”

Bronwyn just laughed.

“I love you Nate Macauley.”

“I love you too Bronwyn.” He put an arm around her and led her to the bathroom. “Now can we please take these things off now?”

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Okay, so notes time!

1) I had not intended to make one section from their moms’ points of view, but it kind of happened and I kind of like it

2) I have no idea what Mrs. Rojas name is, so I made it up. I also don’t know what her sister’s name is, so I made that up too. (Technically they’re not made up, they’re the names of my sisters)

3) I know that Maeve doesn’t have auburn hair, or curls, but I like to think that her hair darkened and straightened out as she got older (am I pulling from my own El Salvadorian/Irish heritage because there’s absolutely no cannon stuff written about their childhood? Yes)

Okay, I hope you liked it!

#nate x bronwn #izzielizzie's fics

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penstotheend · 3 years

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so... 2021 isn’t off to a great start...

Sometime in February 2013, after a few months of foot pain that I attributed to my regular neuropathy, I looked down one night and realized my foot looked deformed. It’s funny. I remember other life changing dates, Dec 13, 2012 and August 3, 2013 that were part of the year from hell, but not the exact day that I had Charcot. However, from that unknown date, my wayward foot and I have been through a lot. That single day profoundly affected my life beyond compare. There have been numerous bouts with pressure sores, multiple trips to the wound clinic, and not a single day where I didn’t express my extreme hatred for the boot.I had never heard about Charcot. It was always watch for sores, etc, for diabetic care. Nobody told me that the neuropathy could lead to… ugh.

Everyone kept telling me I was lucky I still had my foot, and I would parrot that back out. I was never so sure.But I did what I needed to do to keep it.It was almost a year since my last sore. I have worked hard to keep the callous on the bottom down, to keep it healed, and dang it, it was looking good. Then about 2 weeks ago, I got a sore. Not on the bottom, but on the side. And it went downhill from there.

I have wound care supplies that the clinic had ordered for me, so I could change dressings myself. I dressed it and made sure my retired wound care clinic nurse saw it and knew what was up. The following Saturday, January 16th, when I changed it, it was worse and there were a couple new sores on the side. She said it was time for help. I agreed and planned to call my doctor on Monday and get a referral to the wound clinic. Well…Sunday morning I woke up sick, vomiting and feeling weak. No fever, no body aches, no chills. Maybe it was just something didn’t settle, isn’t that what we all say? Basically slept til Monday. Felt better, but slept all day Monday, too. Called doctor. Had crackers and chicken noodle soup. Had not thrown up since initial time Sunday. Tuesday I woke up and felt pretty good. Had toast with peanut butter. Didn’t last long. I didn’t throw it up but I felt horrid all of the sudden. Foot is oozing. Yucky oozing. Called doctor again. Went to sleep. Woke up to message that said I needed to go to ER.

End up going by ambulance. Sister was going to take me, but didn’t think I could walk all the way across hospital. I no sooner got on gurney than I tossed my cookies again.

At ER by about 4 pm. That’s important, because the next 16 hours or so is a flurry of activity. My foot is infected. Not a little infected, big time infected. A little before midnight, I am on my way to Erie in the back of an ambulance. At least this time, it didn’t break down. By 1 am we are there and I’m getting acquainted with Derek and Abraham my very nice nurses. By 2 am I am visited by the on-duty doctor. She is very nice. She looks at foot which is not pretty and says she has seen much worse. Also, x-rays from Titusville show infection is NOT into the bone. Yay. They did maybe show a couple of pockets of pus under the skin. She schedules an MRI.About 4 am I’m in the MRI machine. They are much more details than x-rays.About 5:30 am, the doctor comes back in. It isn’t good. This are multiple pockets of gas, commonly known as gangrene, almost to my tibia. There is no way to treat it that will save the foot. The vascular surgeon and podiatrist will be in to see me.

Well… fuck. I’m in shock.

Of course, it’s up to me, but it’s the problem foot or the rest of me. I call home and let them know the news. Oh yeah, that’s right. Stupid Covid – no visitors, so I am all alone.And scared shitless.About 6 the podiatrist is in and explains in detail what is going on. Gross, gory, I won’t go into it. For the next two hours I worry.

Vascular surgeon comes about 8 am. Come on, it’s no choice and it really can’t wait. They book the OR. She and I have a… um… discussion about what my level of consciousness will be. It’s a bit heated. Remember the heart cath with no sedative at all… hey… Beth, hold your beer. At 9 am it’s off to the ER. I am freaking because I have not really had much explanation of what’s going to happen.I meet the anesthesiologist. I explain my very rational, irrational fear of anesthesia. Hear are my alternatives. This won’t work, that won’t work, forget this…. Gee thanks Doc. We come down to the anesthesia or a nerve block. Risk there is nerve damage. In my brain, that’s a lot less than the irrational fear. I go for that. He agrees. My anxiety drops.He does the nerve block on the femoral nerve and the sciatica.

I get wheeled into the OR, leg feeling nothing. Me, wide awake.What a trip.

The end result is that from Saturday the 16th – foot doesn’t look good, but not the worst I’ve had – to Wednesday the 20th… amputation.

Life moves fast.

After a shit ton of IV antibiotics, they did a below the knee revision amputation on the 25th. No signs of infection. Yay. Following a stint in rehab at the Titusville Hospital, I am home again at my mothers. I have a way to go, but all is looking good for a prosthesis and an active life again... without that damn boot. I am okay with this. This is good. For the best.

I haven’t, however, written or drawn much since before Christmas. Makes me wonder just how long infection was festering. Anyway... I am feeling much better so updates, new stories, should be on the way.

#personal #2021sofar #atleastitwasn'tcovid #learningtolivewithoutfoot #igotthis

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origami10 · 3 years

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I’ve been thinking more about my adogan story again recently... I just regained access to files that were on my old computer, and apart from absolutely REEKING of the year 2008, I still think this story is pretty good! I think some of the names are in flux, and this would definitely get edited if I ever incorporated it into a larger story, but this is still a pretty good introduction to one of the characters, Flem.

More under the cut!

All around me I see nothing but walls. Barely anything I do is because of my own choice. Closing in around me, these walls show no hope of escape. Deep down in my heart, though, I know that someday I will find my own path.

“What’s the news for today?” I hear my mother say as I walk in the door. A bit weary from another long day at school, I call to her from the entry hall. “Well, I got an A on my astronomy test, and I did my classical literature presentation today, so I should have a grade on that by the end of the week. And I have Ultimate practice tonight for our competition this weekend. Oh, and there’s a geography bee at school next week that I’m going to participate in.” As I walk into the dining room, I see my mother rolling out pastry dough on the side table. She likes to work there because of the big window on the far side of the room. “Good work!” she says approvingly. “Keep up those good grades. You know your father and I expect you to attend the university in Ellayne once you’re done with school.” I begin to escape towards my room when she says, “Flem, dear, I need you to clean up your room right away, at least enough that I can close the door. The Prizerns are coming over for dinner in an hour. I want to show them around the house, so I need the upstairs to look nice for them!” I grumble inwardly. Couldn’t she just leave my room alone? I know it’s messy, but it’s the only thing left that I feel like I have control over. So my room is a mess, what’s new. My walls, too – what color are they, exactly? Plaid? It’s hard to tell under all the stuff I’ve stuck to them. And the doors, too, are covered with stuff. It’s hard to tell exactly where, or even if, there are doors to this room, once I move the stuff out of the way so I can close them. Hey! - It’s just like a loony bin. Wonderful. I should probably take some of that stuff down. It’s not that I like to save things, really, I’m just too lazy to sort through all the stuff covering the walls. How many years now has it been up? Especially that magazine article about frogs. That’s from research I did for my diorama, what, ten years ago now! Wow, ten years ago… maybe I should clean my room. Hmm. At least you can still see the windows. Why aren’t they covered like the rest of my room? Oh right, because I’m a vampire and I jump out the window every night to search for my PREY! … Just kidding! Though, hmm… that gives me an idea. Is there rope in my room? But how would I… Ah! That’s it! Now, is this bookshelf heavy enough?

A few hours after the Prizrens have gone, my doorway clean and my mother having shown off her only son of whom she is so proud, my plan is about to be put into action. I sit on my bed waiting quietly, but not patiently. How long can it take one person to finish in the bathroom before bed? I continue to sit, agitated. Finally I hear the latch on the bathroom door open, and the sound of my mother’s footsteps crossing the floor and descending the stairs. Now I have about fifteen minutes to make sure they’re asleep. I want to make sure they’re not paying attention to this side of the house. Finally, after fourteen long minutes, I peer out my window (the one that faces the back of the house) and see no sign of attentive life. Good! Now for my escape plan: I have already tied all my spare sheets together and tied one end around my bookshelf, so now I throw the other end out the window (okay, so it’s a cliché). I only have four extra sheets, so it’s a good thing my house is only two stories tall. I manage to lower myself out the window without event, though – oww – my arms will be sore in the morning. I leave the sheets hanging, and they ripple in the nighttime breeze. The white sheet on the end shows up a lot compared to the other dark blue ones, but I have to leave them, since I’m going to need them to get back in. Feeling proud of myself for getting this far but knowing I should still be wary, I sneak quietly into the thick bushes running along the inside perimeter of the garden fence. Then I crawl awkwardly through the conspicuously creaky loose board in the garden fence. I continue to tiptoe along the outside of the garden fence, just in case one of my parents should happen to be watching my every move… nah, I’m just being paranoid. But still… I take the last few cautious steps into the woods behind my house, then break into a run. “I’m free!” I say to myself. In my head, of course. No sense in waking my parents now. I begin to lope through the forest vegetation with an easy grace. Nothing can catch me now! Any potential pursuers would surely be caught up by the thick underbrush, but never would I, Lord of the Woods, King of the Forest, be tripped up by– whoa!! Thud. Uhhhh, my head….

In the blackness I come to consciousness without opening my eyes. Wait. Where am I? This doesn’t feel like my bed! I start to push myself up to get a better look at my surroundings when I feel a strong hand pushing me down. Oh no! With sleep-fuzzed eyes I can’t make out who it is. What if it’s one of those nomadic creeps who lurk in dark forests, waiting for innocent travelers?? What was I thinking?! “Lemme up! Lemme up!” I wail. “Okay, but you’re going to regret it.” I hear muttered. The hand goes away, and I sit up quickly. Too quickly. “Urghh…” My head feels like it’s being crushed inside a pipe wrench, and I close my eyes again. Now I remember why I’m lying down in the first place. “Be careful! Your life is in danger!” The same voice says. I was right! This was one of those forest creeps! Oh no, oh no! But the voice sounds oddly like a girl. “What are you going to do to me?” I say, my anxiety obvious in my squeaky voice. “Nothing! I’m not going to do anything! What are you, crazy?” (Definitely a girl talking). “Though your life is in danger, sort of. Aside from your life-jeopardizing stupidity (running through the woods in the middle of the night, what if one of those hermit creeps caught you?), you seem to have a bit of a concussion.” She lays a cool wet cloth on my forehead. Water drips down my temples, feeling especially pleasant on this muggy night. “Just close your eyes and keep them closed. Don’t move your head, but don’t go to sleep, either. I have to keep an eye on you for a couple hours and make sure there’s no brain damage. How ‘bout you tell me where you were going while we wait?” I’m not sure what to make of the prospect of staying here for a while, but my head does hurt tremendously, and it seems safe enough. She said she isn’t going to do anything to me, so I might as well answer her question. “I wasn’t really going anywhere. I was just leaving, I guess. I get so sick of my parents’ attitude, how they use me and my achievements to move up the social ladder. This is my first try at an escape.” “Sounds plausible. Want to know where you were really going?” She says, amused. How would you know if I don’t even know? “Okay,” I say uncertainly. “Right here! This is where you were coming all along. I wouldn’t have imagined it in this manner, though. Good thing I keep this place well stocked…. Anyway, my augury stones told me a couple months ago that you and I were meant for each other, so at the beginning of spring, I set up this little tree house to watch you from.” I let that thought sink in for a minute. “Oh no! Did you see the–“ “Don’t worry, I didn’t see the underwear dance. But with my sleep schedule, I don’t have much to do during the night, so I sent up shop, or camp, rather, and built this tree house. Figured you’d come by at some point. It’s not like my augury stones to disappoint me.” “So you’ve been watching me every night from early spring until now? “Mm-hmm. Just me and my trusty telescope.” Even with my eyes still closed, it’s difficult for me to imagine that she’s been watching me all this time. “Exactly how much do you know about me?” “Well, apart from my personal observations, I have your school yearbook, which I borrowed from a friend, and there’s always town gossip, and my rune stones of course. So by now I know an awful lot about you, more than you know about yourself, maybe. You’ve won every academic award your school offers along with many honors for activities outside of school, and your achievements have been recognized city- and nationwide. In a few years you’re planning to attend the university in Ellayne. You’re an outstanding Ultimate player, which I’ve heard is a difficult sport to play. Your room is literally wallpapered in good grades. You’re pretty cute, if I do say so myself; I’m partial to orange hair. You have time to do everything, more, and still get enough sleep. Some say you’re perfect.” I pause. I can’t tell where to begin downplaying what she just said! But as I search for objections, my mind draws a blank. It dawns on me that what she had said was not just gossip, but absolute fact. Horrified, I say, “But…but…nobody’s perfect!” “Flem, you are the living proof against that statement. After observing you for several months I’m quite sure of it. The only discrepancy is tonight when you introduced yourself to that rock down there. Think about it. Have you ever seriously injured yourself?” “No.” “Any broken bones or scars?” “No.” “Any grades below an A- ?” I wince inwardly at the thought of the A- I received last year in Introduction to Metaphysics, but that was the worst grade I have ever gotten. “No.” “I didn’t think so. Hmmm, we’ll have to look further into your inability to fail later. But you know, even with all my sources I couldn’t find out everything I wanted to know about you. Now that we’ve met, do you mind if I ask you some questions?” So far she seems like a trustworthy person, so I barely hesitate before answering her. “Sure, what do you want to know?” “Okay. I was confused about this Mayid relation of yours. Is she your cousin or your great-aunt?” “Actually both. My cousin Mayid is named after my great-aunt, and she also looks a lot like my great-aunt when she was younger. But my great-aunt Mayid lives in Meayno, and my cousin lives….”

After a bunch of questions Fennet stops me. “Hey, Flem, I really enjoyed listening to your stories, but I have to break it to you, it’s almost dawn. We need to get you home.” I feel temporarily astounded by the time warp. Then I realize I’ve done it again. I can talk for hours and hours about something that I know about, which includes myself. And I just have. Sitting up, I open my eyes for the first time since I blacked out. Then, for the eleventy-ninth time that night, I am amazed by the girl who sits before me with dark eyes set in an ivory face, adorned with dark orange and white-blond striped hair. After a long silence, she says, “By the way, my name is Fennet. Nice to meet you.”

As I pull the sheet rope up into my room, she says, “When your head gets better, come visit my tree house again. But leave those sheets tied together; I’ll be coming every night until you recover. I know you, but you don’t know anything about me.” She pauses. “And Flem, you know…” “What?” “We’re meant to be.” As I watch over the fence how she disappears into the darkness of the woods, I marvel at how easily I have found my counterbalance, my companion star, my equal and opposite other half.

#Flem #adogan #definitely the most self-insert of the characters #long post

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popculturebuffet · 4 years

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Ducktales: Challenge of the Senior Junior Woodchucks! and Quack Pack! Review/Thoughts

Hello errybody, I’ve decided being a huge fan of this verison of Ducktales, and someone who likes reviewing stuff and going on and on at length about it, to review this season’s episodes as they come out, both to get me writing critically again, and to get more non chat content on the old tumblr. First, while you likely don’t care a little about my history with the ducks; While I , sadly though i’m trying to correct it, haven’t read MUCH of Carl Barks classic donald duck comics nor that of his avid fanboy and clear sucessor in quality and talent Don Rosa, I did read Rosa’s utter classic “The LIfe and Times of Scrooge” mcduck in high school and the story stuck with me sense. I’ll go into Life and Times another day hopefully, but naturally when the reboot was announced I was excited.. a great voice cast, and donald,my boy, as part of the main cast. The show has been a joy to behold and with steven universe having taken a bow JUST a week ago and Covid ravaging our lives, it coudln’t of picked a better time. But do these episodes keep the momentum from an utterly marvelous second half of season 2? The short answer is “Fuck yes” but the long answer is under the cut.

Challenge of the Junior Senior Woodchucks! While “Challenge of the x” is a popular snowclone title I can’t help but think of superfriends with the title... or now I thought of it shortly before writing this, hearing “Meanwhile at the legion of doom” when they cut to fowl.. or rather “Meanwhile at FOWL” but in that same announcers voice. I”m a dork, that should be obvious But I was hyped for both episodes: Violet is a faviorite mine, I ship her with huey so them interacting for the first time was wonderful to me, and.. okay the subplot didn’t hook me and we’ll get to that, but we had her dads and one of my other faviorites (I have several, get used to it now) , Lena , at least putting in an apperance. And honestly.. the main plot lived up to it. As I said I didn’t really dig the sub plot, more on that in a second, but I REALLY enjoyed this. From the begining Huey was my faviorite of the three triplets, easily, as it’s fairly easy for me a grown ass dork with anxiety, self confidence, anger issues, depression and constant self doubt, to relate to a little duck with the same and I’ve loved Danny Pudi since community, so naturally I was excited for his turn for a spotlight season. And again the show didn’t disapoint.. Huey has a rather decent arc with some unexpected turns: First unexpectly, the trailer lied as while Huey and Violet look ultra competiive, theirs no real confilct..s econds after that bit the two shake hands (after a good 20 seconds of adorable and hilarous failure to do so that fits both like a glove.), and try to be good sports. The problem is instead internal: As Huey muses to his siblings (Webby very much included, getting her own great bit of encouraging Huey while also assuring Violet she’s also great he just needs it more, which is accurate) “If i’m not hte best junior woodchuck who am I”. Like Louie last season towards the begining (when he didn’t have a clear purpose in their adventuring dynamic) and towards the end (When della nearly took it away from him), he’s nothing without his sense of who he is. It’s easily why he’s the one to comfort him when his other siblings are either torn between two friends or you know, Dewey. Louie knows what it’s like to be rattled about who you are. And WHY Violet outclassing him rattles him so much is intreating and to me makes a ton of sense: Huey’s identity to me is so wrapped in his intellegence and woodchuckery because , besides being oldest, it’s what he HAS on his brothers. When you think about it, Louie is the charmer, Dewey is charsmaticin his own way and loves hogging attention not to mention being fairly athletic... to stand out Huey NEEDS his brains to be the one with facts, and plans and his book. He may not be the first on the front lines but he’s the first to solve a trap or figure out where they are if scrooge or his mom hasn’t already.. and if someone’s markdely better at that, and worse in an activity that’s wholy his own and now it’s been revealed impmortant to his mom.. just who is he. The poor kid simply breaks down at the thought and takes bigger and stupider risks, which is sad to watch.. and thankfully lightned by his delightful mental brekadown in the form of the stephen root voiced JW Guidebook, a talking hallucination who gives huey his knowledge and edge back in the contest.. but it’s STILL not enough. And that’s when the other intresting bit comes into play: Huey.. has a moment of weakness. Despite the guidebook saying to always save your fellow woodchucks when violet gets stuck slipping in a tree.. he does nothing and leaves, despite JW , whose now become his concious, begging him not to. It’s a sad, well done moment, and one that makes the story richer. Naturally violet escapes and when huey falls off the lava bridge to the finish line in a nother moment of desperation, and after a returning JW burns because apparently ducks and sabrewings are fireproof but imaginary manfestations of knowledge arne’t, she saves him... and is a good friend and woodchuck in NOT chastizing huey for his moment of weakness earlier, but comforting him, revealing she’s tried three times before and adding some more depth to her character: Despite her awkardness with people, she’s a kind, caring person, and gives Huey the lesson he needs: faliure, and the ocasional bout of moral weakness, is okay.. what matters is you learn from it, dust yourself off and keep going. Huey bows out due to this, as while violet is more than willing to let him pass with her, Huey knows he hasn’t earned it, yet, but he can keep trying and that this is her moment, not his. And in that, I feel learns that he dosen’t NEED recognition to be his best self.. he just needs to be a good person and a good woodchuk. I’ts a damn fine story and despite not being the intended premire, works as a great one.. mostly. And also yes I ship them.. as much as two ten-elven year olds can be, but they are adorable and geninley have a good repore. And before I get to the dispaointing subplot, i’d be an idiot if I left out Violet’s family: We meet her dads, hilariously wearing shirts that say i’m with dad which is also really fucking adorable, and have our first onscreen conformation that Lena’s now her adopted sister, with Lena loudly screaming it in one of the best lines of the episode.. it’s clever to me: it over the top makes sure that we know yes, these men are gay and her parents.. but in a needed way given disney’s tendncy to dance around that or loudly proclaim a minor character no one cares about is gay in a way they can edit out. It’s a great step forward for the channel and the company and good on the crew for going ahead with it and good on disney for not beign dumb about it, nor, like again they have a bad habit of doing, loudly shouting about it to the media. Excellent work.

Now i’m done rambling about Huey’s psyche and america’s new faviorite gay couple, I gotta get the suplot out of the way: while the whiporwill is freaking adorable as is dewey’s bond with it, otherwise this plot is.. really damn weak: it has some good jokes (Louie’s blunt no when Scrooge asks if hte family wants to fight a bear, Webby’s disapointment when she finds their not walking in the path of literal giants, Donald’s runner with the spy drone mosquito (and Della’s instiance to just let it suck his blood), and Della proving she has the family temper with her own donald brand angry dance) it’s just.. not enoguh. It feels like it’s an oblogiatory plto for the family and while it does set up the season’s overaching plot with a strong character, as it’s intresting learning that Scrooge had an idol at adventuring and thus is following a legacy himself, overall the subplot itself is just there and distracting from the much more intresting A-Story. That being said it was at least sorta worth it for the ending bit where huey and violet suprisingly find launchpad at the end of the trial in a cave.. as do the duckfamily, both groups crying out “Launchpad?!” with launchpad giving out a hilarious “that’s me, i’m launchpad” and while the setup for it was weak, the idea of the family going around the globe to find missing mysteries wile fighting fowl over them is a great concept. Overall a really damn strong start to the season with a weak b-plot and i’m gald even if this isn’t what htey planned to start with it’s what they went with. Quack Pack: Quack Pack.. is one of disney’s secret shames.. I mean it’s not SO secret as it’s on D+ while this show’s predecessor wonder over yonder and superhero fantasy classic american dragon jake long are not for reasons I sitll don’t get, but that’s a rant for another day. It clashed badly with ducktlaes,was meiocre most of the time (It helps the two episodes I did watch were donald focused as he, a nicely redeisgned dasiy, and their co-worker kent were the highlights), with the boys somehow being more obnoxious than they were at their worst in the original ducktales. Now that’s off my chest the episode itself.. is really damn good and a nice take on sitcom parody, with the family getting ready for a photo. Dewey’s “since the internet” line in paticular killed because, having watched boths ome of the best sitcoms (roseanne, designing women) and some of the absolute worst (My wife and kids, last man standing,home imporvment etc), most modern ones i’ve seen, even the good ones, have kids written this terrible way. Otherwise though it was highly enjoyable and having Jaleel “Urkel/Sonic the Hedgehog” white here to take the piss out of his former genre as Gene (and doing such a great job I really want to see Gene back next season), is the icing. That and Huey going half insane trying to figure out what’s going on, as well as the unsettling reveal of the studio audience. Really the ep is a laugh fest, as well as the glorious arrival of goofy who to my relief, wasn’t a hallucination.. which itself is a great gag as is the offscreen internal thought of “okay so now htey ahve to take goofy with them on this deadly adventure all the way back to the states?”. The using of the adults old designs, as well as having dewey do the triplets dance and wear an outfit similar to theirs from “Mr Duck Steps Out” (Which I saw earlier this year and other than daisy’s horrifying early voice it wasn’t half bad). It’s just hard to go into and throughly enjoyable. But analysis right the real meat is in my boy donald: Going into the ep I genuinely expected Dewey to be the obvious source of the wish: while knowing gene was involved meant it was easy to see it was his fault HOW was a good question.. but having Donald do so and throughly enjoyable, and naturally gives us two great gags int he rwo: Donald’s VERY donald response “I wish for that 6 times a day! how wsas I supposed to know I was rubbing up against a magical lamp” and everyone spouting off their catcphrases, all either actual ones, basically something she does all the time turned into one (della) or poor beakly who gets “i’m not a spy” for some reason an dis cross about it. But the fact Donald not only figured it out quickly but wants to stay.. is perfectly in character. Donald in general, and especailly here, dosen’t WANT to be an adventuer anymore: he does it for his family, but he’d probably perfer the tgif lifestyle where problems are minor and solved with heartwarming lessons.. not full of lingering restiments, damage you caused, or loosing a decade of your sisters life and having to struggle to care for her kids. The rest of the familys looks when he gives his reasoning say it all: they really get why he wants this.. but Huey, who nicely got to be the one to break the sitcom news to them on top of everything else, makes an even better one: their lives are who they are.. this.. isn’t real. LIkea tgif sitcom it’s a plastic imitation of life that’s nothing like it: it’s comforting sure since hte real world is fucking complicated and miserable at times.. but hiding from it dosen’t fix things. And while Donald, of course angrily denies this while his family ends upf ighting the studio audience, it’s Goofy, loveable guest star and everyone’s other faviorite dad, who gets his friend to see the truth: eveyr family has thieir own normal. He and max are widower and his kid. Just a family of three (I”m counting PJ since , by his tene years at least, Peg is missing, though Iw ish she’d come back as her and goofy would be cute and she deserves better than Pete but whatever, and his dad is an emotionally abusive douchehead). But their happy, they make memories even if goofy like donald can’t walk five feet without the universe, and that’s what counts> it’s a touching sentiment and i’m happy Donald now has a friend whose also a parent and probably made similar sacrifices, and some Donald hasn’t had to just yet and probably won’t now dellas back, but made it through. So donald helps his family fight the humanoids, take sa picture and it’s just a genuinely sweet ending... a great episode with a great concept that also opens the door for the return of the world’s other best dad more times. And again I want to see him smooch pete’s ex wife. This is the hill I will die on apaprently.. and with that I leave you. it was a good start a fun thing ot dive into and I hope for more.. oh and before I go, while i’m not a GIANT max and roxanne shipper, Idon’t dislike the ship I just don’t hav ea large attachment, it was absolutley WONDERFUL to see that they went to prom together. Okay i’m done, until next week, courage and stay safe.

#ducktales #season 3 #challenge of the senior junior woodchucks #quack pack #review #goof troop #donald duck #goofy goof

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nekojitachan · 5 years

Text

okay, so I posted last week (?) about an AFTG fic idea based on an old movie.

this isn’t it - blame/thank this on @sig66, as we began talking about classic movies and this one came up as a possibility for an AFTG fic, and I’ve been working on it and backstories ever since (think I’ll save the other one for either a possible big bang or a ‘proper’ fic).

Anyway, thank @sig66 for this - no idea of when I’ll be updating this, but for now, it’s a tumblr story and I’ll TRY to get it updated inbetween ‘proper’ fic updates (so maybe every other week, possibly sooner?). I’ve a lot of backstory for this, so while the movie is the backbone of the fic, expect it to expand from it (if you’re at all familiar with the film).

As for this first part, it really just sets things up.

Only trigger warnings should be for Neil’s past in Baltimore (and vague at that).

How to Steal a (lot of) Million(s) Part 1/? *******

Nathaniel sat hunched over in one of the waiting room’s plastic chair, desperate to quiet, to be still, to not draw any attention to himself like his mother had taught him. Each time the elderly woman behind the desk looked his way to give him a reassuring smile or someone came into the room he nearly flinched before he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to react, that reacting was bad. The bruises and neatly stitched cuts hidden beneath his black pants and black, green and white plaid sweater reminded him of just how bad it could be to show any negative emotions.

It just… it was so hard when his mother wasn’t there to shield him from the worst of the curious looks, to give his arm a warning squeeze and whisper ‘Abram’ in his ear to remind him when he got out of line. Normally he was with her back with the doctor, was the reason for their visit (‘a fall down the stairs’, ‘a fight with another boy’, ‘an accident in the kitchen’), but for some reason she’d gone there alone.

What had she done to upset his father so much?

He shoved that thought aside as quickly as he could.

Fortunately, it was just another few minutes before she came out through the one door, her face set in a blank expression which made him clamor onto his feet in an instant and stand up straight while some middle-aged man in a white coat continued to talk to her in a hushed voice. She brushed him off as she motioned Nathanial to the door leading out of the doctor’s office, which he scrambled toward without seeming to rush (he’d learned how to do that in the last year or so).

She didn’t speak until they were out in the blue sedan which she hated for some reason. “It’s all right,” she told him once they were on the highway which would take them back to the house. “Your father knows where we were today, I told him it was a regular check-up.” She motioned to her purse while she spoke. “That I needed a new script.”

Nathaniel didn’t quite understand what she meant by the last part but nodded along; what mattered was that he didn’t have to lie about where they were after his mother had picked him up from school. “All right.”

It was quiet for another couple of minutes. “I want you to pack a few of your clothes in a small bag, just some random ones. Not many, only what you’d need for a couple of days. Then put that bag in the back of your closet. Can you do that, Abram?” she asked without looking at him.

Long used to his mother asking things of him without any explanation, Nathaniel nodded. “Yes, Mum.”

“Good boy. Now, let’s review your latest French lesson.” They spent the rest of the drive back to the house going over various verb tenses until he almost felt at peace, until the anxiety was almost gone (but it was never truly gone, not when they always went back to that place, when Father or Lola or Patrick would be waiting for them).

He put her request out of mind once he’d done what she’d asked, aware of the risk he faced if his father caught him (pain until he answered, pain for not giving any good explanations, pain and pain and pain), and life went on as ‘normal’ in his father’s house (pain). All Nathaniel wanted was to get through the day without setting off the man, without being a disappointment somehow, with not having to go into the basement to learn cruel lessons, to take up knives or have the blades turned on him.

The only true thing he knew about life was that it was filled with disappointment and pain.

Then about a week after the doctor’s appointment, his mother woke him in the middle of the night, told him to be quiet and to grab the bag he’d prepared, then snuck him out of the house while everyone else either slept or were gone (inflicting that pain on others). He thought it was some sort of fever dream (aftermath of the latest cuts inflicted upon him earlier that day), especially when they ended up at the local airport with two first class tickets to fly to London that night.

Especially when his mother, thrumming with an energy he’d never seen in her before, dragged him (exhausted from being awake so long and expecting his father to appear any moment) from the airport and into the crowded metropolis to some stone-faced building (one in a row of them) and pounded on the door until a man only a few inches taller than her and maybe a little older with dark blond hair (tousled as if he’d just gotten out of bed despite the lateness of the afternoon) and similar grey eyes opened the door to stare at them as if they were ghosts.

“Mary? Bugger me… Mary?” he gasped out as he slumped against the door as if in shock. “And… Nathaniel?”

“Abram,” she snapped as she dropped the bag in her left hand onto the ground. “I don’t want to hear that name again. Now are you going to let us in? We’re knackered, you daft fool.”

“You… bugger me,” the man repeated as he rubbed at his eyes as if he was tired (or seeing things). “Okay, come on in,” he mumbled as he stepped back.

“That’s your Uncle Stuart,” Nathaniel’s mother informed him as they entered the house. “You can trust him.”

If Mary told him he could… Nathaniel gave the man (currently muttering about needing some damn coffee) a shy look as he pressed against his mother’s side, still not convinced that all of this wasn’t one crazy dream – running away from his father to his mother’s family, to possibly finding a safe haven. Yet the man (his uncle) gave him a kind smile and asked if he wanted some biscuits and tea.

Nathaniel (Abram) knew it was reality when his mother died of advanced ovarian cancer less than a year later.

*******

“Sold for $190,000 to the gentleman in front of me. Thank you very much, sir,” the auctioneer called out in English, though still bearing a thick French accent. “Now up next, ladies and gentlemen, is item number thirty-four per the catalog, and we’re accepting bids from New York, London and Hong Kong both online and via telephone as well as in person. This great Cezanne painting is from the world famous Josten collection, sold by order of the present head of the Josten family, Monsieur Stuart Josten.” He gestured to an elegant figure standing toward the back of the room and next to the wall as if trying to avoid attention, dressed in a simple tuxedo. The man gave a nervous smile and a slight bow while people applauded, and one even shook his hand.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, who will start the bidding on this superb post-impressionist masterpiece at $200,000?” the auctioneer called out as he stood in front of the painting of a woman in a red dress. The bidding commenced and immediately rose to $500,000 while ‘Stuart Josten’ watched on in delight.

*******

Neil tore through Paris in the supped-up MG Midget that Matt had gifted him a couple of years ago, on his way to the latest home he shared with his uncle after hearing the news about Stuart’s recent bout of… of… idiocy. Okay, so maybe the Hatfords weren’t exactly on the up and up….

Okay, so the Hatfords were so fucking far away from the up and up. Did Stuart really have to set a stupid record with the sale of his latest little ‘project’? Really?

Neil nearly rammed the car into the ornate stonework in front of the small, old mansion before he put the car into park and jumped out, then ran up the steps into the house. Davis was there to take his cap and bomber jacket, and to inform him that Stuart was indeed home and upstairs.

“Thanks,” Neil told his uncle’s assistant, well aware that the man didn’t have to rat out his boss like that, and caught the wink sent his way; Davis knew that someone was about to catch an earful right then.

He went up the curved staircase and into the one sitting room, where after making sure that no one was around (old habits died hard), he climbed into the ‘special’ wardrobe; once inside, he slid back the false panels so he could access the secret room behind them.

The spiral staircase in the hidden room led him up to the studio where his uncle worked on his forgeries, a large space filled with artworks in progress and various pieces which inspired them – statues and all sorts of paintings. Once again, Neil was amazed at his uncle’s talent, and a bit chagrined that Stuart focused it on reproducing existing works of art.

“Hello, brat,” Stuart called out to him from where he sat behind an easel, dressed in an old smock over his clothes and paint smeared over his left cheek.

“Hello, Stu,” Neil responded as he came over to give the man who’d raised him ever since he was ten years old a hug.

“Be careful,” Stuart chided with affection even as he gently hugged Neil in return. “I’m covered with paint.”

“When aren’t you? And you’re also covered with money,” Neil shot back. “Allison told me about the auction when I stopped by.”

“Ah yes, the Cezanne.” Stuart grinned with pride as he leaned back. “I could have sold a dozen of them at that auction! But one was enough.”

“One is more than enough!” Neil gritted out as he tried not to grow angry with the man. “I thought we talked about this! It’s getting too risky these-“

“Ah, ah, not now, I’m busy,” Stuart told him as he shooed Neil out of the way of his laptop screen, where he had a close-up of the Van Gogh painting he was currently reproducing. “How nice of him to only use his first name like that, makes it so much easier.”

“Not again!” Neil felt the urge to grab something and throw it, but refused to give in to his temper like that because… because of reasons. “It’s too soon!”

Stuart gave him a patronizing look as he began to wipe clean his brushes. “Don’t worry, this one won’t be sold for a long, long time. We’ll hang it up, let people look at it and appreciate it, and who knows, maybe some legendary, asshole tycoon will be able to persuade me to part with it if the price is right.”

Despite himself, Neil had to smile as he helped Stuart with the brushes. “You’re such a scoundrel.”

“Thank you, you little brat.” Stuart smiled back and swiped a (clean, thankfully) brush along the tip of Neil’s nose. Then he blanched as Neil nearly tipped over the plate containing specks of dirt. “Be careful! That’s my Van Gogh dirt,” he explained as he hurried to pick it up and place it in the one cupboard where he kept his more precious supplies, like the pigments he used in his forgeries. “That’s the dirt from his neighborhood, it took some effort to collect it. What I don’t go through to make these things as authentic as possible,” he complained as he stored it away. “Doubt Van Gogh did as much.”

“He didn’t have to, he was Van Gogh,” Neil snarked as he plopped down in a spare chair. “Sort of the point of it, no?”

“Yeah, kiddo, but in his lifetime, he only sold one painting, and I’ve already sold two as him,” Stuart shot back.

Neil felt a headache coming on and wished that he’d stopped to put on a pot of tea first. “You do know that selling someone else’s painting’s a crime, right? And they have all this lovely technology now to figure out that your stuff is a fake?”

Stuart scoffed as he continued to clean the brushes. “But I only sell the stuff to rich people, and they’re too stuck-up to admit that they might have been fooled into buying fakes. Know your audience, brat, rule number one.” He threw an old rag at Neil, who rolled his eyes at the familiar saying. “And don’t throw any stones, after half the shit you’ve pulled.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, and I-“ Neil frowned at the sound of sirens outside of the house, which only grew louder as if they were approaching the place. He got up from the chair to go look out the nearest window, and blanched when he saw several police cars pull into the house’s driveway. “Fuck, the police are here!”

“What?” Stuart rushed over to his side so he could look out as well, then let out a harsh breath. “Don’t scare me like that, kiddo, it’s just the director of the Kleber-Lafayette Museum, here about the Cellini Venus.”

“Eh?” For a moment, those words didn’t make any sense – why wasn’t Stuart worried? Since when didn’t the Hatfords have anything to fear from the police showing up in force (sure, some were paid off, mostly in the UK, but…)? Then he remembered about the damn statue and groaned. “That thing? What about it?”

“The Cellini Venus is to be the outstanding feature of a great loan exhibition – the masterpieces of French Collection,” Stuart informed him with pride as he scrubbed his hands free of paint.

Screw tea, Neil was willing to start drinking alcohol right about now. “Not in public,” Neil all but wailed as he thought about the damn forgery, a piece of ‘pride’ in the family. “It’s not really French,” he hissed. “We’re not French!”

“They don’t know that,” Stuart told him with a wry grin as he pulled on a dress coat as if to make himself presentable. “Come now, we can’t leave them waiting.”

“Not in public,” Neil repeated as he hurried after his uncle and caught him in time to wipe away the smudge of paint on his left cheek, certain that Davis would stall the people downstairs; he was grateful that he’d stopped by Allison’s earlier and let her (well, couldn’t stop her, really) dress him in something ‘acceptable’. He straightened the collar of his Maison Kitsune shirt and made sure it was tucked into the Amiri jeans his friend wouldn’t let him leave until he put on.

Sometimes he thought that his family’s enforcers could learn a thing or two about intimidation from the woman.

“I’ll be down in a minute, Monsieur Aldritch,” Stuart called out while he motioned to Neil to make sure that the wardrobe was properly closed up, still busy fussing with his own outfit as he did his best to look like ‘Stuart Josten’, eccentric art collector and not Stuart Hatford, member of one of Europe’s most infamous crime families.

“No hurry, Monsieur Josten,” some man called back in return as Neil and his uncle made their way down the stairs; Neil did his best to remain calm in the face of so many armed officers being inside his home while Stuart gave them a friendly smile; it helped that Davis stood off to the side, doing a perfect impression of an unremarkable butler and not someone who could kill them all in under a minute.

Aldritch and Stuart exchanged greetings while Neil did his best not to glare figurative daggers at the back of his uncle’s head over him being so foolish as to loan out a fake which had been a family ‘heirloom’ and joke for years. Somehow he summoned a smile when he was introduced to the museum’s director, and had to bite his tongue when the man thanked his uncle for keeping such a priceless treasure in France like a ‘true’ Frenchman (if he only knew the truth).

Personally, Neil didn’t see what the fuss was about the damn statue, which looked just like any other Venus statue in his mind, though supposedly his grandfather had done a remarkable job with the forgery (and was the reason why Stuart preferred that particular crime to the rest of the ‘family business’). It had passed various inspections in the past… but Neil lived in fear of technology catching up to his uncle one day, and including the Cellini Venus in a big art exhibit just might be what attracted the wrong attention.

He attempted to ‘help’ Aldritch and the man’s assistants load the marble statue into its padded travel case, but Stuart knew him a little too well and pulled him away before he could use the statue’s heavy marble base to ‘accidentally’ break the ‘precious’ artwork and so prevent it from being used in the collection. “Behave, brat,” Stuart whispered in Spanish as the case was locked and carefully picked up.

“This is a mistake,” Neil warned, but it was too late at that point to do anything to stop it as the statue was being carried away.

Once they were gone and Davis offered to put on some tea, Neil gave in to the urge to glare at his uncle. “What the hell have you done?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Stuart gestured to the empty alcove where the statue had rested until a couple of minutes ago. “I did a bloke a solid, I did. They needed something special for that collection they’re putting together, and now your grandfather’s-“

“A fake, you gave them a fake piece of art,” Neil reminded the fool as he ran his hands through his hair, which Allison had done her best to tame earlier. “A piece of marble, which they can use all these nice little bits of machines to scan and run tests on it.”

Stuart scoffed as he undid the buttons to his black dinner jacket and sat down in an antique chair. “They won’t do that to something I loaned out and risk damaging it, which is why I agreed to add it to the collection. Do you know how many offers I’ve had for the damn thing? Even one recently,” he confessed with a slightly pained look, “but I never accept because I won’t risk it.”

“Yet you’re fine with thousands of people gawking at the thing,” Neil mumbled as he sank down on a velvet-covered duvet and took to rubbing his temples in an effort to stave off a headache.

“Hundreds of thousands,” Stuart corrected him, and laughed when Neil groaned. “Don’t you see that I’m proud of it, kiddo? Your grandfather spent months on that thing while your gram posed for him. It’s not just some old piece of marble a barely known Italian banged out, but a family heirloom.”

A family heirloom that was going to get Stuart locked up, and possibly Neil as an accessory (well, more than that when he had to break his uncle out of prison).

Somehow, he had a feeling that he’d be rounding up the gang soon to help them out of a huge mess.

He should have gone off with Henry and Jamie to help them with their ‘little Russian problem’, dammit, no matter how much he hated vodka.

*******

Thanks for like the five people who read this. As stated, updates are whenever. Next part should have Andrew and Kevin and more of the Foxes (lots of backstories there).

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black-king-white-knight · 5 years

Text

Nicoletto Giganti

Pairing: Romantic pining Logince. (They’re both Gay Disasters, what can I say?) Platonic Moxiety. Mild background platonic LAMP?

Word Count: 4,921. I swear it was supposed to be ~500. I am truly incapable of keeping my mouth shut.

Warnings: Logan’s oblivious, and despite the fact I didn’t really have time to include it, Roman’s pining too. A tiny little bit of swearing... oh and mentions of sword fighting, but it’s fencing classes and mentions of a competition. Nothing else I can think of, but let me know if there’s anything else anyone wants me to tag for.

Oh, and I know nothing about fencing other than what I remember from a couple of terms of it at school about a decade ago. Plus whatever I can dig up online. So any mistakes are, of course, mine.

Since I don’t have a beta, there might be some tense switches here that I haven’t fixed, if so, please let me know.

A/N: To my good friend and one of the two best artists I’ve ever seen. Happy Birthday Elli! I hope you like it. =)

“So, have you asked him yet?”

Logan didn’t open his eyes, just gave a small sigh as he stopped counting and shifted position slightly. Eighteen seconds. Well, I had thought it would be Patton who asked, not you, Virgil.

“No, Virgil, I have not asked Roman anything yet, because, quite frankly, I don’t know what you except me to ask him or him to say in response.”

There was a short pause as Logan felt the unimpressed stare from Virgil and the... he wasn’t quite sure what kind of look Patton was giving him.

They’d both been acting strange since finding out about his... aesthetic fascination with Roman. That’s all it was, he’d quite clearly stated that, but for some reason, Virgil and Patton refused to accept it as such. They kept on trying to push for a confrontation and confession for illogical reasons Logan couldn’t decipher.

Whatever Logan’s interest in Roman was, Roman, very clearly did not reciprocate. It was nothing to be concerned about. Anybody looking at Roman could see the aesthetic appeal he held, and that’s all Logan was admiring about him. That’s it. Nothing more than that.

Virgil snorted off to Logan’s left, but thankfully didn’t press the subject any further. Patton was clearly worried about something, as evidenced by his constant fidgeting. It was a habit Virgil used to feel a little guilty about, thinking he’d inflicted it on Patton, but between Logan and Patton himself, Virgil had eventually been convinced that such a notion was rubbish.

“Don’t worry, kiddo, maybe he’ll ask you out...” It sounded like Patton mumbled something else after that, but Logan couldn’t make it out. If he was of a more fanciful nature, he might have guessed it was, “sooner than you think.”

Nevertheless, Logan’s brain short-circuited for a few seconds, involuntarily caught up in the notion of spending time with Roman. As much as he enjoyed the company of his other two friends, spending time with the theatre student would be...

No, it’s just an aesthetic attraction, Logan. You know this. Anything further is illogical. It was a mantra that Logan stuck to rigorously, especially recently. It had shielded him from the pain of rejection for several months now. Not that there was anything to get rejected over, of course. Wait...

“Patton, why would he need to ask me specifically? We’ve all agreed already that we would go as a group.” It sounded kind of weak, even to Logan’s ears. He didn’t even bother denying to himself that he wanted Roman to ask him specifically, despite how guilty it made him feel about excluding his other two friends.

He wanted his... definitely-not-a-crush to be reciprocated, of course he did, but not at the expense of his friendship with Roman. It was not a definite outcome, and Logan couldn’t bring himself to face such uncertainty.

Patton didn’t answer the question directly, but did send a quick glance at Virgil, again with that face that Logan didn’t know how to interpret. Something was clearly going on here, the two boys had a plan about something, but he couldn’t work out what it was and that made him a little uncomfortable.

When Patton and Virgil started plotting together, it was best to just hope you could stay out of the way. Patton didn’t look it, but he’d perfected his puppy dog eyes over many years and knew just when to deploy them to get out of trouble.

The teen in question shifted closer on Logan’s right side and gently pressed his outstretched leg to Logan’s and started carding his fingers through the other boy’s hair, and then moved on to gently scratch his scalp.

Logan wanted to pursue the subject further, and was about to ask Patton why he was clearly trying to distract him with physical affection when Patton hit that one spot right there.

This one particular spot on the back of Logan’s head had always been his weak point. It was a well established tradition between the four boys. They’d been best friends since before any of them could remember and had long ago grown so comfortable with each other that physical affection became a major method of communication, especially when they were feeling anxious about something.

Logan eventually gave up, just enjoyed the stroking, scratching sensations on his scalp as Patton moved his hand around, idly doodling puppy paws on his leg with his other hand. Virgil crouched against the tree, headphones on and looking like he was blocking out the world, but all of them knew that face well.

Roman had initially joked that it was Virgil’s ‘Taskmaster Face’, but the joke quickly proved to be a reality after Patton had gotten hurt in their first competitive fencing bout. Virgil had turned into a demon then, pushing them all to practice as much as they could to prevent any future injuries even after Patton’s protestations that he was fine.

At first they’d all rebelled against it in their own ways, but after Virgil had revealed his anxiety... Logan shuddered internally. The realisation that Virgil had been suffering in silence for years because he hadn’t wanted to bring them down had... not gone well for any of them, but at least Virgil was more open with them now, Patton especially.

Virgil wasn’t touching Logan, but he was offering his own silent comfort. Before Logan could demand an answer why, the bell rang out across the campus, and the three friends started walking back towards the buildings, Patton’s left hand having dropped from Logan’s head to his side, fingers entwining with his.

“Where’s Roman?” Logan asked, surprised that the theatre student hadn’t made an appearance all through lunch. A certain tardiness on Roman’s part wasn’t unusual, he had a habit of either getting distracted, especially when Logan was around, for some odd reason, and he often stayed behind to help the drama group.

Which they all did during productions, whether or not they were officially involved in them, but Roman did it year round, mostly tutoring the younger students.

But for him to not appear all throughout lunch was... odd. And Logan could have brushed it off as Roman being Roman except for the fake nonchalance that the other two on either side of him immediately came down with.

They knew something, and Logan wanted to find out what it was.

There was a moment of silence before Virgil shrugged, “He’s around.”

Seeing that Logan wasn’t satisfied with such an evasive answer, Patton jumped in with, “It’s nothing bad Lo; apart from that... It’s a surprise, you’ll see later. Just, trust us, please?” Patton then pulled out his puppy eyes, and Logan immediately caved. None of them were able to deny Patton anything when he pulled out that expression.

Virgil snicked and when Logan looked at him, he peeled away with a quick two fingered salute and headed towards English, while Patton and Logan moved to History, still hand in hand.

Logan felt out of place throughout his afternoon classes. He and Patton didn’t share many classes with either Roman or Virgil, since Roman was one year younger and Virgil was two, but even so, the lack of Roman and the secretiveness of the other two... stuck in Logan’s mind.

He knew Patton, the teacher and several of his classmates were all looking at him, wondering why he was so quiet, but Logan was too wrapped up in what his friends had told him during the day.

Roman was off, somewhere, doing something secret. It was a surprise that he would discover later, apparently, and then there was the issue of Patton’s insistence that Roman might give Logan a shot if he were to confess his feelings.

Logan couldn’t help himself; he started re-examining all of his past interactions with Roman. How distracted the theatre student was around him, frequently daydreaming and not paying attention to the tutoring help that Logan gave him. How, when they were fencing, they learned that out of all of them, Roman learned the worst when he was paired with Logan; it was like he was unable to focus full the way he was with Virgil or Patton.

But that was- surely his friends couldn’t be right, could they? Logan had seen enough romantic movies on movie nights between Patton and Roman, but everyone knew popular media didn’t imitate real life.

But Logan couldn’t (and to be honest, he didn’t want to) crush the spark of hope that was blooming in his chest.

“Lo?” Patton asked from above him. “You okay, kiddo?”

Logan looked up, realising with shock that class was over, and Patton had his arms full of his books and head cocked to one side as he looked at Logan.

“Uh, yes, everything is satisfactory, Patton.” Logan muttered, adjusting his glasses and trying to fight down the senseless blush that suddenly spread across his cheeks. Patton smiled at him and the two boys exited the classroom, only to be greeted by Virgil who was hanging around on the other side of the corridor, bag slung over one shoulder, hood up and headphones on. When he saw them though he pulled out his phone and turned his music off, pulled his headphones down and linked arms with Patton while they followed Logan to his locker.

He was still feeling off, but that feeling only spiked when he got close to his locker and saw other people looking at him before turning away, or people walking away giggling.

Logan turned the corner, gently but firmly working his way through the crowd that was milling around in the corridor, wondering what on earth was happening and-

...

Well.

That certainly explained what Roman had been occupied with.

Behind him, the sound of flesh smacking into itself, sounding very much like someone face-palming could be heard.

“When I said make it obvious enough even Logan couldn’t be that oblivious, that is not what I meant, Princey.” Virgil muttered from beside Logan’s right shoulder, and the gasping noise at his other side marked when Patton first saw the display.

The thing was, it was, almost, tasteful. There weren’t as anatomically inaccurate stuffed hearts as Logan would have expected, but what Roman had done was adorn them in the shades of black and blue that Logan tended to wear.

Roman was standing in front of Logan’s locker with two piles of hearts on his right, three on his left, a bunch of flowers in his hands, and a bright red blush on his face. On top of each heart pile was a large stuffed bear, each of them holding a letter or question mark to form the word, PROM?

Each bear was a miniature person.

The three outer bears, the ones holding the capital ‘P’, capital ‘M’ and the question mark, were miniature Logans. The two inner bears flanking Roman, the ones holding the capital ‘R’ and the capital ‘O’ were miniature Romans.

The three of the bears had been given Logan’s tie, glasses, shirt and slacks, but after staring in shock for a few seconds, he realised that not only did the bears have hair, it was his hair.

The Roman bears had the white Prince uniform, complete with gold trimming and red sash that Roman had worn in the only production he had so far directed, and it was Logan’s favourite performance he’d ever seen Roman give. The bears’ hair was also styled the same way it was in that performance.

Roman and whoever he must have had help from had given each one of the bears hair and clothes that was not only in his colour, but his style too.

Idly, Logan realised that such an effort must have taken hours, especially with five large bears to work on.

He was... amazed. Flattered. He couldn’t-

“Oh dear, I think Ro broke him...” he could hear Patton say from behind him, and Virgil snickered, saying something about “Windows”.

“Logan? Would you like to go to prom with me?” Logan was aware of Roman speaking, but he couldn’t seem to make his mouth work.

“Lo? Kiddo, you really should answer him...”

Logan snapped back to his senses, just in time to see Roman’s smile start to crack a little around the edges, like splintering glass.

“YES!” Logan yelled, rather louder than he meant to. But it did get his point across. Roman’s face burst into the biggest, most radiant grin Logan had ever seen across his face.

“Finally,” Virgil commented from behind them, and Patton sighed happily.

“Aww, they’re adorable together, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, Pop Star. Yeah, they are.”

“What do you mean you had a crush on me?!”

“Logan! Sit down, please. You’re ruining my hard work,” Patton scolded from behind him, and Logan resumed his seat, chagrined.

“My apologies, Patton. I was just startled.”

Logan looked at Roman, who just shrugged, trying to pass it off as nonchalance, but failing spectacularly.

In the week after Roman’s promposal, Logan had come to realise many things, including that not only Virgil and Patton, but also most of the student body and the teachers all knew about Logan’s crush on Roman and, apparently, his crush on Logan.

It seemed as though the only two who didn’t know were the boys themselves.

“That’s why I asked you to prom like that, I needed something with extra oomph!” Roman replied, looking up in shock from where he was painting his own nails. Having done everyone else’s nails and make-up, he was now pushing through, trying to get his own done before their transport arrived. At Logan’s confused look, Roman continued, “That’s why I took Virgil’s advice and tried something more direct. Because I’d asked you out several other times and you never acknowledged it as anything more than friends, so I thought you were trying to let me down gently, but the they insisted you were just oblivious.”

They were standing in Roman’s bedroom, getting ready for prom that night. Patton was working on everyone’s hair, and Virgil was sorting out the finishing touches for his and Patton’s cocktail dresses that they were already wearing, and fishing the other boys’ suits out of the wardrobe.

And Logan was sitting there, unsure of how he could have missed all of these apparently obvious signs when no-one else did.

“No, of course I didn’t know. If I had I would have-” Logan sputtered.

“Would have what, Logan?” Virgil asked, from where his head was buried in Roman’s extensive walk-in wardrobe. “Here, this one’s yours,” he said, passing a suit-bag to Logan.

Tried harder to understand. “Thank you, wait, why is my suit in Roman’s wardrobe?”

“Because he had to make sure that your suit complimented his, of course,” Patton said from his position behind Logan, gently running his fingers through the other boy’s hair, styling it with the superior skill they all knew he had.

“I don’t understand. You were that sure I’d say yes?”

“Logan-” the other three say simultaneously, with varying degrees of exasperation.

“Logan... kiddo, the way you and Roman were staring at each other... you weren’t subtle.”

“Not even slightly,” Virgil added, his head still buried in fabric.

The teenager in question just stood there in shock, thinking that, if that were true, how had he missed out on it? He remembered realising Roman was staring at him a lot but he’d never...

“Hey,” Virgil said, nudging his shoulder, “Pat’s done with your hair, now go get changed before you start bluescreening again.”

“Yes. Thank you, Patton,” Logan said with a smile at the other bespectacled boy who grinned in response before shooing him away and making grabby hands for Virgil, who rolled his eyes and obediently sat down.

Just before he walked into the ensuite bathroom, the tail end of Virgil’s sentence caught up to Logan, and he turned and asked, “I’m never going to live down my reaction to that promposal, am I?”

The other three just stared flatly at him.

“Of course not,” Logan muttered, as he closed the door, but he couldn’t help his small smile at the thought of Roman’s display. And he knew that the others had seen his smile too, Roman in particular.

He unzipped the bag and pulled out the suit and gasped, in spite of himself. It was a charcoal grey, with a silk shirt of such a dark blue that it looked nearly black, with spots of silver glitter on the shirt, forming what looked like... no, forming what were constellations.

Logan’s love of astronomy and space was well known, but for any of them, or all three of them to go to such lengths just for his prom suit was... deeply touching.

The silk tie was a deep, royal red, presumably complimenting whatever Roman’s suit was going to be, and there was even a pocket square, which Logan attempted to fold many times, but then gave up, resigning himself to the fact that he would have to get one of the others to do it.

The make-up that Roman had so carefully applied to his face was... wonderful. Logically, Logan knew that Roman’s make-up skills were as impressive as Patton’s skill with hair, but there was a substantial difference between seeing it in action, and simply knowing about it.

Most of the make-up Logan couldn’t keep track of, he just sat back and trusted Roman to do what he did so well. Also, Logan was more than a little pre-occupied with not freaking out given his crush was so close for such a prolonged period.

The eye shadow was the same as his tie and the pocket square, dark blue and glittery. The eyeliner wings were ‘sharp enough to kill a man’ as Roman was so fond of saying, and Logan could certainly see what he meant.

There was also a faint shade of blue lipstick, lighter than his eye shadow; it matched the blue of Logan’s hair dye very pleasingly.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, remembering that they were all on a time limit, he got dressed, automatically sucking in his stomach a bit to get into the trousers, but pleasantly surprised to find they were perfectly tailored. How, he didn’t know, but recent events had taught him that he was clearly far less observant than he thought he was.

After he finished, he exited the bathroom, draping the empty suit bag across the back of one of the empty chairs before turning to the room at large.

“Can someone help me with my pocket square please?” Logan asked, stepping out of the bathroom. Virgil and Patton suddenly turned away from him, as Patton said, “Uh, sorry Lo, we’re both busy with this... thing. Maybe Roman can give you a hand?”

Logan was about to question them on their obviously fake excuse when he turned around and-

...

“Yep. I’ve definitely broken him this time.”

Roman stood there, looking the best that Logan had ever seen him. By a lot. Which considering Roman’s normal looks, was really saying something.

His suit was the same grey as Logan’s, and his shirt was the same red as Logan’s tie, but the glitter in his shirt was coloured white and gold. It took Logan a minute to work out what his glitter formed a picture of, but then it clicked. Castles and crowns.

A prince indeed, was the thought that went through Logan’s mind.

Roman plucked the dark blue and glittery pocket square out of Logan’s limp fingers and swiftly folds it into the ‘Three Stairs’ fold for Logan, Roman’s own pocket square, done in the ‘Four Peaks’ design, looking like a red and gold glittery crown on his chest.

“Roman, you look... splendid. Amazing,” Logan breathed in awe.

“Thank you, Logan. You look almost perfect yourself, there’s just one, final, touch...”

Logan felt a tugging on his cuffs and looked down. Roman was holding a small, velvet covered box, and blurted out a question before he even knew what he was saying.

“What- Roman, are you asking me to marry you?”

There was a crash from behind Logan that made all three of them turn around in shock to find that Virgil was currently laughing hysterically from his position on the ground, where he’d tripped over a chair in shock at Logan’s question.

“No, Logan, I’m not asking you to marry me,” Roman said, failing to keep the laughter out of his voice as Patton helped Virgil up.

“Oh, okay then,” Logan said, not quite sure how he felt about that.

“After all, we’ve got to save something for after the prom, don’t we?”

Logan was sure he couldn’t have heard that correctly, but Roman grinned at him, then went back to the box. Which, when he opened it, turned out to contain cufflinks, not a ring.

The cufflinks themselves though turned out to be another surprise, since the design on the links was the logo of the team the four of them had formed together.

Again, Logan felt his heart swell with love for the three people around him. Even without his new relationship with Roman, (which he still couldn’t quite believe) the deep love he had for the three people around him, and the love they had for him was something he would hold onto for the rest of his life.

Logan caught Roman’s eye, just as the other boy raised an eyebrow in a silent question. Logan nodded mutely, and extended his arms, giving permission for Roman to press the cufflinks into the end of his sleeves, standing closer than was strictly necessary, but Logan had zero intention of pushing him away.

“There. All done. Now, you look perfect, Logan.” Roman said softly, he took a step backwards, running his fingers down Logan’s forearms and across his hands, sending electric sensations up Logan’s spine, which made his fingers twitch in response to Roman’s ministrations.

Logan inhaled, and he didn’t know what cologne Roman was wearing, he couldn’t even really say what it smelled like, all he knew was that Roman smelt fantastic.

Logan turned around, feeling his face heat up as he felt Roman’s fingers slip into his own, and they turned and looked at each other before both blushing, looking away, and catching sight of Patton and Virgil, who were looking at them with what had become their standby expressions over the past week.

Virgil’s fringe was hanging down in front of his eyes, with his lips turned up in a small smirk, but this one was his private, ‘you’re a dork but I love you anyway’ that Virgil kept just for the three of them. Patton, meanwhile, was looking at the two of them like they were puppies he’d just been handed.

A honk of the horn outside confirmed that their transport had arrived, and the four of them hustled downstairs, quickly slipping into their shoes, (heels for Patton, dress shoes for Logan and knee-length boots for Virgil and Roman,) and hurrying outside, to be greeted with the sight of an actual limousine.

They all started talking excitedly, getting more and more excited for what the night promised, as they walked towards the limo.

They climbed inside, spreading out across and sinking into the luxurious leather upholstery as the driver shut the door, settled into the front and pulled out into the traffic, heading towards the tower the prom was being held in.

The trip was quiet, mostly, because despite the fact that Roman and Patton were almost constantly talking, with Virgil occasionally joining in, it didn’t annoy Logan like it would have if it were other people.

He just leant back, still not quite able to believe that he was this happy, this fortunate just a week after being so sure that he would be attending tonight more for his friends than he would for himself.

When they arrived, they found the entrance to the tower was filled with students from their high school, all milling around in their own little friendship groups. As the four of them walked past towards the lifts, Logan heard someone mutter, “Damn, Patton wears that dress so well,” and Logan couldn’t help but agree. So did Virgil, but there was something about the way Patton moved, that just made his dress look a lot different, despite them being identical except for the colour.

They took the lift up to the 21st floor, exited the car and found their way up the stairs to be greeted by the sight in front of them. The ballroom had a dance floor and stage immediately in front of them, a bar tucked into one of the far corners of the room, opposite the kitchen doors and well out of the way of the tables spread throughout the far half of the room. Floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows completed the effect, with a pair of French doors leading to a balcony.

They took their seats at one of the tables near the front, joining a few of their other friends who they spent the first part of the night chatting with, as they ate dinner.

Eventually, though, Roman and Patton both jumped to their feet as the rest of the table hurriedly vacated, along with most of the other students. Logan and Virgil looked up sharply, Virgil’s eyes already widening, no doubt fuelled by his anxiety, when Roman said, “Come on, Lo, we’ve got to dance!”

What. “I beg your pardon?”

“Dance, you know, that thing where you move your feet and body in time to a piece of music?”

“I’ll have you know I’m well acquainted with the concept of dancing, Roman. I just wasn’t planning to dance tonight.” Which was true, Logan had no intention of dancing tonight, but seeing Roman’s face fall, to be quickly swallowed by a neutral expression hurt him deeply.

“O-oh, well that’s okay! Pat’ll dance with me!”

“Wait, Rom-!” But the two boys were gone before Logan could finish.

Virgil looked at Logan sympathetically. “Scared you’d look stupid on the dance floor?”

“I... do not understand, dancing. It’s a sequence of steps in time to a beat, it’s almost mathematical, yet no matter how much I try, I am unable to even acquire basic efficiency at it.” Logan said, still trying to work out how to fix the sudden problem he’d caused.

“Logan, look at them. Not Roman, you’ll just end up feeling hurt. Also, Roman’s great at this, he’s not my point.” Logan was confused, but let his eyes drift across the other students, seeing them dancing, laughing, having fun.

“Really look at them, Logan. What do you see?”

“Teenagers dancing. What am I supposed to be seeing, Virgil?”

“Teenagers dancing badly. But they’re having fun doing it. If someone’s dancing like that, they’re thinking about more than looking stupid on the dance floor. If you go out and dance badly, no-one’s going to look twice at you. All four of us fence, but Patton does ballet as well and Roman... is Roman. People expect them to dance well because they know they can. People don’t expect it of us, so if it turns out we can’t do it, then it’s not a problem. They don’t take any notice of it.”

“That is... surprisingly observant of you, Virgil.”

“Yeah, well, that’s anxiety for you. I’ve had a lot of time to spend watching from the sidelines. But if it makes you feel any better, they’ll do some slow songs later. Slow dance with your man. No skill required, and you get to hold him close.”

“Thank you, Virgil. I will certainly... try, to do that.”

“That’s all I’m asking, Pocket Protector.”

The song ended, and almost in answer to some unspoken wish of Logan’s, the band switched from a fast song to a slow one.

Patton and Roman returned, cheeks flushed with exertion when Logan suddenly sprang up. “Roman, would you please dance with me?”

“What? But I thought you didn’t-”

“I do! I was just, surprised.”

“Oh. Yes. Yes. I mean, I would certainly love to dance with you,” Roman said, the flush on his cheeks deepening a little as he grabbed Logan’s hand and they walked briskly towards the dance floor.

The two boys turned to each other and had to take a few seconds to sort out who was holding the other where, but eventually they got themselves sorted and Logan leant his head on the taller boy’s chest as they swayed together slowly.

They spent the next few hours like this, either on the dance floor, sometimes in pairs, sometimes all together, sometimes all alone in Roman’s case, or all together at the table, eating or resting.

Around midnight, when the dancing was starting to wind down and the room was starting to get to everyone, Logan suggested they go sit out on the balcony for some fresh air, and Virgil decided to ask Patton to dance for the first time tonight. Unwilling to say no, the two left, leaving just Roman and Logan together.

They both rolled their eyes at the total lack of subtlety the other two possessed, but were also grateful to them, so they left it at that and headed outside.

The balcony was quiet, the cool air pleasant on Logan’s heated skin as he leaned into Roman’s side, both of them staring up into the night sky, quietly admiring the constellations as the sound of the bell striking midnight rang out across the city.

“I love you, Logan.”

“I love you too... my prince.”

End Notes: The title is another awful, awful pun. Except this one isn’t really a pun. You do get to see a cute puppy if you understand it though.

There’s a lot here I want to change and expand, but since I’d also like it to be done *before* the end of the year, this is where it ends.

Oh, and if you’re wondering about the dresses Virgil and Patton are wearing:

https://au.shein.com/Fit-and-Flare-Sleeveless-Glitter-Dress-p-551409-cat-1727.html

Obviously, the purple one for Virge, and a lighter shade of that blue for Pat.

And finally, I do apologise if the quality seems a little... lacking. I wrote all but 179 words of this in about 16 hours. So... yeah. Actually, subtract all the time I spent distracting myself... it’s probably closer to six hours. I have a cramp in one hand, it is now 2:41AM and I’m off to bed. But I do hope you enjoyed, despite all that. =)

I somehow forgot to tag anyone. >.<

@ellistruggle @pipapatton

Thanks for the reminder Pipa. =)

Edit: I’m not sure what’s happening with the spacing, why it won’t separate like I want it to, I’m sorry about that, I’ll try and get it fixed as soon as I can.

#tw: Swearing #Sanders Sides #Sanders Sides fanfic #Logince #Virgil Sanders #Patton Sanders #Roman Sanders #Logan Sanders #Happy Birthday Elli =)#Bkwk writes #My writing

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veridium · 5 years

Text

Chapter 36: Parting Gifts

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Look, things are slow burnin’, but they’re still cute, okay?

Summary: It is the morning of the Inquisition's mission to the Western Approach. Olivia has one last surprise for Cassandra, who is for once staying behind while the Inquisitor and her allies take on the unknown.

Characters: Olivia, Cassandra, Dorian, Varric, ft. Leliana

To read the full chapter, read below or click here to go to Ao3!

The crew was up early the morning of to finish packing and leave for the Approach. Olivia had taken care to rise a bit earlier than the rest, to get ready and oversee operations herself: helping trunks be loaded, assisting people with their bags of belongings meant for the wagons, and helping stable hands tack up mounts. The four days in between finalizing her team and the departure day had gone by fast, with finalizing some construction plans, signing off on major paperwork for Josephine, and studying -- tireless studying of every piece of literature or research she could find on the deserts that lay ahead. Now, it was time to put the knowledge into praxis. The road would be long and ever-changing, but she was going to face it head on.

Coming down the stairs one last time after saying farewells to her advisors, Olivia noticed several allies standing amongst the fray who would not be going along. First, there was Dorian, arms folded across his chest as he awaited the Inquisitor at the foot of the stairwell.

“Dorian,” Olivia smiled, sliding on her second riding glove, “you will forgive me for robbing you of your fun, no?”

“That remains to be seen. Will you leave some Venatori for me to enjoy when I am at last called upon ages from now, or are you determined to hog the limelight?” he replied in jest, eyeing her from his most dignified periphery.

Olivia giggled, arriving at his side and looking out at the busy network of bodies moving back and forth the wagons like bees orbiting a hive. “I will send for you once we have the Warden situation under control...if we do, I should say. Who knows what is waiting for us to get hip-deep stuck in it.”

“Promises, promises,” he replied, swaying from side to side between his feet. “I will be waiting on bated breath, surely, Inquisitor. Appetite and sleep will evade me.”

“Oh, I know it will. Good luck finding someone else to provoke when you are both studying in the library.”

“Provoking is hardly a difficult venture. Some would say I run the gauntlet of it by simply being here. Though, it will make it less fun not having someone with the facial expressions of a panicked squirrel when you catch her using a logical fallacy.”

“I do not look like a squirrel!”

Dorian laughed a bit, twisting around to look back at her. Her blood boiled with affection for the Tevinter with a perfectly manicured intellect to match his precisely groomed facial hair.

“Dorian,” she grumbled, taking a breath. “If there is ever a doubt as to whether I am alive, simply deploy yourself and that nerve of yours. If there is an inch of care left in my body, you will uncover me.”

“If the world does not get torn asunder by a corrupted Magister, perhaps it would with the knowledge that it was a Tevinter who could resurrect Andraste’s Chosen by sheer virtue of jest.”

“Yes, well, all tumult considered, I will miss you. Try not to cause too much disruption, if you can possibly help it.”

“Help? Maker, what do you take me for, Inquisitor, a do-gooder called to a higher ethical standard?”

“Not that per se,” Olivia gazed back at him, a playful smile appearing on her lips, “I would say more, but I would not want you to cry tears of flattery before all these people.”

Dorian raised a brow, his teasing smile softening as he leaned onto one hip. He took one last look at the Inquisitor before bowing his head lightly. “Very well, Your Worship. Do be safe, I hear sand is a terrible medium for a grave.”

“Thank you, Dorian, I will try. Be well,” she replied, placing a hand on his arm for a moment. The two allies put down their sharp weapons of rhetoric to look upon each other as friends. Then, they went opposite directions: Dorian sauntering back up the stairs, and Olivia deeper into the throng of people to sort out affairs for departure.

It didn’t take much to find another of her comrades, of course: the Seeker watching as weapons and military supplies were loaded in an orderly fashion reflecting her standards. When Olivia laid eyes upon her though, and the way she stood tall across the courtyard while speaking with a Scout, her throat tightened. Cassandra was not wearing travel armor, there was no formal Inquisition emblem on her breastplate, no riding cape flowing behind her. Not this time. They had yet to speak since Olivia sounded off her orders for who would accompany her, and for some reason or other she feared the worst.

She approached her though with a bright expression and a smile, the concealment of her true anxieties all she could muster.

“Seeker,” she greeted, arriving just as the Scout withdrew with new orders.

Cassandra, alert and steady despite the early morning haze, took a step back and faced her. She tilted her head a bit onto one side, her attitude warming. “Inquisitor.”

“I trust whatever it is you are overseeing has been handled with acuity and a bit of old-fashioned intimidation.”

“That is has.”

“Good.”

As both women looked out at the mass of people and supplies before them, the Inquisitor realized that without them both going along with the mission, there was less to talk about. Usually there was discourse about logistics, sights on the way, or Olivia would tease her about her riding style or something to take the edge off the nerves of leaving.. Despite the absence of this, Cassandra did not seem to be a fraction of disappointed or slighted as Dorian was. In fact, something in the atmosphere of her presence was almost...encouraging.

“Are you sufficiently prepared? This voyage will be long, and the terrain will be challenging,” Cassandra asked at last.

“Well, is one ever truly prepared for something they’ve never done?”

“I...suppose you are right.”

Olivia grinned and rubbed her left upper arm. “I am sure whatever happens, something ludicrous will get us out of trouble, like Varric says.”

“Do try to have a bit more forethought than the kind Varric pretends to have, Inquisitor.” Cassandra lowered her chin a bit, still icey when regarding the rogue who had caused her more than their fair share of trouble.

Olivia returned her stare with slight amusement. How Cassandra did not find enough to entertain herself with via the drama of real life was beyond her. Why go looking for intrigue in novels when one could just look at the derision right in front of their noses in a time of war and apocalyptic ambiance.

“I trust you two will play well together in my absence,” she said in a clever half-warning.

“I am not a child,” Cassandra huffed, swaying onto one hip. “I am capable of maintaining my emotions.”

Just as the Inquisitor was about to respond, someone appeared with her horse. Losing her train of thought, Olivia smiled and walked forward, a boost in her step as she was eager to be reunited with her most beloved comrade. It had been too long since she had been in the saddle for a worthwhile endeavor.

“Thank you, Wilson,” she said, taking her reins from the man who dutifully bowed in return for her gratitude. He referred to her by her title before leaving. That left Olivia alone to giggle and be pleased with herself, holding her horse’s rein as the mare fiddled with the metal between her teeth.

“Peach, you are looking dashing today,” she said aloud, rubbing the front of her head.

Cassandra looked on from behind, a slight grin appearing on her face. The way the Inquisitor always lit up when it came to a few, specific parts of life never failed to be slightly endearing. Horses, magic, and testing people’s patience. So far, the list had proven rather brief. It was strange to think that a matter of months ago seeing the Inquisitor smile or be in jovial spirits felt like catching the sight of a ghost that everyone else seemed to have encountered by her.

“I am disappointed to hear you are still sore about Varric,” Olivia said, cutting through Cassandra’s quiet thinking to herself. “I had hoped the surprise I have for you would be better received.” She did not look back as she teased, choosing instead to adjust some straps on the side of the bridle. Peach’s hot breath fogging added a damp chill in the air around her, as she busied herself, fiddling with a small buckle that proved difficult to maneuver with thick gloves.

Cassandra blinked, taking a couple steps closer with piqued curiosity. “You have a surprise for me of all people? Maker, what does Varric have to do with it?” she said in her low, skeptical tone, already impatient with the antics afoot.

Olivia smirked as she finished the last pesky buckle, tossing the reins up over her horse’s head and neck. She the pivoted smartly on her hip to face the Seeker head on.

“Yes, if you must know. One I had to pull in a favor for, as well as promise several in addition.”

“Inquisitor, what have you gotten into now?” Cassandra sighed lightly, letting her hands fall to her sides.

“I do not know. Perhaps you can do me a favor and check to see if my saddlebag is packed, and then I can disclose my conspiracy,” Olivia replied, grinning with bright, mischievous eyes as she stood her ground. Both women stared each other down: the Seeker, rarely one for games, and the Inquisitor, a connoisseur of them.

“Ugh, if you insist,” Cassandra sighed, walking past her and directly to the packed full saddle bag hung across her horse’s back.

Olivia bit back a smile, lowering her gaze to the ground as she slowly spun around, following after her movements. She felt Cassandra’s eyes on her, and they exchanged one more bout of silent eye contact, presumably to convince the Seeker’s hesitant humor. Or, maybe it was Cassandra’s way of checking to see if it wasn’t all some gag at the last minute.

“Go on,” Olivia said, waving a hand. “I have a desert to get to, in case you didn’t know.”

Cassandra sighed, rolling her eyes as she finally reached her hands through the bag, unpinning the hide knot that secured the cover. At first, her gloved hands felt little else besides a canteen, some bottles, and a sack of what she assumed was dried meat or some other road sustenance. She leaned on her toes as she shoved her arm further back, still feeling nothing obscure. Olivia watched, feeling her stomach grow increasingly filled with butterflies that came right before a release of generous joy.

“I am not noticing anything tha--” Cassandra’s impatient conclusion was cut off as she gripped onto something dense, something with corners and a slight hollow sound when she hit it. She froze, then, and fell back onto her heels. Furrowing her brow, she took hold of the object and pulled it from the bag. In her hands was a book, hard covered and new. The artwork was familiar, a recycling of the kind her eyes had grown all-too-familiar with. It was the illustration from Swords and Shields, and it only took a second or two for Cassandra to recognize it and have her heart sink through her chest. She stood still, without words or harsh expressions to give, holding the book in both her hands in front of her. Even around all the people, amidst the hurried commotion of packing, it no longer mattered. A surprise properly executed rarely depended upon the appropriate or respectable atmosphere, even for staunchly reserved Seekers known for making mountains seem like piles of sand in their resolve.

“Is...is this…? This is the latest chapter?!” Cassandra asked, turning to look at her.

Olivia grinned, placing a hand on her hip as she rubbed her horse’s shoulder slowly.. “Like I said, several good favors.”

“You…” Cassandra was struggling to put together a coherent sentence. Quite a sight to see for anyone, but most of all the woman who orchestrated its fruition and was now holding back laughter. “You got him to finish the Chapter?”

“He was reluctant to do so,” Olivia replied, taking a step forward. “He said it was barely worth the parchment. But, he owed me, and after I...exchanged...some currency I had to give, he kindly obliged.”

Cassandra’s expression of confusion gave way to concern upon hearing Olivia’s euphemism. Almost as if snapped out of a trance of pure heartfelt flattery, she shot her chin up at once, making eye contact with her. “You did not do what you...I mean, you did not have to...”

Olivia furrowed a brow, silent at first. Once she realized what the Seeker got hung up on, though, she only laughed; low at first, but then louder as she put her hand to her mouth. Cassandra’s stoic and unimpressed reaction only made it worse, and she had to look towards her saddle to regain her composure.

“Cassandra, what do you think I do, go around ripping my clothes off to get business done? Varric is an ally and a friend. As are you. I do kind things for my friends, and they aren’t erotic. Well, most of the time.”

Cassandra shot one last critical look her way, but she could not look away from the book entirely. It was real, written, and ready for reading. She could enjoy it and not wonder when she could know the truth of the cliffhanger while they traveled. She went quiet, holding her breath as she held the first gift she had received in recent memory. It was not lost on her that it came from the woman she would sooner see sell off her secrets to the nearest tavern friend for a good laugh. Or would she? Once more, Olivia had defied expectations.

After a moment of awe, the Seeker took a step back to regain her bearings of what was going on around her. Olivia was tightening her saddle girth, one of the last chores to do before finally hopping on. Around them, People were getting last preparations done, mounting horses and climbing aboard the carriage and wagon. There was little left to keep them there besides last words and goodbyes. Usually, Cassandra was hands-off and decisive about these formalities, but Olivia had thrown a curve ball that left her disoriented in her feelings. It was all going faster than her ideal pace, now, and the ever-encroaching farewell was wasting no time for sentimentality.

“Well, Seeker,” Olivia huffed as she finished adjusting her stirrup length, pulling the irons back down to hang loose. “I suppose this is farewell for awhile.”

Cassandra flinched, straightening up her posture as she hugged the book to her chest. “I, ah, yes. It is.”

The look on the Seeker’s face was priceless: a combination of professional facade and genuine shock. It made Olivia giggle under her breath as she faced her one last time with her hand resting on the side of her saddle seat.

“Try not to go stir crazy with being out of the action, for once.”

“I can promise nothing, Inquisitor,” Cassandra replied dutifully, taking a step forward, “but we will work diligently in your absence. Do exercise caution.”

“Hah!” Olivia snorted, “I think we both know how capable I am of that.”

Cassandra grinned and shook her head once, backing up as Olivia placed her foot in her stirrup and mounted swiftly up onto her saddle. Settling into her seat and adjusting her loosened reins she offered soft cooing sounds to calm her excited side-stepping.

Once Peach’s anticipatory dancing subsided Cassandra came closer and took hold of the side of her bridle, allowing the Inquisitor to pull on her riding hood with two hands instead of one. Olivia shot her a smile in thanks while she readied herself, fitting the hood over her hair and neck just right. With little else showing besides her pale, round face and darkly-lined eyes, if it weren’t for her smile she would be rather frightening almost. That is, if you were planning on getting on her bad side.

“Do try to be kind to Varric. He did it with you in mind, not just me,” Olivia said as she let out a sigh.

“Is that an order or a favor?” Cassandra retorted.

“Whichever would compel you most effectively, Seeker. I leave it open to interpretation.”

One last scan of the surrounding assembly of people and equipment, and Olivia took the spare minute to soak it all in for her mind’s eye. Waiting on her word, the outfitted troops and Scouts stood by amongst themselves, and on the upper courtyard edge the Advisors looked on as they always did for departures. Olivia found Leliana and Josephine’s gazes and smiled, gently waving out for them. She was met with a resolute nod from the Spymaster and an endearing wave from the Ambassador. She then looked to the left at Cullen, standing dutifully by with hands on his sword grip. Her smile softened, but she bowed her head. To her relief, he offered her one right back, and with that she knew she was ready.

“Cassandra?” she asked rather bluntly, her eyes still on the surrounding courtyard.

“Yes, Inquisitor?”

“Promise me something.”

Cassandra tilted her head to one side, earnest interested. “...Name it.”

Olivia took in some fresh air into her lungs, feeling her hands grow a bit sweaty under her gloves. She was looking at the Mages, the people standing around on the upper courtyard and on the ground around her. Their faces of hopeful reverence for her and her allies as they were about to watch them embark on a new dangerous venture. In that moment the heaviness on her shoulders intensified. She swallowed hard and returned her gaze to the Seeker, standing by and ready. Her attention further solidified the pit in Olivia’s stomach that she was doing her best to suppress with a face of bravery.

“Promise me that if you see my people being mistreated or maligned, you will intervene. Intervene because I will not be able to.”

Cassandra’s face dropped initially, realizing the brevity of Olivia’s request. The Herald was proving her talent for surprises to be an ongoing effort. It suddenly hit her all at once that this was the first time she was leaving her behind for a mission, meaning Cassandra had never been given orders for the Inquisitor’s absence since the dawn of the Inquisition. It was a strange and unprecedented exchange for them both.

“I...I can promise that I will do my best to act with proper judgment and in good conscience, Inquisitor.”

“Good, then you will do what is right, and see that they are treated well, and not just fairly.”

They stared at each other for a short moment, Cassandra once again scrambling to put together words for the right kind of reaction. She did not expect such a request right before their leaving, and she surely did not ever think such an investment of trust would come from the Inquisitor concerning her fellow Mages. There had to be better people for this, people who did not have such sordid reputations with Mages and the Chantry. But, as Olivia looked her in the eyes without breaking or blinking, it felt as though she was the only person in the world worth trusting with this.

“I...I will do my best, you have my word.”

“Thank you. I hope I do not have to make that a command instead of a favor. I will be requesting word and copies of conduct reports from the Ambassador while I am away.” The slight addition of acidity in her tone indicated just how vital this oath was to the Inquisitor. It was all well and good to have the loyalty of a friend, but some matters were too important to leave on good favor alone. Seeker Pentaghast was one of the few people she could trust to understand that fine line she walked.

When the Seeker nodded with solemn respect in her eyes rather than insult, Olivia’s heart slowed in its racing panic. Then, it was perfectly clear. Relieved and reassured, Olivia smiled at her. The bitterness was poured over with sweetness. Having made her promise, Cassandra released her hold on the horse, backing off as she held the book to her side.

Olivia watched her, eyes linked until it was finally time. She took one last breath before raising her hand up into the air. Calling out loudly across the courtyard she ordered everyone to look alive, get themselves in order, and follow her lead. Heads turned, shoulders straightened, and ranks were formed. At her command the caravan got into shape almost immediately, and once she was satisfied, she grinned and waved her hand forward towards the open gates.

Filling into the posture of a regal leader, she kicked her horse into an energetic half-jog and rode towards the front. There she found Blackwall, also on horseback and looking back at her with a loyal, solemn expression. And with that, the Inquisitor took her place at the head of the proverbial beast, allies in-toe. Well, some, anyways.

And so another mission began, both lead by and in honor of a fair-haired Inquisitor dressed in clothes and eyes lined in black. The woman the people gossipped about, saying she stole from the night sky because it insulted her dark and illusive vanity. The longest road they had yet to traverse lay ahead, one with perhaps the most uncertain and fraught consequences thus far.

Standing still as the group moved on out the gates of Skyhold, Cassandra was harboring something unexpected: emotions, for one. Secondly, the feeling of raised stakes. For what and for whom, she could not decipher. Only the anomalous sensation of dread and hope at the same time. These mixtures of conflicting energies had haunted her for months, but it was not until now that they conjured the image of a person rather than the entirety of Thedas looming across space and time.

Boots made footfalls behind her, but she noticed them too late to compose herself, or escape.

“So, Seeker, got some reading to do?”

Cassandra’s chest stiffened hearing the familiar voice that plagued her dreams and flashbacks to the time before the Temple, when things still felt salvageable.

“What do you want, Varric?” she replied in a low tone, keeping her eyes and shoulders facing the gates as the caravan became smaller and smaller on the bridge.

Varric arrived at her side, his quintessentially smug grin on his face as he followed her gaze off into the horizon. “Look, I know you’re not one for trivial things, like joy, for example. But I’ll admit I was hoping you’d be a bit soft after that show.”

“Not everyone gets what they want, Dwarf.”

“Yet here you are, chapter in hand.”

“I…! Ugh,” Cassandra groaned, leaning onto one hip as she finally glanced in his direction. “I suppose you are getting sick pleasure from this, aren’t you?”

Varric chuckled, folding his arms as he leaned back on the heels of his feet. “You heard the Inquisitor. We have to maintain some decorum, as Ruffles would say.”

“Just because we are expected to be civil does not mean I have to like you, Varric.” Cassandra was feeling nothing but stinging ego, until she glanced at the book cover from the corner of her eye. Looking back down upon it, it was already evocative to her: the way Olivia surprised her, the way she took notice and thought of her after she had allowed her to see this side of who she was. The time she took out of her day, or probably did, anyway. Just the thought of her...well, doing anything on her behalf. It was bizarre, but not in a negative way.

“She really paid up for that, you know. You must have done something to get her to care that much. Makes me wonder if you are capable of friendliness after all,” he remarked, watching as the gates started to close.

Cassandra looked up sharply. “What did you make her do?”

“Now, now, don’t get all protective. She and I have had a thing going. Every time she needs a favor, she merely coughs up a good story about her life. I got three for that one chapter. Heh, that might be the highest revenue I’ve gotten for that mess.”

Cassandra gasped softly, tightening her arm grip on the book. Her sincere investment was palpable, even to Varric, who would normally like nothing more than be indifferently mocking towards her.

“In any case, with how secretive she is, I was surprised she coughed up for you.” He chuckled under his breath, “I thought she’d sooner draw on your face while you slept.”

Cassandra pursed her lips and looked away, staring absentmindedly into space ahead of her. For all of Varric’s faults, she didn’t disagree with him on that fact.

“Nevermind, Varric. I suppose...I should thank you. For this, I mean.”

“Now, don’t thank me. You should thank Firefly. I’m merely doing business; If I can get a kick out of it sometimes, all the better. Farewell for now, Seeker. I don’t want to hear any complaining about the plot or what happens when the Knig--”

“Varric, don’t tell me!”

In the face of her sensitive outrage he laughed, almost as if he knew before he even spoke just how to push her buttons. Which, knowing Varric, was probably the case. She eyed him from her periphery as he tilted his head up towards her, nodding once before stepping back and away from her. Once again all by herself, she released the air she held tightly in her chest. Her mind was lingering on questions she did not have the ability to have answered now in Olivia’s absence.

#oc stuff #olivia sinclair #inquisitor!olivia #fire in her mouth #full chapter #chapter update #fanfiction #femslash #cassandra pentaghast #IT'S CUTE OK #I DID A THING

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