short boatem summer fic
based on this post -> (link) by @applestruda
Picture this:
It is the hottest day of the year. The sun beats down relentlessly upon any poor sap that gets caught out in it. The heat can only be described as ‘being hit in the face with a sack full of bricks that have somehow been set on fire.'
We see the Boatem crew going about various activities as the very same sun spills into an overly warm room onto well-worn floorboards. The room is small and neat. There is a crooked green carpet on the floor and pictures on the wall of five laughing people. It is a room that has seen lots of love.
A fan whirs steadily in the background. Impulse turns the page of his book, letting out a long sigh. Mumbo waters his plants, mumbling to himself and occasionally making a noise that is either pleased or disgruntled as he inspects his plants. So far, he has said “Ah!” in a pleased way fourteen times and “oh!” in a displeased way twelve times. Scar began counting an indeterminate amount of time ago out of sheer boredom. He’s been sitting in front of the fan for what feels like forever. It’s only been five minutes. Jellie meows. Impulse turns another page. Time drips by like honey. Every heat-filled second seems to take an hour to pass.
Footsteps. Enter Grian, bright wings flashing at the edge of Scar’s vision. He would look over, call out a greeting but that would mean exposing his face to the heat. Grian is not worth braving the heat, he decides.
“I am never going to move again,” Grian complains. “I am just going to lay here and melt.”
“That seems like a good plan,” Impulse agrees with a small chuckle from the only shady corner in the room. A foot prods Scar’s side.
Poke. “Scar, move over.” Another, more insistent poke.
He turns his head, just a little. The right side of his face is now uncomfortably warm, exposed to the Void-forsaken heat. Grian really does look terrible, hair plastered to his forehead, face red and sunburnt and ear-feathers limp.
“I was here first!” Scar says, a bit indignant. First dibs, right? “Go get your own fan. There’s one somewhere around here.” He ducks a little, but not enough to avoid the wing that whacks him in the head.
“Ow!” he says halfheartedly, turning his head to face Impulse. Ah, sweet, sweet relief for the right side of his face, not so much for his left. “Impulse, Grian hit me!”
“Grian did nothing of the sort,” Grian interjects, tone bright and innocent-sounding. Another wing whacks Scar again. “Scar’s the one hogging the fan.”
With a long suffering sigh, Impulse looks up from his book. The glare that Scar receives is just short of withering. Got it. Don’t interrupt Impulse. Scar yelps as he is rudely pushed over onto the floor and into the sun. The floor burns to the touch. His poor, poor, super muscle-y arms. Betrayal! Blood! Trauma! Death! He will never forgive Grian for this. He will pay.
A thump. Grian’s sigh of sheer relief is almost pathetic. Sure enough, Grian’s face is now inches from the fan, eyes closed in pure joy. Scar groans dramatically.
“Grian, how could you? My very own brother-in-arms!”
Grian scoffs. “Like you wouldn’t do the same.”
“Me?” Scar gasps. “I would never.”
“Oh you absolutely would,” Mumbo says with a snort.
“Fine, fine! I see how it is around here. No love for good ol’ Scar! C’mon Jellie, we can go join the Big Eyes Crew. I bet they have a fan. I bet their fan is bigger than ours. After all, Bdubs’ smile is the biggest there is. He’s probably got the biggest fan too.” Impulse snorts and turns the page. Grian’s wings rustle. Mumbo makes his fifteenth “Ah!” His plants must be doing well.
Scar sighs, pulling himself into an upright position and drapes himself over Grian’s shoulders. “See, this way we can share the fan!”
“Scar,” Grian whines, dragging his name out exasperatedly. “You’re too warm! Go away.”
“Come on Grian, you can say it,” he teases, smiling. “I’m too hot. I’m too hot for you.”
Scar grunts as Grian elbows him in the side, throwing him off his shoulders. Huffing, he leans against Grian’s back instead. If he can’t get the fan, a nice backrest will do. Even if that backrest has really, really pokey bony wings that dig into his back. Maybe he’ll take a nap and when he wakes up, it’ll all be over. He closes his eyes.
After what barely seems like ten minutes, he hears Pearl say “What’s all this? You guys look absolutely pathetic.” Cracking his eyes open a little and turning his head to face her, he sees her in all her moth-y glory, standing over them. She has a shopping bag in one hand. Slowly, she reaches in and pulls out-
A freezer pop.
Scar might cry. He’s never seen such a beautiful sight. He might pick Pearl up and twirl her around in joy if it weren’t so dang-blasted hot.
---
165 notes
·
View notes
im so crazy over the tragedy of everything q!bbh does being under a demon pretense even though he's a fallen angel.
do u think he just accepts the demon label because it's easier. do u think he believes it too, and catches himself in his thoughts with "oh, right. im not exactly that". and maybe he believes that he did this to himself? do u think what he did was to protect himself or someone? no matter the fall, he still has so much kindness to give and his brain just isn't wired the way a natural-born demon would be, he can't hold back instincts when time demands it, maybe that's why he fell in the first place.
and when he's finally bad, not good, it's treated like the end of the world, without empathy on why he would act out. do you think this keeps happening? the same scenario, multiple times, every timeline? he has to be used to it. so he has to take it in stride. he's good until he lashes out under extreme pressure, and suddenly he's called demon. and once again he's what heaven made him out to be. what he made himself to be, his brain would ruthlessly provide...
i don't think he wants to be that, though he hides secrets behind secrets of which neither identity is a home... but i don't think he wants to have to change, either. and i don't think that's wrong of him.
...you collapse atlantis ONE TIME and all of a sudden YOU'RE the bad guy and SURE it was FUN but REALLY now,--
112 notes
·
View notes
written for the march foxglove editorial, inspired by this drawing by @noenoaholi and beta'd by @fish-with-more-eyes/mac
There aren't a lot of things Atsumu likes to ignore, but Kiyoomi’s abysmal cooking skills are certainly one of them. Not a single person with working tastebuds or a functional sense of self-preservation would trust Kiyoomi in the kitchen. For the sake of his sanity, Atsumu likes to pretend Kiyoomi wasn’t ordering takeout on the regular before they moved in together.
Although if there’s one thing Kiyoomi can be trusted with, it’s baking desserts and using a blender. Atsumu has no idea why those two out of everything, but Kiyoomi’s cookies are to die for and his chocolate milkshakes are delicious. He’d brag about this if Kiyoomi didn’t have the shitty tendency to mix it up and make healthy drinks too.
They’re pungent, vile and disgusting.
They’re not even easy to make, what with a million and a half ingredients and three thousand steps. Atsumu wants to puke whenever he thinks of how much energy Kiyoomi puts into waking up early and making it for him. Sometimes there’s a lump in his throat choking him up if he thinks about it too long. He shoves the feeling down ruthlessly every time without fail: he doesn’t want to think about it.
Most days Kiyoomi can’t even be assed to get out of bed until the absolute latest he can get away with. And whenever he can, he traps Atsumu there too with his stupid long legs and stupid warm cuddles.
He’s up early this morning.
Kiyoomi’s side of their bed is empty; Atsumu finds him diligently chopping carrots in their kitchen.
“Omi-kun,” Atsumu whines, wrapping his arms around his sadist of a boyfriend and doing his best to resemble a kicked puppy, abandoned outside in the cold rain. “C’mon ya made this yesterday. Do ya gotta make it so often?”
“Drink it.” Unfortunately his boyfriend’s the most stubborn person Atsumu’s ever met. He’s ruthless and heartless. Kiyoomi shoves the glass of green yuck into his hands. “All of it.”
Atsumu sniffs haughtily and graciously pinches his nose; he chugs it all down in one. It’s bitter and foul and Atsumu wouldn’t do this for anyone else in the world.
He pauses.
His mouth is filled with the most disgusting drink while the pieces click into place: he loves Kiyoomi. It’s so on brand for them, he can’t help but laugh a little. Atsumu tunes Kiyoomi’s complaints about what he finds so funny out, and gives him a little kiss over his moles.
He starts planning out the most dramatic way possible to break it to Kiyoomi in his mind. He’s a little nervous, but the urge to make Kiyoomi regret the day he ever thought dating Atsumu would be a good idea wins out. His itch for mischief drowns any fleeting feelings of apprehension easily.
Atsumu’s grateful he can still taste that nasty green drink for the first time. It makes keeping the smile threatening to break out over his face at bay. Kiyoomi calls it his plotting face. Atsumu’s more inclined to call it his moment-of-genius face. His fun face. He’d go so far as to say it’s his handsome face, but that’s just his everyday.
Kiyoomi’s never going to see his confession coming.
34 notes
·
View notes