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brokenmusicboxwolfe · 7 months

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A rest day….

Wakes up before dawn. Pain. or rather PAIN! as I struggle to walk to the bathroom.

Lies awake a few hours, hurting, hurting, then thinking of things to worry about, like “OMG, what if a line goes on the boat during this storm”

Sleeps.

11:45 am!!! NO!!!!!

PAIN!!! Rushes to get my feet bound up. Rushes isa bit slow when you are hobbled. I can barely put any weight at all on my bad ankle, but the animals need food. I am spared their grumpiness at my lateness by the rain.

I tear everything off my bad foot and try to call Mom. An aide is giving her a bath. At least the hour gives me a chance to brush my hair, eat, brush my teeth….

Breakfast. Or is it lunch after noon? One of the pumpkin bagels, I baked a few days ago, some stewed grapes I got from a recipe (deseeding made it not worth it), canned pears (couldn’t afford non-Ryoga related fresh fruit yesterday), but I forgot the cheese.

Rebinds up the foot. I must have done something right because instead of PAIN! it’s only pain!. Does chores, stupid chores.

There are things to do at Mom’s house, including hauling in the trash can before the storm topples it. Gets the mail out of the box, and finds another damn People magazine. I can’t get the company to stop sending the stupid things, and I have less than zero interest in gossip about celebrities, or should I say “celebrities” ‘cause 75% of these people I haven’t heard of anyway. I don’t shield it from the rain.

I sit on the porch to call Mom, bad foot unwrapped again and propped up on the back of the bench, droplets from the heavy rain misting me. We talk for about an hour. I tell her about yesterday, moan about my pain, talk about news stories, and tell her the story of the latest What We Do In the Shadows **that I watched. Finally she is struggling to hold her phone, so we have to say goodbye.

Determined to rest my damn sore ankle, I go lie down in the bedroom with my stuff.

I listen to the rain in the dark a couple minutes before turning on a lantern to read from one of the magazines from the days when I used to read tons. It turns out to be a copy of Film Comment, and I end up reading one on Ingmar Bergman’s legacy.

I pop in my earbuds to listen to music while I read, and it starts off with a track from Terminator (the flashback/dream of life in the future human hideouts) then shuffle gives me Green Day.

Yeah, Wake me when September ends indeed. I’m lying on the bed my parents slept in until Pop died, surrounded by my things where 99% are from when Pop was alive and before Mom’s stroke took her away from here. It’s been 9 yrs since Pop died, and Mom’s stoke was five years ago. I think anyway. Time is getting blurry and squishy, and with Mom I spent about two years thinking she would get to come home. I’m feeling the grief.

Then the rain falls so hard I can’t hear the music.

I need to go do something, feel useful and not get all sad again. The storm is getting heavy, but I drive back to the house with electricity. The radio is on and Don’t Fear the Reaper is playing. Of course.

UPS finally brought the dog meds. And of course they left it out in the rain on the trunk of the broken down car. They never go up to the house, and though I asked one UPS driver to put packages in the car, there seems to be a different driver every time. Leaving a package out in the rain during a tropical storm makes sense if you don’t give a damn, and why would they?

I make jelly from some of the grapes, and juice some more. I discover that the surejell no longer contains the instruction sheet with ratios of sugar snd juice, so it’s Google time. And the jars have no sticker sheets like they used to, so I won’t be able to label them.

This is NOT resting my foot! All this boiling, preparing jars, cooking juice, and such…I have to stand in the kitchen to do it. But I get it done, seven jars of jelly.

I remember I will have to wash all this later, walking around on my stupid feet and ankles, and boy have I made a mess.

Time to feed the animals. The dogs stay safely in their houses, the cats are fed on the porch, and then there is Ryoga. I stand in the rain holding my umbrella over him while I get soaked. Pigs hate rain, but it’s a bit absurd.

More juicing, and now I tear the screen on the filter so now I have to get seeds out.

The sun about to set, the swim dilemma arrives. I always swim without missing a day until I stop for the year, but this year I went to take care of Mom during swimming season. I feel like I haven’t swum enough yet.

Reasons against: The water cools very fast, so has already gotten dangerously cold. (my infamous “hypothermic cardiac event” has made my super vulnerable) Yesterday it was painful to get in. Almost worse, I’ll have to walk to the pool, with no ankle braces or boots. That’s a looong way out there.

Reasons for: I LOVE swimming and now every day might be my last. I had made a goal to swim until the start of autumn, and I am so dang close. I love swimming during a tropical storm. Did I mention I LOVE swimming???

I go swimming. Pain. Cold. Something falls near the pool. More cold. I push things, swimming across the bottom with the cold stinging. The pain walking back gets over shadowed by the “cold wobblies”. Yikes.

Okay, so swimming now might not be wise, but I’m glad I went. I am also cold.

And have more grapes to juice.

And supper to cook.

and OMG my feet and ankles hurt!

Yeah, I dunno if I exactly rested my problems with my feet and and ankles. But by my standards it counts. I mean, I didn’t have the ankle brace and boot rubbing at the sore for most of the day for the first time since May!

Oh no, is that a sore throat? What’s with the sudden sneezing. And I feel like I’m coming down with something, like a fever creeping up….

Well, if I do get sick maybe THEN I will stay off my bad foot long enough for it to heal!

**I had the first two seasons on DVD, but have finally given up that they will release more. I can’t afford streaming, so I went with “other means”. With my internet it’s an endurance test to get through, but both of us enjoy the show. If only my brother had a place to watch it among the approximately one zillion services they subscribe to I would have watch some of it with Mom back in June.

#my day #Venting #busy

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merrywaanderer · 3 years

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moon river

damiano david x fem!reader

requested: damiano has a crush on actress!reader, and mentions it in an interview

synopsis: he never meant to fall for her; he never meant for her to know. but here we are, and there she is.

warnings: swearing, smoking, my terrible attempts at roman dialect/italian in general

word count: 3k

a/n: anon, i hope you know that this request of yours gives me major notting hill vibes (i hope you know that film, but if not, you should totally watch it because from your request, i can tell you'd love it). big kisses for you all, and please reblog if you enjoyed xx

It’d been another late night, the first time he’d seen her, though not in the way it usually was.

Damiano couldn’t sleep.

He’d gone to bed at half-past nine, which was not out of the ordinary for a night without a concert. Unfortunately, however, he’d done so without the usual cup of chamomile tea, because he had run out and forgotten to restock.

It was a recipe for disaster.

By the time the clock ticked over from one day to the next, midnight calm and still outside of the window, Damiano was still lying awake, staring at the ceiling.

Fucking ridiculous. To go to bed at half-past nine and still be awake, two and a half hours later.

He turned onto his side with huff, and the hair fell into his eyes. He sighed, blowing the strands momentarily from his eyes. Momentarily. Now they simply stuck to his eyelashes.

Attempting to sit up, he instead tangled himself further in the sheets.

Then, in kicking at the duvet, he lost his balance, and tumbled onto the floor, landing on the hardwood floor with a heavy thump, and a groan.

In the dark, Damiano fumbled for the switch that would turn on the bedside lamp, and found it on the fourth, frustrated try.

Sliding open the drawer in the bedside table, he pulled out his cigarettes, pushed open the window, and leaned out, lighter in hand.

He watched the smoke curl into the air for a few minutes, drift off into the night like he wished to, before he stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the windowsill, before closing the window.

Flopping back down on the bed, he assessed the situation.

Nope. Still not tired.

He reached for the TV remote for the early-2000s boxy television stationed across from the bed, and crossed his legs where he sat.

He flipped mindlessly through the weather forecast, late night news, cartoons, conspiracy theories. Nothing caught his interest.

Until he skipped past a movie channel, only to change his mind and return to it.

Apart from the fact that the film was in colour in place of black and white, what was being played seemed to be a remake of some old Hollywood production. It was classy and chic in every sense, as any of the old films had been, from the long, lingering camera shots, to the elegance of the actors.

Letting the remote slip from his hand, Damiano leaned back against the headboard of the bed, stretching out his legs and tipping his head against the wall as he absently began to watch the film.

After a few minutes, he was amused to realise that the film was a remake of none other than the classic with Audrey Hepburn, Roman Holiday. But though he had always admired Audrey Hepburn for her style, there was something about the present-day actress that made him sit up straighter.

He was no longer watching absently; he was enthralled.

This actress walked as though she belonged in the older time period, and though he knew that was her job, to look as though she belonged, this transcended acting.

She carried herself with a grace equal to that of Marilyn Monroe, or perhaps Dorothy Dandridge. She had the classic bright-eyed look of Ingrid Bergman, and a glow about her like Rita Hayworth. She surpassed the enigmatic magnetism of Merle Oberon.

Simply put, she was stunning.

Before he knew it, the film had ended, and he was watching a whole other film.

He fumbled for the TV remote, searching for the rewind button, to find the credits he had missed, to find her name.

But fortune seemed already to have favoured him, for the next film was starring her as well.

Clicking the button for the TV guide, a window popped up to inform him that tonight, this channel was playing Y/N L/N: The Repertoire.

Hours passed, and by early morning, he had watched everything from Midnight in Paris to Romeo and Juliet, all starring her.

Damiano had never been partial to Romeo and Juliet, but now here he sat, and there were tears rolling down his cheeks at her performance.

He could not fathom that he had never heard of her before, never seen her, smiling like that, eyes bright like stars, the way she turned acting into an art. The way he truly believed that her emotions on screen were the ones she was feeling.

Damiano could not remember ever having seen someone act like that.

It was the closest thing he’d ever felt to love at first sight.

And with that arresting thought, he finally drifted off to sleep, her voice still echoing in the background of his dreams.

⭒

For the next many weeks, Damiano wandered around in a haze, head in a cloud of smoke as surely as his lips and the pair of fingers that often held a cigarette.

He became forgetful, and clumsier than normal, so much so that Victoria asked more than once if he was drunk. But Damiano shook his head. He was nothing of the sort.

His head had never felt clearer, though now he was prone to daydreaming, to staring out the window and gazing at the sun, and marvelling at its light.

He found himself humming ‘Moon River’, from another old classic, simply because it reminded him of her, found himself ambling aimlessly down streets in the sunshine, smiling at strangers.

It was in Copenhagen that everything went to hell.

“Damiano!” Thomas shouted, glaring. They were in the middle of soundcheck when the three others had abruptly stopped playing. “Cos'hai che non va?”

Damiano frowned at Thomas. There was nothing wrong with him.

Exasperated, Victoria shouted, “You skipped a whole verse!”

“I did not skip a whole verse. Veramente, Victoria.”

“Yes,” Ethan interjected, “you did.”

Victoria crossed her arms, frowned. “Are you sick?”

Damiano stared at her, at Ethan and Thomas.

They stared back.

“What?! There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Ethan sighed. “Mi dispiace.”

“Per quello?”

“For what I’m about to say.” He paused. “You are all… dense, as fuck.”

Victoria groaned. “Oh, spit it out Ethan, so we can get on with this lost-cause soundcheck.”

Ethan twirled his drumsticks through the air, absentmindedly. Then, “He’s infatuated, ovviamente.”

Thomas and Victoria turned to look at the man in question.

“Oh, come on,” Damiano said.

Victoria shook her head. “No. No, it fits perfectly.”

Thomas looked at him pointedly. “Damiano. You’ve been going around singing fucking ‘Moon River’ for weeks now.”

Damiano threw up his hands. “It’s a good song!”

“Not that good,” said Victoria, who clearly had never seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Damiano had begun to protest again when Leo stuck his head through the door.

“Figli, you’re late for your interview.”

Damiano blinked. “Che cosa?”

Thomas swore loudly. “Shit, we forgot to tell you. That’s today.”

“What?”

“Vanity Fair, Copenhagen,” Victoria called over her shoulder, ducking under her guitar strap.

Damiano was still standing motionless by the time Victoria and Thomas had rushed past, and Ethan grabbed his elbow.

“Time to go!” he said, and pulled Damiano down the hall.

⭒

“It’s televised. Live and all that.”

“What?”

“Stop saying ‘what’.”

They were in a car, apparently on their way to a TV studio.

“Victoria, what do you expect me to say? You didn’t tell me.” Damiano ran a hand through his hair. “Should have had a hair cut.”

“Not why I’m telling you now.” She pressed her lips together, having finished applying a rare coat of red lipstick. Her tone softened. “I know you get nervous for these things.”

She was right; Damiano was shaking out his hands, trying to stop their tremble. “You might have told me earlier so I could have prepared.”

“Prepared?” Ethan snorted. “A moment ago, we couldn’t have wiped that… lovestruck look off of your face, for any amount of money in the world.”

“Much less convince you to prepare mentalmente for an interview,” agreed Thomas.

Damiano raised his eyebrows. “Is that why you all insisted on speaking English today, to prepare?”

Ethan nodded, but Victoria, sensing the attempted change of subject, hauled the conversation right back.

“Who is she, anyway?”

“Hm?”

“The girl you’re in love with.”

Damiano sputtered, “I am not in love with her — ”

“Ah,” said Ethan, “so there is a her.”

Damiano scowled; they’d seen right through him, as usual. “Fuck off.”

Thomas took one look at Victoria, and like true siblings, they began shouting.

“Who is she?!”

“Is she pretty?”

“Is she funny?”

“Is she rich?” This from Victoria.

Damiano narrowed his eyes. “Not telling any of you a word if you keep this up.”

“Oh, come on, Dami,” said Thomas petulantly. “We’re your friends.”

“Best friends,” Ethan corrected.

Victoria nodded emphatically, “Family, some would say.”

“And also,” said Damiano, “the three first people who’d sell me out for half a bottle of liquid eyeliner on a show night where they forgot to bring makeup.” He smiled. “So no, not a word.”

That of course did not stop them from pestering for information concerning his beloved (Thomas’ words), soulmate (Victoria’s words), and one true love (said Ethan)... All the way to the studio, where they finally arrived, after the longest twenty minutes of Damiano’s life.

They managed to get it together upon following him into the very quiet lobby of the building, where they were suddenly children, afraid to disturb a heavy silence.

They were quickly approached by a very peppy assistant and a very stoic security guard, who accompanied them to the actual studio located on the fifth floor, where they filed in, were introduced to the interviewer, and were given a quick briefing on the proceedings of the interview.

But this briefing was entirely without specifics, and Damiano found himself fiddling, twisting the beads of his necklace around his fingers, mirroring the feeling of writhing nerves in his abdomen.

In performing, he almost became a different person, embodied by the spirit of the stage like so many others before him. But interviews meant shedding that protective skin like a coat, and being left out in the cold.

Interviews meant truth, and though truth was easy to come by for Damiano, who hated lies more than almost anything else in the world, it was not easy to lay yourself bare in that way when faced with personal questions.

But he thought about Ethan and Thomas, worried that their English wasn’t good enough. He thought about Victoria, often singled out as the only woman present.

And he thought of her, walking through films unbound by genre or custom, unbound by anything.

He sat up straighter, and — softly — smiled.

⭒

“So, now we’re going to play a game!”

“OK,” Måneskin nodded in tandem.

The interviewer was as peppy as their assistant, but not in a false way. They simply knew what they were doing, and enjoyed their job.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and you have five seconds to answer. You can all answer, or one of you, or two, or three, however you like, but you must answer in order not to be disqualified. After five seconds have passed, I’ll let you elaborate on your answer as part of the interview.”

Thomas leaned over to take the microphone he and Ethan were sharing. “Is this high-stakes?”

“Oh yes,” said the interviewer. “I’ve played this with a lot of the Eurovision contestants. Currently Barbara Pavi and Blind Channel are tied in the lead with seven points.”

“Ooh,” Ethan stole the microphone back, “can’t let France win.”

The interviewer laughed. “A bit of uh, shade, there?”

Victoria nodded mock-solemnly. “Yeah, but I’m okay if we tie with Blind Channel too.”

“Damiano? Any thoughts?”

Damiano was bouncing a knee up and down, and hoped it wasn’t noticeable. But it was just a game, right? How badly could it go?

Very badly, he would soon discover.

But not yet. For now, he was naïve.

“Yes,” he said with all the enthusiasm he could muster. “Let’s go!”

The others grinned.

“Okay! First question: who’s most likely to fall asleep when travelling?”

The timer behind the interviewer began to count down.

“Three of us,” said Victoria, “not Damiano.”

“Not Damiano?”

“No,” he laughed, letting the humour ease his nerves. “I’m always the last one awake.”

“Until you’ve had your chamomile tea?”

So the interviewer had done their research.

“Yes,” Damiano smiled. “Until after my tea.”

There were another five — maybe six — rounds, before Damiano destroyed his dignity entirely. He’d had very little to begin with, because for the most part, he didn’t care what others thought of him, so dignity was not a currency he traded in, but now, with only one thing to hide, it was inevitable that it would come to light before long.

And dignity was suddenly something he had to lose.

“Who’s your biggest inspiration?”

“Y/N L/N.”

He’d blurted it before he could have stopped himself.

Victoria’s jaw dropped. She whacked him on the arm, completely forgoing the formality she normally assumed for interviews because now the penny had dropped for her.

“Me cojoni,” said Ethan, behind her. “The actress?”

Thomas echoed the sentiment —

“No vabbè, Damiano!”

“Y/N L/N,” said the interviewer, conspiratorially. “How long have you been a fan?”

“Uh — ” with a breathy chuckle, Damiano dropped his eyes to the toes of his shoes. Patent leather boots, evidently. He couldn’t remember putting them on that morning.

Conscious of the fact that four people were staring at him, as well as of the camera trained very obviously upon him, entailing possibly thousands of viewers, he tugged on his singular earring.

“A few months,” he answered.

“And what’s your favourite film of hers?”

He couldn’t help it; he looked up, light in his eyes. “Oh,” he said, “but they’re all so good! I can’t choose.”

“What do you like about her?”

He was well aware that this was a trap — that once he started talking, he would not stop.

But he couldn’t stop. Even now.

“The way she moves?”

Something twisted in his chest, and the same expression came over his face. Later, papers would report it as mournful, wistful. Romantic.

“She moves like water runs. And she doesn’t talk, no, no. Talk is far too mundane for her. She speaks, and people listen, as characters or not, whether they want to or not. There’s this pull? You can feel yourself sort of — ” he leaned forward in his seat — “gravitate toward the screen when she’s there. She’s classic, but in a way that brings modernity to its knees. She is the... epitome? Of the new generation. Of the new generation of acting. In the same way I feel we — ” he gestured between Victoria, Thomas, Ethan, and himself — “are becoming for music. I love her authenticity, and how she has that and a — un'ingegnosità — Vic, what’s that word?”

“Ingenuity?”

He snapped his fingers, and Victoria bit back a laugh. Still, Damiano was not deterred.

“Ingenuity and authenticity. She never fails to surprise me. She has been in so many different movies, but she manages to stand out in all of them. It’s like Audrey Hepburn,” he said.

"Her counterparts always paled in the comparison.”

⭒

They had won the game — surpassing the joint record of Barbara Pavi and Blind Channel — concluded the interview, and were back in the car. But now Damiano was facing the consequences.

He had his head in his hands.

“Che. Catastrofe. And on national television! I just had to say that on national television.”

Victoria couldn’t stop laughing. Any moment now, Damiano was sure, tears would come rolling down her cheeks.

“How long did I talk for?”

Ethan was fighting to keep a straight face. “Just five minutes, I think.”

Thomas was grinning. “Six!” he declared. “You did not shut up about your dear beloved for six whole minutes! On live television.”

Ethan patted Damiano’s shoulder. “You should see Twitter.”

“Twitter? No!” he nearly screamed. “Twitter has found it?”

“Baby,” Victoria wiped her eyes, “everyone with internet has found it.”

⭒

Your phone kept lighting up, buzzing from its space on your desk like some horrible alarm clock, though it was not the morning, but the middle of the night.

Finally, fed up with its commotion, you arose from your armchair across the room, from your comfortable seat with the view of the brilliant city, and swept up your phone from the table.

It was Twitter.

You have 931,182,119 new notifications.

Not daring to think what the press had gotten hold of this time, you unlocked your phone.

To your surprise, and slight relief, you had been tagged, over and over again, in various versions — clips, snippets — of the same interview.

You clicked on one.

⭒

“I am Icarus. My life is over.”

“Will you get a hold of yourself?” said Victoria. “So you have a massive big crush on this actress. So you told the world. What’s so bad?”

“Everything. Everything. I have never done anything so stupid — ”

Damiano’s monologue was interrupted by Thomas taking ahold of his arm.

“Cosa fai? Sto morendo, can we do this later — ”

“No, you’re not dying,” said Ethan, suddenly serious, “and no, we can’t do this later. We’ve got a plane to catch.”

Damiano finally lifted his head from his hands. “What are you saying?”

“Damiano, you have to see this.”

Victoria stuck Thomas her phone from where she sat in the front, and Thomas handed it to Damiano.

Frowning, he scanned the too-bright screen in the darkness of the car.

It was a tweet, and his username had been mentioned.

He read it.

“Porca puttana,” he whispered.

@y/n-l/n : In Rome for the weekend. @daviddamiano99, pull a Franz Ferdinand and Take Me Out? 😘

“You see?” Ethan was nearly bouncing in his seat. “You see why we’ve got a plane to catch?!”

Damiano looked up from the phone.

He smiled, “Book the tickets.”

⭒

taglist: @tabi-toast @hazypoppy @aprilaady @juststalking @petit-poussin @oro-e-diamanti @glittermalia

send me an ask to be added to my taglist!

#damiano david x reader #damiano david fic #damiano david #måneskin fic #måneskin #fic #tina’s writing

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freeseafirefly · 3 years

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Soulmates (RinHaru fic)

Set after the All-Japan Invitational. Albert invites Haru to hang out, and Haru drags Rin along. Rin is stuck with two mackerel obsessed introverts and has to communicate between them. Except he doesn't really need to, not when they get along so well regardless of the language barrier.

Canon compliant, pre-relationship. A bit of angst and cracky fluff. Albert is a dork. So is Haru. Rin is a drama queen. Will be 2 parts (probably? maybe 3).

Read on AO3

Part 1

“Why don’t you get your AC fixed?” Rin whines as he sprawls on the wooden floor, limbs slack from racing all morning, glistening with fresh sweat after their short walk from the pool. He looks a lot like the eleven-year-old boy Haruka met at a tournament, panting on the poolside tiles and goggling at him while pretending he’s not. The scorching afternoon sun breaking through the shutters casts burning stripes across his skin, laser-beam red where they touch his hair.

“I had no time for that. It dries up the air anyway,” Haruka says and flicks on the fan. Ignoring Rin’s grunting about his water obsession, he pulls his T-shirt off over his head and walks over to the fridge. There were some sodas left since Asahi’s visit about a month ago.

Rin follows his example, rising to peel off his T-shirt and dropping back down, this time closer to the fan. “Ah, the steaming hell aka the Japanese summer… I surely didn’t miss that.”

Haruka scowls. It’s Rin’s fault he wanted to race him so bad today; Rin’s fault he came second yesterday on their 100 meter free race; and it is definitely not Haru’s fault that it is winter now in Australia, a divine chilly winter Rin will mention ever so often, only worsening his own suffering.

Haruka throws a can at him. Rin catches it with “Hey, how am I supposed to open it now?” but cringes as soon as he sees the neon-bright fruit mix printed on the side. “Whatever, it’s better like this anyway…” he mutters, pressing it to his neck. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he lets out a satisfied moan.

“Go take a cold shower,” Haruka says.

“I just did.”

“Wanna go back to the pool?”

“Not agaaain. I swear I reek of chlorine even though we took like a dozen showers today.”

Haruka flops down beside him and pops his soda open. He swallows a You smell of your fancy toilet water along with the gulp of the icy liquid, for a moment feeling blissful. Until the acid sweetness assaults his receptors all at once. Choking, he puts the poisonous drink down.

The humming of the fan almost drowns out Rin’s quiet chuckle Told ya so but not the cicadas going mad in the tiny park between the apartment blocks. Somehow, the relentless chirping sound makes the heat even thicker.

“Want water instead?” Haru offers.

“Nah. Too much water. Water everywhere. Even the air is water,” Rin complains, rolling his can up his cheek and pressing it to his forehead.

His eyelids flutter shut as a streak of the sun that is beginning to descend on the west crawls slowly up his nose, illuminating the normally unnoticeable freckles. Rin scrunches up his nose and shifts a bit away from it, a bit closer to Haru. The skin on his chest is glittering with the tiniest beads of sweat, goosebumps popping up every now and then as the fan sends a thick wave of air their way. His small nipples harden underneath the chilly caress, dark-pink against his pale skin. His shoulders are broader now, his pecs even more prominent.

Haruka stirs to stretch his legs out. There is a buzzing strain in his body but not the kind he could stretch away; not even from swimming. He should have made plans, come up with something to spend their first day off. He really didn’t have time, though. It was a spur of the moment exchange in Asahi sister’s cafe: “Want to sleep over tomorrow?"—"Sure” when they finished their celebration dinner with the rest of the gang and were about to part.

Haruka just felt a sudden urge. The dinner wasn’t enough. Their long car drive for the high school Nationals and back hadn’t been enough either. There was still a lot they had to catch up on. To talk about. To do. Haruka didn’t know what, though. And that was exactly the problem. He had Rin all to himself for another 24 hours, and he didn’t know what to make from it.

Rin hasn’t been helpful either, so uncharacteristically lacking plans and urgent things to do and new sights to show him, seemingly content with just spending an ordinary day together as if they were going to hang out like this regularly, as if they did it countless times.

They did, but in Iwatobi; in their high school days, before they left on their own journeys, before they changed—once again—apart from each other.

Haruka leans back. The wood presses hard into his elbows. He sinks down until he’s lying flat on his back beside Rin. Takes a long breath, wishing the strain away. Closes his eyes. Rin’s perfume, unfamiliar yet similar to his usual kind of breezy and a bit spicy, carried over on the musky scent of his body—not too strong, totally familiar—transports him to the Sydney beach. Foaming waves and salty wind and seagulls squawking. Sparkling blue infinity. Haruka wonders if it’s him who is reeking of chlorine instead, but he can’t smell himself this close to Rin. Rin who is the same Rin from elementary school and at the same time not. He has changed, indeed, and at the same time he hasn’t. He is too much and too not enough. It doesn’t make sense; Rin doesn’t make sense.

Except he does, somehow. Maybe enough for Haru to give him that something he has been keeping in his closet since last autumn.

Or maybe not. He has the rest of the day to figure that out.

…This morning, Rin rang his doorbell with the first licks of dawn on the rooftops across the street, in that annoying impatient way of his that once shook Haru from his nightmare and sent flying to the other side of the ocean. Haruka, a night owl he was, complained all the way to the pool as Rin literally dragged him through the chilly morning shadows, his grip strengthened by unshakable resolve. “We are racing now! I’ll show you those milliseconds were just a fluke!”

“You’re taking advantage,” Haru mumbled, his tongue still numb from sleep. “’m not even awake.”

“You’re not fooling anyone here, I know you only need to touch the water to grow a tail!”

“No I don’t. It was just a weird dream of yours.”

Rin stumbled a bit. “You’re really out of it in the morning,” he muttered, his cheeks red. “I meant figuratively.”

…Of course, Rin was right about him touching the water, though figuratively. And of course Haruka won all of their races, even if Rin insisted they tied in one of them and another one didn’t even count, since Haru suddenly started to laugh on the starting block at the way Rin routinely snapped his goggles strap, to fucking laugh like a weirdo, according to Rin, and thus treacherously ruined his focus before the dive.

Haru was just amused that some things never changed. He felt giddy and lightheaded and a little bit childish having Rin by his side, finally having Rin by his side again.

They were completely spent by noon, and had to make it home in the midst of the deadliest heat after finishing their katsu curry in the sports complex diner (it never had mackerel on the menu.) There was nothing interesting in Haruka’s neighborhood to drop by. Maybe they should have taken a ride somewhere. But Haruka had never been good at these things, like coming up with the ideas of where to go and how to spend time with someone, and Rin’s focus was still on swimming, national team, can you fucking believe we made it??, world championships, medals. Maybe cooking, too. He wouldn’t shut up about proving his skills and his recipes superiority to Haru as soon as they had a chance.

Well. That is at least something.

Haruka cracks an eye open. “Let’s go to the supermarket to fetch something for dinner.”

…Because there is an echoing void in his fridge: Haruka hasn’t been home enough recently to keep something edible there.

The idea doesn’t seem to bring Rin back to his usual energetic self, though. He just says absentmindedly, “Yeah, whatever, I need some AC right now or I’ll melt down and ruin your floor.”

This is when Haruka’s phone buzzes and bursts into a loud rendition of the default ringtone, startling them both.

“Huh? So that thing of yours can actually ring?” Rin arches an eyebrow curiously, propped on his elbows.

Haruka tsks at him—he did pick up Rin’s rare calls, except for the weeks in the training camp after racing Albert, which Rin was still salty about—and crosses the room to fish the phone from the bottom of his bag. The number is unknown. Probably a spam call, but there is a chance someone from the National team wants to contact him about the upcoming training, so he answers it.

“Hi! It’s Albert.“

"Eh?” Of course, Haruka recognizes him immediately, but the idea of hearing the Swedish swimmer on his phone seems rather surreal. “Oh. Hello,” he answers awkwardly in English.

Rin shoots him a bewildered glance and rolls over to sit up.

“Some guy from your team gave me your number. Congrats on your win yesterday! It was amazing. Even through the screen, I could feel how free you were in that race.”

Haru frowns at himself; he has been sure he made quite a progress in English but as always, a real conversation with a real human proves him wrong. It takes him a moment before the meaning sinks in.

“Ah. Thank you.”

Haruka feels a pleasant tingling spreading all over his skin. It’s not like him to get flustered at someone praising him, but Albert has been on his mind ever since they raced. A blinding light of the global level. A goal to reach. A wall to overcome. A shy guy who had trouble dealing with Japanese specifics on every corner but learned in no time.

Just as he had learned how to swim, probably. A powerful, untamed freestyle.

Albert continues, in his casual fluent manner but a bit faster than Haru heard him speak before, “I somehow managed to escape from my coach and ditched Ralph at some traditional Japanese spa, since I’m not really into hot water. How do you not get lost in this city? I wondered if you could show me around and we could have some amazing Japanese mackerel again.”

Haru catches some words, like spa and city and japanese and mackerel, but Albert sounds hasty, as if he's a bit nervous, and Haru’s brain fails to quickly connect the words together. It’s strange. He didn’t struggle to understand Albert before. Maybe because they were doing something those times, actions backing up the words. Or maybe because in the corner of his vision, Rin keeps staring at him questioningly which is kinda distracting.

Oh. Rin.

Exerting an effort to pronounce the words as good as he can, Haruka asks, "Sorry… can you repeat?”

Albert agrees with the same easy kindness that never leaves his voice just like his smile permanently hides in his eyes, “Sure. So, I was saying…”

Haru quickly turns on the speaker mode so that Rin can hear, and sends him an expectant look. Rin frowns at first, confused, and when Haruka mouths Albert Wahlander his eyes go round. By the end of Albert’s talk, his face smoothens quickly back to normal. Bored even.

“So, basically, he’s inviting you on a date.”

“Eh…? Seriously, Rin.”

“Whatever, just say ok”, Rin sighs, clearly pissed.

“But we—”

“Didn’t have plans anyway.” And he adds in a heated whisper, “Oh come on, it’s the fastest guy in the freaking world, Haru.”

Haruka catches a fiery glint in Rin’s eyes before the latter averts his gaze.

Better than a supermarket, he concludes.

“Uhm, ok,” Haruka utters in full voice. And squints at Rin, who has found a sudden resolve to open the dangerous can and is dramatically pouring the fizzing liquid into his throat. “Do you mindo ifu I take a… furendo with me?” he adds.

“Sure, I’m fine with it! Does he love mackerel, too?”

Tbc. The next part will be from Rin's POV. Poor baby.

#free!#free! fanfiction #rinharu #harurin #rin matsuoka #haruka nanase #albert volandel

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philliamwrites · 3 years

Text

killing me softly with his song | (Childe / Reader) [chpt.02]

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Childe / Reader

Tags: #fem!reader, #from childhood friends to lovers, #reader is a fatui agent, #slow burn, #unresolved sexual tension, #mature language, #forbidden love

Words: 3.5k

Summary: "Lybuov zla, polyubish i kozla,“ sighs your sister as she wipes off the table, but that makes you feel even more miserable. Falling for a goat might save you from an actual heartbreak by Tartaglia’s hands.

Notes: Part 1

Masterlist

Chapter 2

At the barracks’ canteen reigns the unspoken rule that no one is allowed to cook borsch, and trying to do so is punished by cleaning all windows with cold water only in the middle of the night. Can’t see anything because the nights at the outskirts of Zapolyarny are blacker than out in the taiga? Tough luck. There are so many different recipes as there are families out there, and everyone has their very own way to make it. Fatui agents have brought each other to the hospital wing over fighting which recipe is the best, therefore a couple of years before Tartaglia and you enrolled, this rule was established.

Sitting out in the cold of Jaroslawk at four in the morning, you’d kill for a hot bowl of your mamochka’s borsch—the best in Morepesok even though Tartaglia begs to differ, but the only problem with his claim is that he is fucking wrong.

Through your binoculars you see everything is quiet and dark on the other side of the compound, which is a good sign. Unfortunately, good also means very boring. You’ve been lying in the exact same position for nearly three hours now: on your belly, elbows slightly propping your upper body to see the Baron’s estate that’s embraced by a forest like a mother cradling its child. Tales have it if you make even one little mistake inside those cold brick walls, Baron Igor would personally see to it that you don’t leave these woods alive and whatever his hellish guard dogs don’t finish eating up, his servants would send to your family as a small parting gift and warning to get as far and fast away as possible.

If only he were as thorough covering his tracks as he is scaring people, but Baron Igor has never really excelled at multiple things and now, months after the first little bird brought some interesting insight, you can’t wait for Baron Igor to finally slip and confirm the rumours about him selling information on one of Il Dottore’s gun research labs to a spy from Sumeru. Intel has it exchanges usually occur once every full moon and with the orb now hidden behind thick, black clouds, this is the last chance to get some evidence before the ship leaving to Sumeru carries whoever deserves a knife in their windpipe back to their God of Wisdom.

Baron Igor has messed up, got too arrogant, and now you and your team are here to make sure he eats up his mess. It wasn’t easy to infiltrate his mansion. Mitsuki only passed because you took out two of the other contesters for one of the Baron’s favourite restaurants down in Nowobirsk. That man bows to greed and when introduced to the place’s new maître d’hôtel—the best of his kind, the most exotic to own during their flimsy ceasefire with Inazuma—Baron Igor acted swiftly and hired him. Mitsuki had gagged at those words while lieutenant Scaramouche had shown the patience of a man barely holding himself back from violence. Two days later, Mitsuki took his position as spy and head waiter of the Baron’s personal restaurant taking up the whole second floor in the right wing of his stone mansion.

“Fuck me, I look like a penguin,” Mitsuki had said on the night before his work began at the estate, glaring at himself in the mirror dressed in a sharply tailored tuxedo.

“Then we know who to call if Baron Igor decides to open a zoo,” Mikhail had said, but he was in no hurry to turn away his appreciative gaze from how tight Mitsuki’s black pants tugged his slim legs and ass.

That’s the team, Mitsuki, you and Mikhail—Lock, Shock and Barrel, one of your fellow division’s comrade likes to call you for unknown reasons, simply laughing to himself and shaking his head as if trying to get rid of a good memory. Though for all that Scaramouche is concerned, to him you’re triple double and a clusterfuck he doesn’t want anywhere near him or so help him Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, he’ll stake your heads and scatter your remains to the seagulls terrorising the coast of Port Odessa.

“He loves us,” Mikhail likes to joke, even though you aren’t sure the words love and Scaramouche should be used in one sentence.

“One day, he’ll kill one of us with his bear hands and feel nothing,” Mitsuki commonly remarks, sounding like whatever you’d do to receive such a punishment is probably ghastly enough to justify being murdered.

“His hat is pretty neat,” is usually your only contribution and they both look at you as if you’re crazy.

“Any movement?” a voice asks from your right. Mikhail shakes still fresh snow from his head and shoulders as he dugs under the narrow doorway, looking like a puppy trying to shake itself dry. Now that a year has passed since a Geo Vision user crushed his right arm and healers had to amputate it to save his life, he’s adapted pretty well to only one arm and hand at his disposal. He’s balancing a cup in his palm while holding two paper bags with his fingers and somehow makes it look easy. He rejoins you at the window, carefully placing the steaming cup and one bag in front of you. You hand him your binoculars so he can see for himself, and inspect your breakfast. “Do I even want to know where you found,” you peak inside the bag, “pirozhky at a time like this?”

“Couple of blocks down there’s this place. Really nice lady, gave me one for free and added a little extra to our coffee.”

You take a sip, and instantly begin coughing and pounding your chest as it goes down burning. “Archons, that’s disgusting. Who in their right mind puts Fire-Water in their coffee?”

“I know, right?” Mikhail beams. “It’s genius.”

It’s ghastly. You take another sip. Horrible, really. But it keeps you warm and awake. So maybe it isn’t that bad at all.

While Mikhail observes the area, you dig into your beef and onion pirozhky. There’s nothing fun about pulling an all-nighter but sometimes sharing a cup of coffee and eating warm food helps to get through them. Also knowing someone suffers with you. Sharing pain is gain, after all.

“Well, they sure like taking their sweet time,” Mikhail mumbles, getting a little more comfortable on the cold stone ground. He puts the binoculars away and digs into his own food. “What are we gonna do if nothing happens today?”

“Then we’ll come back next month and do it all over again.” Hopefully you don’t have to. Fyrva’snezh was two weeks ago but this winter started off particularly brutal. Two out of three units are still missing from their outskirts training and you don’t want to be in the poor lasses’ and lads’ shoes who are still at the infirmary recovering from severe hypothermia. “What worries me more is that Mitsuki might lose his sanity if he stays there another whole month.”

“Well, what doesn’t kill him makes him stronger,” Mikhail says, wiping his greasy fingers off his pants. “I just want to wipe that smug smirk off the Baron’s pig face.”

He and probably every citizen populating Jaroslawk. “Once Mitsuki locates the communication point, we’ll go in and neutralise the target if we can’t catch him alive,” you say. “Baron Igor will try and weasel his way out of it but so far all evidence stands against him. The rest is up to Her Majesty.” And the Tsaritsa is known for many things, but mercy isn’t one of them. That will show anyone else trying to make business behind her back.

“Do you really think Mitsuki will endure another month in that stupidly tight uniform?” Mikhail sounds like he very much wished for another month out in the cold like this if it meant Mitsuki would bless him for a while longer wearing his uniform.

You stretch your leg and kick him in his shin. “Don’t jinx this, Nozhyalensky,” you say. “No matter how good his ass looks in those pants, it isn’t worth freezing your own ass off out in this cold. If we have to extend our mission, I’m going to steal your coat and own it for the whole time.”

“You don’t care if I freeze to death?”

“I really don’t.”

He puts his hand on his heart in mock despair. “That’s harsh.”

It would be his own fault, no hard feelings. You sit in silence, sharing your scalding hot coffee. In the mansion on the other side, a light flickers on in the east wing. Mikhail shifts and makes a disgusted grunt. “I did not want to know the Baron is banging the Duchess of Pavlovich.”

“Might be good leverage in the future.” You quickly dot it down in your notebook, squinting at the barely illuminated page. “Especially if the Duke refuses to pay his taxes again. I’m sure we can get to him through her.”

More minutes pass in silence. Mikhail continues his watch while you start to mindlessly doodle a little Foul Legacy Child in the corner of your page. You wonder what time it is in Liyue. Is Childe also out on a mission or tugged in and sleeping well in a land that knows nothing of harsh winds and freezing nights. Does he spare a thought of home? Is he missing you as much as you miss him or has he already filled the gnawing void with faceless, warm women that comfort him at night?

“Heard anything from our comrades in Liyue?” Mikhail asks nonchalantly, but he’s always been the poorest liar of you three and it’s pretty obvious where this conversation is going. Part of you hungers for that conflict.

“They still can’t find whoever killed the Geo Archon. But Lord Childe might have located the Gnosis and has begun his infiltration.”

Chances are good he might succeed in another month or so, though from the letters you’ve received so far, it sounds like he might succeed fucking the consultant of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor before that. Tartaglia has never started anything serious with guys before, safe from occasionally drunk making outs, but new cultures could change a lot in you and it’s Tartaglia’s first time staying for so long in Liyue and meeting a man like this so called Zhongli.

Mikhail clicks his tongue in disgust. “I can’t believe this guy is over there for three months already and is still nowhere near finishing the job.” He spits at the ground and twists his mouth in a very familiar manner of annoyance—only usually this expression is meant for initiate Fatui members who can’t tell a shotgun from a sniper rifle.

“How can you still be mad at him for handing you your ass three years ago,” you say. A man’s ego is such a frail thing, thank the Tsaritsa for being a strong, independent woman.

“This isn’t about that stupid fight,” Mikhail splutters, red blotches creeping up his neck. His inability to lie is abysmal. “I don’t get how you stand that guy. His arrogance needs its own giant room to fit inside. Someone needs to knock him down a peg or two and maybe beat out this need to whore around as well—”

You move in a flash. Mikhail doesn’t have any time to react before he finds himself on his back, pinned down by your weight with a knife to his throat. “Mikhail, I love you like my own kin and you know I’d take a bullet for you any time,” you growl. “But speak another filthy word about Childe and I will cut off your tongue and feed it to street dogs while watching you bleed out like a slaughtered pig. Are we clear?”

You feel Mikhail’s chest rising and falling under your spread hand, his body warm, proof of his life. How easy it would be to take it from him, to warm the cold, dirty ground with his blood.

Mikhail’s dark eyes don’t give away anything. He’s holding very still, like a cornered animal faced with its hunter; don’t move and maybe it thinks one is dead. Eventually, he says quietly, “If you could see what an unlikeable, unpleasant person he really is, maybe...” He doesn't finish. There is no need to. You know very well what point he’s trying to make.

“I don’t need your supervision,” you say. “Or your pity.”

Mikhail barks a loud, humourless laugh. “Lassie, if I had an ounce of pity left for anyone else than myself, I wouldn’t be very good at this job, would I?”

You shift your weight. Mikhail groans as you put pressure on a wound a Pyro Vision user inflicted on him a week ago that hasn’t fully healed yet—a favour for Mikhail to prevent him from following his train of thought. You don’t know what is worse: His unrequited love for Mitsuki or Tartaglia and you knowing what you both want but can’t have.

Mikhail quietly says your name and gently lowers your hand. The sharp knife has bit into his skin just enough to leave a fine, red line on his throat. “All I’m saying is, I am not the bad guy here.”

He is right, of course. But that makes it even worse, because without a bad guy, who could you put blame on? Who would be the target of your frustration and your scorn? Who would pay for countless sleepless nights wasted alone or in a stranger’s arms?

If there is no good, no bad side, no villains or heroes to put blame on, what does that leave for you? Just the law. It is hard, but it is the law.

There is no one but yourself who carries the burden. Even knowing Tartaglia goes through the same doesn’t soothe the pain steadily growing in your heart. You’re like two stars gravitating to each other, seeking the sweet collision to finally become one and create something bigger, the most exquisite light in the endless black galaxy, but whenever you manage to come close to each other, other forces pull you apart.

You shift your position from towering above him to slumping back on Mikhail’s lap, your anger deflated like a balloon.

“Arguing with you is no fun,” you mumble, sheathing the knife back in its place inside your boot.

Mikhail arches one dark brow. “Learnt from the best. You don’t want to get into an argument with my mama.”

“Are you two leaving me out from a team bonding session?” comes a static voice from your left.

“Darling, we would never leave you out from a potential threesome,” Mikhail says back, a wicked grin flirting with his mouth.

“Blergh,” you groan in disgust and roll off him, grabbing for the plastic piece from where Mitsuki’s voice has sounded; Il Dottore’s newest invention, a voice transmitter agents use for long distance communication.

“So, how’s it cooking, good looking?” Mikhail asks, ignoring your eyes rolling back. “Anything new at the front?”

Mitsuki is silent for a moment. Somewhere, a dog barks. “I think someone might have tipped the Baron off.”

Immediately, you feel Mikhail's body tense next to you. “Do you need us to come in?”

Oppressive silence fills the room. Mikhail jerks, but before he can jump to rash actions, you grab his arm hard enough to bruise. He freezes, and you both stare at the voice transmitter in Mikhail’s hand.

A moment later, static crackles, and Mitsuki says, “I received a note on the caviar shipment. Roads are all clear, it should come in around seven in the morning.”

Mikhail relaxes, but a sweat bead rolls from his temple and disappears behind his black turtle neck sweater. He sags against you, exhaling very loudly.

A couple of years ago, after you three had been working together and hadn’t tried to kill each other as often as other teams, you guys had decided to come up with your own secret language for times like these. Mikhail had first complained about the hours put into learning it the most—the semantics always changing depending on what line of work you’d infiltrate—but eventually even he had agreed it was a pretty neat trick. What Mitsuki has said simply means all is in order and the mission is proceeding smoothly.

“Little fucker,” Mikhail grumbles, ruffling his own hair just to keep his hand busy. You agree. It feels like you’ve aged five years in those last five minutes.

That relief is short lived. A small explosion from the right wing inside the mansion lights up the night like a firework show. Mikhail is out of the window in a flash. You grab your rifle, keeping an eye on him as he crosses the street in a flash and climbs over the iron gate.

Two shadows tumble through the hole in the second floor. You sway your scope, laying eyes on Mitsuki as he wrestles with a cloaked figure. Purple sparks fly, clashing with crimson flames that rise skyward and turn into black smoke. At least something is according to plan even though your Cryo Vision would be more effective.

You watch them fight for a moment, unable to get a clear shot as both are short distance fighters. Mitsuki moves quicker than a flash, whirling two hatches over his head, parrying a deathly bow from the Sumeru’s Claymore. Mitsuki is smaller than most of his comrades. People like to underestimate him, but that’s part of the fun, according to him. Proving people wrong. He dodges another swift strike, rolling out of the way and giving you a clear sight at your target. But over his shoulder, Mitsuki catches your eyes and gives the tiniest shake of his head. Not yet.

You wish he could see the stingy eye you’re giving him right now. You’ve waited long enough out in this cold and your whole body shakes with the need to move, the need to fight. A quick look to Mikhail shows he’s fending off two of the Baron’s guards himself. Luckily, they can’t really hold their stand against a fully trained Fatui agent. He quickly takes out his opponents, closing in on Mitsuki and the Sumeru agent. Mitsuki has driven him to the edge of the forest. So that’s his plan. You wait until the spy is right beneath a long, thick branch, then pull the trigger. The shot is muffled by the silencer, slicing through the air with infused Cryo power. It hits its target, cutting the branch off. The Sumeru spy is too slow. When the branch buries him under its weight, Mikhail finally catches up to Mitsuki, and through your scope you can see him patting Mitsuki down for injuries. Mitsuki pushes him away, not hard or in a mean way, just enough to signal this isn’t the time. The job isn’t done yet.

Mitsuki advances the spy and kneels, looking for signs of life. He looks up, his dark eyes searching your scope. He holds your gaze, picking up his voice transmitter.

“I have good and bad news,” he says. “The spy is still alive, so we’ll get our answers. But now I’m pretty sure the Baron knows what’s going on.”

“Then don’t just stand there, someone go after him, quick!” you yell in your transmitter.

Before Mikhail dashes off, you hear him curse. “Lord Scaramouche is going to kill us.”

He will, considered this was supposed to undergo without the Baron noticing anything.

* * *

Dear little tygress,

forgive my horrible handwriting. I am still shaking from all the laughter your last letter gave me. Zhongli-xiansheng was actually worried for my wellbeing because I had choked on air and almost died. I swear, you will kill me one day, little tygress.

Speaking of little and potential lethal beasts, I’m surprised Scaramouche didn’t use your head as a toilet plunger. I really do think he's fond of you, little tygress. Any other team would be six feet under by now. You have to tell me your secret once I’m back. Scaramouche still doesn’t know I broke his favourite, ugly cup with the bear on the front from Fontaine, and I want to be prepared once he knows.

Everything is the same in Liyue, and at the same time, everything is changing. Rex Lapis’ murder is still unsolved, and I do enjoy watching the little traveller boy run around looking for answers. Once I return with the Geo Archon’s gnosis, dinner will be on me.

How are things at home? I hope Tonia hasn’t finished all mooncakes by herself again and saved some for the rest of the bunch. I can’t bear to hear Anthon cry again about me only sending sweets to Tonia and Teucer. Has the old man gotten in touch with you? He still doesn’t reply to me, but mama says he’s reading the letters. Maybe a bottle of Liyue’s Baijiu will loose his tongue, or hand for that matter. It’s almost as good as Fire-Water, promise.

Till next time and don’t get too much on little ‘Mouche’s nerves, otherwise there will be no room left for me.

Yours, Red Fox

__________________________________________________

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swarmkeepers · 3 years

Note

riz & gorgug for #5! ✨

5. heard you tell the same story multiple times but doesn’t point it out to you when you excitedly bring it up to them again + riz & gorgug (prompts linked here)

(starting immediately post-fhsy, and a little more angsty than the other prompt fills so far because it deals with some of the aftermath of spring break. sometimes friendship is late nights and brownie recipes and old stories.)

There are forty minutes left until Elmville when Riz digs his claws into the headrest of the passenger’s seat and clambers over the seat backs to sit shotgun in the Hangvan.

Everyone else is asleep, or as Riz suspects in Tracker’s case as she stays oddly still as a human pillow for Kristen in the backseat, at least pretending to. But Riz is quest-restless even though they’re heading home, and Gorgug’s awake because he’s driving, and both of their darkvision light up the street ahead for them.

Gorgug doesn’t look surprised when Riz lands in the seat next to him. Of course. Because his whole party knows that Riz doesn’t sleep, or at least has to be told to, or has to know that there are hit points to be regenerated and a fight to be alert for the next day.

Streetlights speed by and Gorgug brings the van to a smooth stop at a light, accelerating smoothly up afterwards to not jostle anyone in the backseat. He’s practiced, easy, calm. Meanwhile, Riz’s thoughts are a messy turbulent maelstrom. He can’t sleep, and after everything in the Nightmare Forest if he never saw a bed again it’d be too soon. But, forget sleep, his brain isn’t even letting him relax right now, and Riz is struggling to figure out the questions that are on the tip of his tongue. His fingers itch for a ball of red string, trying to figure out why he wanted to be up here with the passenger seat and the windshield and Gorgug.

“What’s being a barbarian like?” he asks quietly, and Gorgug doesn’t exactly startle but does tip his head to the side curiously.

“Can I ask why?”

“I’m—angry,” Riz says, surprising himself, but it feels true enough. “I killed Kalina, but she said she was with me my whole life. And I hate that.” He wants to hiss, to bare his teeth and make the hair on the back of his neck stand up, but it’s not Gorgug he’s mad at. “Sometimes I wonder if I should use that to. Hit things.”

“Okay,” Gorgug says.

“And you—you know about that. About being angry, and not being. As comfortable. Or at least you’ve said stuff like that.” Riz picks at his long fingernails, pretending to be nonchalant and not looking up to see if Gorgug’s insight is better than his shitty attempt at deception.

“Tell me about why you wanted to be a rogue?” Gorgug asks instead, and Riz understands it’s not really a question. He trusts Gorgug. He thinks about it.

“Um, my mom was always a detective, I guess. And my dad was a spy, but I guess I didn’t know that.” Riz spends a lot of his time thinking. He’s realizing he doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking about himself. Maybe he needs to make a new conspiracy board. “Uh. I guess the first time I ever saw Penny sneak attack someone was really cool, I definitely knew I wanted to do that.”

Gorgug makes a soft hm? noise that asks Riz to keep talking. “Because I was little and Penny’s little too, and we were at the mall and some asshole catcalled her? And oh, man, you should have seen her, Penny was probably an Aguefort freshman then? But she told me to hide behind this vending machine and—”

They’re all the way home, with the Mordred Manor crew taking their stuff out of the trunk while Gorgug and Riz keep talking. Riz finished his story hurriedly as they pulled into the driveway, ending with Penny teaching Riz to make brownie bars at Strongtower after the sneak attack incident and being so cool and badass and nonchalant about making that guy’s nose gush with blood. He’s talking fast and gesturing big like he doesn’t usually, caught up in a story that he can tell well and that he hadn’t thought of in a while. Him and his rogue friends are tiny badasses.

“That was a good story,” Gorgug says. “Rogues seem pretty cool.”

Riz grins, all his fangs out and happy in the driveway of the manor. “Thanks, dude.”

“I think you can be angry and not a barbarian,” Gorgug says, gently.

And “Okay,” Riz says, gentled.

It’s the tail end of one of Fabian’s all-out summertime ragers. The Bad Kids are in a big cuddle pile that barely fits on the picnic blanket on the lawn of Seacaster Manor, and Gorgug’s at the very bottom. Riz is tipsy on half a beer (goblin metabolisms are not good and it’s not his fault) and he thinks Gorgug looks a little lonely, lying on his stomach and tapping at his crystal with all the wind knocked out of him from everyone lying on top. He scrambles down the pile of friend-bodies and sits on the grass by Gorgug. Riz racks his brain for something good to say. He doesn’t want Gorgug to be lonely, not when Riz is going to be up all night and Riz is usually the lonely one.

“Di’ I ever tell you about the first time I saw someone get sneak attacked,” Riz says, words big and bubbly and coming out too fast. He doesn’t care, he’s buzzed and happy and Gorgug looks like he could use a good story.

“I don’t remember, tell me,” Gorgug says, putting his crystal down face down so its glow goes dark.

“Oh man, you’re going to love this story. It was, like, me ‘n Penny at the mall, and there was this real asshole of a dude, and I didn’t know Penny went to Aguefort but she took out this knife? And it was like she flew at him—”

At some point in the story Gorgug falls asleep, and Riz is more pleased than annoyed. He looks cozy. And not lonely.

“What’s this, The Ball?” Fabian asks when Riz takes a fantasy tupperware of brownie bars out of his briefcase and puts it on the the table in the cafeteria.

“They’re sneak attack brownies,” Riz says.

It evidently does not clear up any of Fabian’s questions.

“Penny—Penny Luckstone?—they’re her recipe, she taught me how to make them the same day I ever saw her sneak attack a dude,” he explains. “She like, jumped out from behind one of those fake potted plants at the mall and slashed him so bad with a dagger and then she didn’t even get sneak attack on it but she also socked him in the nose and it was like the coolest thing I’d ever seen. And then she just went home and washed the blood off her fist and then we made brownies.” He puts a hand on his chest. “And I’ll never forget it.”

“Okay, The Ball,” Fabian says, but he takes a brownie.

Next to him, Gorgug’s already halfway into his second, nodding happily and energetically so his hair flops in front of his face. “I love that story!” he says. He’s all leaned in, listening to Riz’s story.

Riz lights up—he’s no Fabian, with expensive magical gifts, and he’s no Gorgug either with little artificed trinkets and sweeping big gestures. But he’d remembered the story and remembered the brownies and wanted to make some, and he’s just glad his friends like them as much as he does.

“Because the secret ingredient is sour cream,” Riz confides. Fabian fake-sputters, sending tiny brownie crumbs everywhere, and Gorgug swats at him.

“You were eating it just fine before!” Gorgug says indignantly. “Respect the brownie, dude!”

“You’re right, Gorgug,” Fabian sighs. He takes another bite. “They’re not bad, The Ball.”

Riz only dimly registers footsteps pounding up the stairs and also a greataxe brute forcing its way through the booby traps at his office door. His crystal is abandoned on the floor next to him, the last text he sent to Gorgug still on the screen. It’d been “Having a bad time. At my office. Can you come help? Thanks, Riz” and it’d been typed out with shaky fingers as his breaths started coming too fast, the way it does whenever he lets himself be alone in his own office for too long. Riz hates it but he needs help. He forgot the period on that text and it’s been staring at him for the past few minutes.

His brain is whirring too fast—Shadow Cat, Kalina’s eyes in his own eyes, Baron in his mirror in his own office, darkness and danger and Fabian in churning waters, he died in that forest and so did Adaine and so could any of his friends, bullets dodged and bullets fired and it’s too much, too much. His breaths are coming too fast but also not fast enough. Riz feels suffocated.

He’s wedged himself into his own briefcase of holding, the sides squeezing his arms in a way that’s grounding and comforting when nobody else is here in his office to help.

But Gorgug is. Gorgug is here to help now. He skids to a stop in front of Riz and sits on the floor and Riz only dimly registers it out of the corner of his eye where his head is curled into his chest trying to make himself small, make himself safe.

“Riz, can I touch you?”

Riz does his best to nod and Gorgug just wraps long lanky boy arms around his torso, gently lifting Riz out of his own briefcase and settling him in Gorgug’s lap as they sit on the floor of the office. He doesn’t let go, just squeezes tighter. It’s so much help, and also— “Can you. Talk? Anything— Anything’s fine,” Riz says.

“Um. Sure, Riz. I guess I can. I could list a recipe? My parents have been trying to teach me to cook more, for when we go to college in a couple of years. I’m sorry, I’m not like Adaine, I don’t have lots of interesting things memorized,” Gorgug says, apologetic. Riz wants to be able to tell him not to be, but he’s a little preoccupied trying to make his brain tell his lungs to breathe.

“Uh, so these are called sneak attack brownies?” Gorgug says hesitantly. Riz realizes what he’s doing and tries to laugh, the giggle interrupting the choked breath he was trying to take.

“They’re called sneak attack brownies because they’re my badass friend’s recipe. And he learned it from his badass friend. Um, I don’t know this super well, actually, but I really should by now and I’m just going to keep talking and if it’s wrong then I guess it’s wrong? I know that you need chocolate for a brownie. And eggs and sugar. You told me the secret ingredient is sour cream.”

Riz nods, thudding his head into Gorgug’s chest a little. He takes a deep breath. Gorgug’s hoodie is soft. And he’s a good listener.

“Right, uh. After sour cream. Flour. And butter?”

“The butter’s— the butter’s unsalted,” Riz manages to eke out, voice small and quiet and mostly talking to his own knees.

“Got you. Unsalted butter,” Gorgug agrees, easy as anything.

“Penny said— Penny said that dude she punched’s tears were salty enough, that’s how I remember it,” Riz tells him.

“Tell me more?” Gorgug asks, and he waits patiently as Riz lets his brain just focus on a recipe, an easy recipe and a badass story. It helps, to be given something focused to do. And Riz is just so, so glad he has friends who will give that to him, will listen over and over again when Riz needs to talk.

And Gorgug waits. And Riz tells him.

from the prompt list linked here! i’m closing prompts from this particular list simply because i have so many excellent ones to get through

#i love these soft bois and i hope you do too!#this got. truly so long i am so sorry #the green team. the nerd boys. the people with proficiency with guns.#they're GOOD FRIENDS gorgug is a GOOD LISTENER riz makes BADASS BROWNIES #food #fantasy high #sophomore year #gorgug thistlespring #riz gukgak #sola said #sola ficced #sola prompted #nonbinarywithaknife #sola answered #yes i know they don't get home to mordred at night but poetic license okay #also 'gorgug and riz in riz's office at night' and 'gorgug and riz in gorgug's van at night' feel like tropes for these two by now #and i'm here for it

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izaswritings · 4 years

Text

Title: desert dawns

Fandom: RWBY

Synopsis: Finally in Vacuo, the team gets a chance to breathe... but for Oz, things are a little more complicated.

(Or: in which Oz actually has a nice moment, for once, somehow; team JNR attempt a baking gift, and Oscar is Sir Sleeping Through This Fic. Home may be far away, but that doesn't make where you are now mean any less.)

AO3 Link is here.

For a moment, Oz does not know where he is.

Eyes open, a ceiling above his head, the sheets are too warm but when he pushes them back something feels wrong—that is not my hand—

Awareness comes back to him. No, he realizes. That is not his hand at all. Oscar’s hand. Their hand.

He is awake. Oscar is not.

Oz takes a moment, sitting up, reorienting himself. The sense of Oscar, there in the back of his mind, is still deep in sleep and doesn’t seem keen on waking up anytime soon. Which is reasonable, Oz admits, looking out the window. The desert sky is as dark as it is clear, and the moon shines down bold and bright. It’s either incredibly late or unspeakably early; if Oz tries to get Oscar up, the boy will no doubt be cross with him.

And yet—Oz is awake, now, and in such a way he is not sure he can sleep again. Neither does the idea of lying still waiting for Oscar to wake up appeal to him. Their lips press. He frowns down at the hands that are not his own. Oscar does not stir. The room the boy shares with team JNR is utterly silent, soundless but for Oz’s own soft breaths.

Oz hesitates, then carefully pushes away the covers. He won’t go far, he decides. He’ll just… make a drink. Hot chocolate, maybe. He’ll sit in the small living room area of this house and watch the sunrise. It’ll at least be something to do.

They have been in Vacuo for almost a week, and even now the pause in the action is unsettling to him. Though kind of Theodore to procure them a place to stay, the almost-peace of Vacuo is weirdly off-putting after Atlas. There’s a tension to it, a sort of hesitation that lingers on, not just in Oz but in all the others, too— waiting, always, for the other shoe to drop.

The anxiety, from Oz and Oscar both, is exhausting. Combined with the heat of the desert, well… they have not been sleeping well at all lately.

Though it isn’t exactly hot now, of course— with the darkness comes a sharp drop, icy midnights. Oz has always loved this about the deserts: the swiftness with which it changes, the rapid shift in temperature and landscape. He has been reincarnated in Vacuo numerous times, and the memories remain, faint and fond. One incarnation had loved the desert sky so much he’d used to wake up at the break of dawn to watch the sunrise, each and every morning without fail.

Which— may explain why Oz is up, actually. Old habits die hard, and Oz is nothing if not full of old habits.

He considers this, turning to sit with their feet dangling over the edge of the bed. The desert midnight chill is in full swing for the moment: frost edging the window, icy wind snapping in the air. Oz pulls on a pair of socks—the floor is bitterly cold, and while Oz doesn’t mind it, Oscar might rouse at the sensation—and then drapes Oscar’s jacket on their shoulders. There, warm. If the boy wakes up anyway, he can’t say Oz didn’t try.

He picks up the cane as he heads out the door, and flips it through their hands as he walks.

The house is deathly silent as Oz heads for the kitchen, the whole house under the spell of sleep. The hallway is not nearly as dark as he thought, though, and Oz pauses when he sees why. The kitchen. The door is closed, but light spills out underneath. He can hear the very faint clatter of dishes. Someone else is up?

He considers turning back around, but, well. He’s come all this way for hot chocolate, it seems silly to turn away now. And it’s not like he’s against having company.

Perhaps it’s Qrow. He hopes so, vaguely. They are still not—on the best terms, he and Qrow, but Oz would like to change that. He… misses the other. Sometimes. Which is an incredibly strange feeling, given Qrow is right here with all the rest of them, but well. There is no-one for Oz to blame for that but himself.

He opens the door, stepping into the light, and regrets this decision almost at once.

“Cute boy Oz!”

Their eyes squeeze tightly shut, and Oz inhales deeply. “Miss Valkyrie,” he says. He doesn’t protest the nickname. It is, he has realized with something in his soul that might be despair, apparently useless to try. Eyes open again, he surveys the rest of the kitchen. Jaune Arc and Lie Ren are there too, all awake. A team meeting, perhaps? But why in the dead of night? And— odd. They had not tried to rouse Oscar.

He realizes suddenly he had missed their absence in the room, and frowns. How…unobservant of him.

“What are you doing up at this hour?” he asks, mild, and raises a brow when all three exchange immediately guilty glances. Interesting.

“Um,” says Jaune Arc, and then nothing more.

Well then.

Oz nods, understanding, and moves on into the kitchen, heading for the counter. None of his business, then, and if they don’t want him involved he will respect that. He extends the cane and taps it absently against the ground as he searches. Now, where do they keep the cups? And the powder, too, that’s important. He rifles through the cupboard. Cocoa, cocoa, cocoa… aha.

Lie Ren clears his throat just as Oz is getting down a cup; Oz glances back at him. “Is Oscar…?”

“No. He is still sleeping.” Oz considers the three of them. “I assume this is something you wish to keep from him?” He cannot exactly hide the sudden distaste this idea gives him. Oscar is fond of these three, to such a degree that Oz is beginning to feel the same, if only by proxy—they are Oscar’s friends, his confidants, and at this point, perhaps even his team. This exclusion bothers Oz in a way he cannot deny feels strangely personal.

But already Jaune Arc is waving his hands, looking panicked. “No, no, not like that,” he says, waving his hands down at Oz. “It’s just—um—”

“None of your business,” Nora Valkyrie is insisting, hotly.

“It’s a surprise for him,” Lie Ren says, and both teammates turn on him.

“Ren!”

“You can’t just give it away!”

“He just said Oscar was asleep. It’s fine.” Lie Ren meets Oz’s eyes. “Oscar… misses home. Mistral. He hasn’t said as much to us directly, but…”

“...It’s obvious,” Nora Valkyrie continues reluctantly, when the other trails off. Oz cannot deny that statement. It is indeed very obvious. Oscar had done well in Haven; had managed in Atlas. Vacuo, however, is unlike anything the boy has ever known—he has not complained, but his dejection had been obvious—to Oz, and, apparently to them.

He considers them. “So?”

“He mentioned this thing his aunt used to make,” Jaune Arc says, finally, apparently resigned to spilling the secret in full. “A Mistralian breakfast dish. So we thought, we were going to try…” He gestures. Oz follows his gaze. Pots, pans, ingredients on the table behind them.

“I see,” Oz says, mind whirling. He goes to take a drink, but he has yet to finish the cocoa—powder puffs before Oscar’s face and Oz draws the cup away, frowning down at it. He turns to the sink. Hot water, hot water… “That is kind of you.”

Nora Valkyrie is laughing at him. Oz ignores it with the ease of long years of practice, and reaches for the milk. Fantastic. Hot chocolate at last.

When he turns back around, Jaune Arc is staring at him. “…Don’t you want coffee? Or, like… tea?”

Now, why would he want that? “That is Oscar’s preference,” Oz explains, and sips at the drink. Not nearly as good as his stash at Beacon was, but store-bought powder will have to do. At least it’s sweet.

Even Lie Ren is squinting at him now. “…is that all you drink?”

Oz takes another sip. A long sip. He draws it out. All three children are leaning toward him, enraptured, caught in the spell, looking desperate for an answer. Jaune Arc is about to fall off his seat.

Oz lowers his cup. “Yes.”

Jaune Arc cants to the side. Nora Valkyrie puts both hands on the table and leans toward him, looking delighted. “But!” she says. “You had a teapot.”

“That I did,” Oz agrees. He still misses that teapot.

“Was it just—that whole time—” Her voice squeaks. “Cocoa?”

Oz takes another long sip. Jaune Arc twitches. He hides his smile in the rim of his cup. “Yes.”

Nora Valkyrie puts her head in her arms and cackles. Lie Ren looks exasperated. Jaune Arc looks somewhere closer to despairing. Oz steps forward, still smiling faintly, and surveys their table of food. “Ignoring my drinking habits,” he says, lips twitching with honest amusement when Nora Valkyrie cackles louder, “how goes your cooking attempts?”

Nora Valkyrie stops laughing. All three look at the oven with something like dread.

Oz takes another sip. “I see,” he says, and does his best to keep his laughter entirely internal. He taps the Long Memory against the ground, a rythmic knocking, and considers the problem. Now then. How best to go about this?

Oz looks down at the table, noting the ingredients and calling upon new-old memory. He knows the dish they are talking about. It is Oscar’s favorite, and a Mistralian staple; Oscar’s aunt, however, often put her own twist to the recipe. Oz takes another long drink of cocoa and lowers his cup, decision made.

“Oscar’s aunt makes it with cinnamon,” he says, turning away from the table to head for one of the nearby couches. “Also,” he adds, taking a glance at what looks like to be failed cooking test number one, “it cooks best under gentle heat.”

“Gentle heat,” Lie Ren repeats, sounding disgusted that he had not realized sooner, and Jaune Arc says, “Wait, do we even have cinnamon?”

“I’ll look!” Nora Valkyrie calls, and rockets off to the cupboards.

Oz smiles, faintly, and settles back on the couch, leaning the Long Memory by their side. He finishes his cocoa as they cook, only speaking when he sees a mistake in the making— less and less as the session drags on, and team JNR gets a hang of the dish. They are not bad at cooking— just chaotic— and soon he feels it’s safe to sit back and watch.

He doesn’t offer much more conversation beyond instruction, however. It is not that he and team JNR are on bad terms— it is simply that they are on more neutral ones. Oscar adores them, and they appear to adore him in kind; if not for the echo of Pyrrha Nikos who still haunts their footsteps, they would by now likely have started introducing themselves as JNOR. Oz gives them another two months before they start doing it anyway.

So no, they are not on bad terms—but the lingering shadow of Oz’s lies and the lives it cost them still hangs heavy. He suspects they do not blame him for Pyrrha Nikos’ death, for all that he blames himself, but rather they blame him for everything else—the false hope, the lie of possibility, the fact that every chance he gave them made it sound like they could save the world—a chance Pyrrha Nikos took and died for, never mind that the foe she faced was not Salem.

Lie Ren is setting up the dish on the counter, Nora making towers out of leftover ingredients, and Jaune Arc has transitioned to doing the dishes. Even with the hole in their team, Oz thinks, they are remarkably in-tune with one another. He is… glad, to see it. In the face of adversity, they have faltered and stumbled and then grown stronger together.

He may have never given them the same attention he gave team RWBY, but he always thought these three were capable of remarkable things. It is why he let Jaune Arc stay in Beacon, despite his painfully faked transcripts. It is a relief to know, at least on that… Oz wasn’t wrong to give them a chance.

The cooking drags on, and soon, so does sunrise. By the time the sun begins to poke out over the horizon, the final attempt is in the oven to bake, and Nora Valkyrie has bounced over to bother him once again.

She throws herself to sit at the couch armrest, and kicks her feet in the air. Her gaze is thoughtful, considering and suspicious in equal measure, and they both ignore the way her teammates have collapsed in exhaustion on the kitchen table behind her. “You,” she declares at last, “were being very helpful.”

“I am a teacher,” he reminds her.

“Was a teacher.”

“I have a degree,” Oz informs her, dryly. “Multiple, even. Am a teacher.”

She clicks her tongue. “Ugh, what-ever.” She leans back, eyes rolling, and kicks out her feet into the air. Oz waits, watching her, letting her gather her thoughts. At last she seems to find the words. “...Thanks for helping us not fuck up the dish, I guess. Jaune was super worried about it.” She glances back at the table, a momentary flash of worry on her face. “It—it is Oscar’s favorite, right?”

“Oh, no. He hates it.” Her head snaps around. Oz laughs quietly. “I apologize. That was in poor taste. Yes, Miss Valkyrie, it is his favorite. I think… he will like this very much.”

She scowls at him, then blinks, her eyes catching on something— the Long Memory, resting beside him on the couch. She gives the cane a puzzled look. “You brought your cane with you?”

He looks down; the cane, as it should be, is by their side. He puts a hand on the knob and shrugs. “Yes.”

“You just bring that thing everywhere, huh?”

“It is… dear to me.” He considers her, wondering how to spin this— but her expression is open and curious, her questions meant honestly, not mockingly. For all that Oscar is not awake, Oz can almost feel the echo of his exasperation. He hesitates. “Ah… you could say, Miss Valkyrie, that much like what the dish you are making means to Oscar… this cane, too, reminds me of home.”

Nora Valkyrie stops moving at once, her legs stilling mid-air. Behind them, Lie Ren and Jaune Arc have gone silent, pretending badly not to eavesdrop, and Oz can see them exchanging glances. Nora Valkyrie does not look back, however; instead she looks down at him, considering, her expression strangely solemn. “…Do you miss it, too?”

The question catches him off-guard, and for a moment Oz falters. The memories rise up in flashes, echoes of a different time, different places. A warm house and warmer hearth fire, the table they set for four. The two children, never willing to wait and never wanting to sit still—blue eyes, and a laughing face, a hand in his.

“Yes,” Oz says, after a long moment. The words are stilted. He suddenly feels very old, tired all the way to his bones. He puts down the empty cup.

Nora Valkyrie snatches it up. Oz blinks.

“One sec,” she says to Oz’s blank stare, and flies off to the kitchen. Oz watches, bemused, as team JNR confers around the cup and then repeats his actions from before, making a new batch of cocoa, that Nora then takes back and brings to Oz. She holds it out for him. Oz takes the cup warily.

“Thanks for helping us, old man Oz,” Nora says, and grins. “Give us a warning before Oscar wakes, okay?”

“…Of course,” Oz says, thrown by the new nickname, and watches her bounce back to her team. She chatters, and they laugh, the moment forgotten. He looks down at his cup and takes a sip of the cocoa. It’s not his usual mix— there’s a bit of spice to it. Cinnamon and chili powder?

…It’s good.

He stares down at it, contemplative, and hesitantly takes another sip. He looks back up at the team. They are laughing, distracted, debating on whether the dish is done or not. All three are smiling.

Oz considers them for a long moment, and then he turns away. This time, he’s smiling too.

Oscar wakes up mid-way through sunrise. When he senses the boy rousing, Oz takes the Long Memory in hand and raps the cane against the ground to alarm the team. They rush to hide the dish, freshly-baked; Oz turns their head to the window, and keeps their eyes on the desert sun.

What…?

“I apologize,” Oz says. In the reflection of the glass, Oscar’s eyes burn gold. “I woke before you. I wanted to see the sunrise.”

Oh. He gets the sense Oscar would yawn if he could. That’s fine… There’s a momentary pause, considering. Then: Why do I taste chocolate?

“It is a perfectly fine drink,” Oz says, in mild protest. Honestly, he has no idea what the boy has against it.

Sure, but in the morning? It’s an evening drink. Coffee is better.

Oz shakes his head, smiling faintly, and fades away to the background rather than rehash the old argument. Oscar’s head dips forward; the boy just barely catches himself from knocking them out against the glass. “Ow.”

Careful.

“Mm-hm.” He rubs his forehead. He goes to turn around—

“SURPRISE!”

—and screams at Nora abruptly popping up and shouting in his face, toppling right off the couch.

…Ah.

“What!?”

“Nora!”

“Ah, we just woke the whole house, didn’t we…”

The house is warm and bright, the desert outside turning a brilliant gold underneath the dawning sun. It is not home— it is nothing more than a temporary stop— but as Oscar splutters and Nora grins and the rest of team JNR clamor up behind her, there is a warmth that lingers on. They help Oscar to his feet and fumble to present their gift; they beam bright at his wordless joy.

The boy is delighted, and his team is pleased— team RWBY and Qrow and the others wander in with calls of confusion and delight and annoyance at the noise— and the smell of cinnamon lingers heavy in the air.

And it is not home, maybe, but it is something half-way there, and so Oz laughs, quiet and sincere, and sits back to watch the show.

#rwby #ozpin #rwby ozpin #oscar pine #team jnpr #jaune arc #nora valkyrie #lie ren #team jnor #team jnr #ozma #rwby7 spoilers #iza fanfic #please reblog if u liked it!!!! 💖

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hopeatermeetsgodzilla · 3 years

Text

Chapter 20

Mothra crawled out of the hole, head upside down as she shook herself free of debris, hands and feet clinging to the ceiling as she crawled away from the tunnel. They had to use the tunnels that connected Styx’s temple to Dagon’s former nest to find their way here, after all. “Battra? Is everything alright?”

Battra groaned as he came out of the tunnel, holding himself upright with a pair of hands clutching at the ledge. His wings flapped a bit behind him. “I hate travelling underground in adult form, but beside that? I’m fine.”

“What the- WHAT IN METHUSELAH’S NAME ARE YOU TWO DOING UP THERE!?” Both Mothra and Battra bent their heads to look at the ground, a very confused Anguirus looking up at them from the bottom of the stairs that led up to the altar.

Both Mothra and Battra let go of their hold, flapping their wings as they neared the floor to cushion their fall. Mothra turned toward Anguirus. “Where is Godzilla!?” She asked with urgency in her tone. “We were at the Tapestry and his flower was all wilted and-”

“I- it’s alright, Mothra.” Anguirus started, making a gesture for Mothra to calm down. before pointing at the altar behind him. “Goji’s right there, and resting. He’s in a pretty bad state, but I was able to stabilize him.” He reassured her, a sigh of relief leaving the moth.

Battra pat her on the shoulder reassuringly, before looking up at Anguirus. “Do you know what caused his condition?”

Anguirus shook his head. “He doesn’t either. He said he was fighting Ghidorah, and then there was a bright light?...” He hissed through his teeth. “I can’t imagine what the surface looks like right now, with those three rampaging...”

“It’s fine, actually.” Battra started, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The third member of your trio of idiots is somehow holding them outside of reality, and he shows no intention of letting go or dying anytime soon.”

Anguirus laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “That’s Rodan for you! There’s always one of us up to make Ghidorah’s life as difficult as possible! And...” He frowned. “Do you guys know what hurt Goji like that? Because it can’t be Ghidorah. It happened underwater, and they’re pretty useless underwater.”

“Probably humans.” Battra hissed.

Mothra turned toward her brother with a frown, and Anguirus looked at him, confused. “Why- no, how would humans be able to do that?”

“I don’t know how, but I do know the why: to prove that they can and are above obeying the laws of nature.” Battra hissed, Anguirus raising an unconvinced eyebrow in response.

“They’re small and harmless and you’re just looking for an excuse to go an another rampage.”

“Well, unless you can name a Titan able to do that kind of damage, I’m going to assume that humans- who have regularly proven themselves to be more dangerous than anyone gives them credit for- are behidn this and- Mothra where are you going-”

“I’m going to go check on my mate while you two argue like petty childrens.” Mothra answered as started climbing up the stairs, leaving Anguirus and Battra behind as she made her way to Godzilla. Her mate was currently lying on the floor, eyes closed and dark hair lying around him in a puddle. A distressed thrill escaped her as she approached him, kneeling down and putting a hand on his back.

Godzilla opened his eyes, labored breathing picking up as he woke up. He frowned in confusion when he saw her. “Mothra?... Why are you...”

“Hush, my love. That’s not important.” She told him, taking a hold of his face as she came closer. “What’s important is that I need to heal you.”

Godzilla nodded, letting Mothra turn him on his back as she laid his head in her lap. As her wings started to rise behind her, patterns glowing a soft shade of green, he spoke up. “Wait.”

Mothra looked at him, concerned. “What is it?”

“Before I go back to sleep...” He smiled weakly. “Can I get a kiss?”

Mothra smiled, bending down and kissing her mate. “Of course. Now, rest, and do not worry about everything else, alright? We’ll take care of it.”

Godzilla smiled, before allowing himself to fall into a deep sleep, a soft blue light surrounding them.

Madison stared at the ceiling, wide awake at a far-too-early hour to be awake at. She groaned. No use trying to get back to sleep now... she got out of bed, slipping her feet into slippers to avoid the cold metal floor. She quietly got out of her room, and then the two-room-and-one-bathroom quarters she had shared with her parents since first arriving at Castle Bravo.

She quietly tip-toed around the living area until she reached a small dining area, surprised at seeing light streaming out of the door. Was someone already awake? She opened the door slowly, surprised to see Florès standing in front of a coffee machine, wearing . She slowly came into the room, sitting at a small, round table. “Uh. I didn’t take you for an early riser.”

Florès turned toward her, somehow looking unimpressed. “Me estoy preparando para la cama, Russellita.”

It took Madison a few seconds to translate what the older man had said. “You’re going to bed now? It’s like 5:30.”

“Sí, no vi pasar el tiempo. Pasa algunas veces.”

“... Okay, okay. Can you switch to English please? I can understand Spanish, but you’re speaking really fast, and your accent is making it hard to understand.”

“Que- mierda, I didn’t notice. Sorry, I tend to forget how to use English when I’m tired.” Florès explained.

“It’s fine, it’s just- my Spanish isn’t really good...” She started. “I’ve been learning it for a year at school now, but I only have the grasp of a five years old on it...”

“And how fucking long do you think it took the five years old?”

“... okay, fair.” She sat there for a moment, looking in front of her as she thought about her dream. She didn’t notice Florès walking up to her until he put a cup of something in front of her. “What’s that?”

“My nana’s chocolate caliente recipe. It’s good.” Madison nodded, taking a sip and feeling the drink warm her up from the inside out.

Florès sat down with his own cup. “Something bothering you and keeping you up, Russellita? Pesadillas?”

“... I didn’t learn that word...”

“Nightmares?” Madison shook her head.

“I mean, it is a dream, but... it’s not a bad one. Just weird. I don’t think you’d be interested, it concerns the Titans.”

“Fire away.” Florès said with resignation in his voice. “It’s not like I’m ever going to be able to avoid hearing about these monstruos as long as I’m in Monarch. At least, the way you talk about them doesn’t fill me with pavor existencial at each word.”

“Well... Mothra and Battra were underground, talking to Anguirus while Godzilla was laying not too far away. At some point, Mothra went to talk to him when Battra and Anguirus started arguing, and she started healing him, and... kissed him? Anyway, I think Godzilla might still be alive.” Madison looked hopefully at Florès, who’s expression was incomprehensible. “What do you think?”

“I think you should talk about the fact that you seem to have an enlace psíquico with the Titans to your Madre.” Florès deadpanned, before frowning in confusion. “Padre? No lo sé, tell your parents you probably have magic powers related to the Titans. Wouldn’t be the first time that happened, you could hear Ghidorah talk, after all.”

“... Okay, but...” She sighed. “So much stuff has already happened to me, I don’t- I don’t know how they would react. Mom’s scared of the Titans, and Dad doesn’t really like them either... I think he thinks we should kill them.”

“Tonto.” Florès muttered. “As if we could kill demons.”

Madison frowned. “The Titans aren’t demons!”

“Then what are they!?” Florès asked. “Because Gods wouldn’t destroy the world they created for no reasons. I don’t- I don’t actually think they’re demons, okay? I don’t think they’re evil But... you have to understand that they’re not good either. They’re like us, people, just scaled up and with magical powers. They just woke up in an unfamiliar world, and they’re confused and scared but they could also raze us to the ground as an afterthought, and we should leave them alone instead of studying them like wild animals. I’m calling them demons because it’s the closest thing I can think of to describe them, not because I hate them.”

“I don’t believe they’re Gods either.” Madison started, surprising Florès. “I never said that. In fact, I agree with most of your points. But... they live here. It’s not their fault they’ve been hibernating since before written language became a thing. We should try to figure out how to communicate with them, help them, not... cower away and hope they won’t kill us. And there’s proof it happened before! Titans, and humans, co-existing. Why can’t we do it again now?”

“... Russellita.” Florès started, a tired frown on his face. “I respect the fact that you think the Titans should be treated as amnesiac old friends who just came out of a coma. Por favor, respect the fact that I think they should be left alone to figure their own shit out.” There was a pause as they both sipped from their hot chocolate. “If you want, I’ll help you talk about it to an adult in the morning, okay?”

“... Okay.”

#Godzilla #godzilla gijinka #writing #My writing #mothra #battra #anguirus #Gojira #mosugoji #mothzilla #madison russel #OC #my OC

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mylittleterror · 3 years

Photo

Spike Tries Digital Art

Twilight Sparkle gifted a tablet to Spike on his birthday. Spike was exited to have been given one. He always wanted something to replace the paper lists that Twilight always had. A tablet would be much more practical and no trees would be cut. But lately, Spike has been interested in art, digital art. Spike was a creative dragon from the start. He liked to draw, play games and just dream. So why not give digital art a shot?

“Alright! Art. Art art art...” he said to himself as he searched the tablet for an app that was a painting app. After searching for a while, Spike decided to use Notes app. On that app, as all of us know, there is a drawing/doodling section. It’s very primitive, but useful nonetheless.

Spike looked at the colors given on the color palette and saw that there were only the colors of the rainbow with their different tones. He frowned and rolled his eyes. “Just like crayons.” he mumbled. And with that, Spike began to draw.

Getting used to the tablet was a bit hard, especially drawing on it. The first thing that he drew was Rarity, his forever crush. This was one of the many times that he drew her, but this looked much more clean and clear. This made him happy, drawing Rarity and all. He soon added himself as well. He drew himself some big wings too! Spike smiled as he would start to draw-.

“What’cha drawing?” Twilight asked Spake and looked over his shoulder. Spike panicked and quickly turned off the tablet. “Nothing! Just ehhh... Looking at the list for tomorrow!” he said and made an embarrassed smile. Twilight let out a laugh and smiled as well. “Of course. We have a party tonight! I’m very glad that Pinkie helped me a bit with the cake recipe, so we are going to bake now!” sh said and pulled Spike to her. Spike let go of the tablet and went to the kitchen part of the library.

The day passed by quickly and it soon became nighttime. The Mane Six and Spike gathered around the table that was in the middle of the library. The table was decorated with candles, delicious pastries and the grand cake. “Wowee! The cake is delicious!” Pinkie Pie said in an excited tune, as always. Applejack and Fluttershy nodded in unison, because their mouths were full. “Awesome! I didn’t know that Twilight could bake.” Rainbow Dash said and looked at Twilight.

“Well, Spike helped me as well, so don’t forget to thank him as well.” Twilight smiled. Rarity looked at Spike, “So that’s why it is fabulous.” she said to him. These words made Spike’s heart flutter. He blushed and looked down at his empty plate. “I uhh... I’ll get you all some more punch.” he said and stood up. Spike left the ponies alone and made his way to the kitchen. “Does anyone taste something odd?” Applejack noted before everything went black for everypony.

Rarity groaned and inhaled the dusty air. She let out two coughs and opened her eyes. The room looked familiar yet not at the same time. “Oh! You’re awake?” a voice said from across the room.

“Spike? Spike, where am I?” Rarity asked when she recognized the male voice. Rarity’s body was quite weak. She slowly stood up, but collapsed a second later. “Gosh, that thing is very strong. You need another minute to rest.” Spike said to Rarity. “I... Where are you...? Where am I...?” she asked him. She heard footsteps come her way. The silhouette of a small being became more and more clear. Spike appeared before Rarity and knelt down to pet her head. “Shh... Everything will be alright. Just rest a bit, okay?” he said to her. Rarity’s eyelids became heavier and soon she found herself asleep yet again.

A loud sound woke Rarity up. She quickly got on her hooves and looked around. The place looked like a dark basement. The walls were made out of wood and the floor was made out of stone. An odd smell of metal filled the air. “Spike? Spike?!” Rarity screamed out. The light in the middle of the basement turned on and spike appeared at the top of the stairs. This was Twilight’s basement.

Spike made his way downstairs and to Rarity. “Spike? What is happening?” Rarity said and tried to move. She tried to pull her back-right leg forward, but was unsuccessful. Her back hooves, front hooves and neck were chained to the floor. “Hmm... Looks like the potion still has their effects. Zecora wasn’t lying.” Spike said as he stood there. Rarity then tried to use her magic, but was unsuccessful as well. “Your horn is bound with an unbreakable spell, Rarity! You will need some extra help to get it off.” Spike said and walked away from her.

Rarity began to scan the room. The basement had a large table in the middle of it that had sewing scissors, leather, big buttons, needles and some colorful threads. Near the curved staircase was something big, covered by a bed sheet. Rarity looked around some anypony else, but she was alone with Spike.

Spike walked over to the table and sat down on a metal chair. He grabbed some leather, a needle with a thread already in it and began to sew the two leather pieces together. “You’ve been asleep for the past five days. It’s a wonder that you didn’t die of thirst.” Spike said as he worked on the leather. There was silence between them for a few seconds. Then, it clicked in Rarity’s head. She proceeded to scream.

“Help! Twilight!! Heeelp!!” she screamed. “No one can hear you, Rarity.” Spice calmly said. He stood up and got something from under the table. It was a small bowl of food and a cup of water. He grabbed them and walked over to Rarity. She stared at him with disbelief and fear. “Y-You can’t be... Spike...” she said, her makeup running down her face as she began to cry. Spike put down the plate with food and the cup of water down. Sitting down, his dragon eyes stared at her pony eyes. “Please, eat. I will explain everything.” Spike said to her.

Rarity stared at the food and the water. Her head slowly rose up to meet Spike’s eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” she screamed and threw the water with the food at Spike. They landed on him, making him covered in it. Spike stood up and shook off the food. “Guess you’re not hungry.” he said to her and walked to the table. “Why?! What are you doing?!” Rarity cried out. Spike stopped and looked back at her over his shoulder.

“What I’m doing can be explained with one simple word: Love.” he said and snapped his claws. More lights turned on, making the dimly-lit basement more clear. Rarity soon noticed that there were some computer, tablet and TV screens scattered all over the walls. All of them showed one of the drawings of Rarity and Spike. “I drew you exactly two hundred and ninety five times and in all of them you look stunning.” Spike said.

He looked at the screens with a smile on his face. His eyes glimmered with happiness. “You see, since the moment I met you, I’ve always imagined us being together.” Spike said and walked to the nearest screen. He put his hand on the screen and swiped from right to left, making the drawings change from oldest to the newest drawing. “Get me out you maniac!!” Rarity screamed out, which made Spike cringe. He wasn’t expecting her to scream yet again. “And this is not all, dear Rarity...” he said and walked over to the big object that was under the bed sheet. Spike grabbed the bed sheet and quickly pulled it away, revealing a horrific sight.

The Main Six, all except from Rarity, stood in various poses. They looked alive, yet dead. Their eyes were replaced by big and colorful buttons. If you looked closer, you could see the sewn parts and some cotton sticking out of their bodies. “I had to do something about it eventually. But I needed them to be alive as well. So, stuffing them was the only option.” Spike said, “Just look at their faces! They look so happy to see us being together.” he soon added and looked at Twilight. The stuffed bodies of Spike’s friends did look happy, but nothing about this situation made Rarity joyful.

Rarity threw up at the sight of her friends. She backed away and began to weep. Her makeup was entirely gone now, but it was the least of her cares at the moment. Spike looked at her and his smile dropped. “No no no! Rarity! Please don’t cry!” he said and rushed to her. “Please don’t cry. You’re with me, okay? I’ll make you happy, okay?” he said to her and attempted to hug her. Rarity kicked him away with her front hooves when she noticed that he was getting closer. “Get away from me, you maniac!! You’re a murderer!! A psychopath!!” she screamed as she continued to cry.

Furious, Spike got up and spit out one of his back fangs into his hand. “Fine! Stay here. You will feel my love eventually.” he growled and went to the staircase. Halfway to the top, he looked down at weeping Rarity and couldn’t help but to frown. It broke Spike’s heart to see her so miserable. But he needed her to calm down. Spike walked to the door that was on top of the staircase, opened the door and left. He locked the door behind him, leaving Rarity alone.

#my little pony #mlp fim #spike #rarity #twilight sparkle #applejack #rainbow dash #fluttershy #pinkie pie #mlp fan fiction

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meli-productions · 4 years

Text

A Dragon’s Hoard

Another day, another prompt for the #ineffablehusbandsauweek by @ineffablehusbandsweek.

Read and comment on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651497

When her sister, Michael, became queen, Aziraphale knew it was just a matter of time before something went wrong.

It wasn’t that her sister wasn’t smart or capable of taking care of the kingdom - no, Michael led like a lioness - it was the strong opposition to her that made her rule difficult. Their mother had been well loved - but it was Michael’s strictness and her refusal to marry someone that didn’t love her had made her be seen as a difficult woman not fit to rule.

So it came as no surprise when the first cry of a dragon overhead was quickly blamed on the anger of a sorcerer towards Queen Michael.

“What can we do?” Michael asked her closest staff, her most trusted advisors. “We must send someone to slay the dragon.”

“The dragon will not be slayed,” her seer, Uriel said with a shake of her braided head. “It needs to be appeased - a tribute must be given.”

“Who? I will not put our people at risk,” said Michael, then squared her shoulders and declared. “I shall do it.”

“Send Aziraphale,” came the wheezy voice of Sandalphon. “No harm done there - she is a princess of low standing - one that not even her fiance wants. Give her to the dragon.”

Michael was hesitant, not liking the words of her advisors, but when she pitched the idea to Aziraphale, the younger woman gracefully accepted.

“You are needed here - mother wanted you to take over and care for the kingdom,” she said, a soft smile on her softer face. “Besides, what is there for me here? A husband that is more interested in status than my heart? Children given that will be ignored by their father? Let me make this sacrifice for our people.”

This is how Aziraphale and her horse Angel found themselves riding towards the craignish mouth of the cave that the dragon had been seen entering.

Aziraphale arrived at the village at the foot of the mountain in rags and with Angel being led along. The people all looked at the woman who looked so out of place with the softness and angelic light of her hazel eyes. Lecherous looks were thrown her way, but she made her way straight to the inn and to the woman in charge.

“Madame Tracy, correct?” she asked, looking at the woman with her red-orange puffy curls pinned back.

The woman beamed, “Yes, love, that is I. How can I help? Need a room?”

She shook her head, “My groundsman told me to look for you, I have a horse that I won’t be needing anytime soon - said to give her to you.”

Tracy frowned, “And why’s that, love? Giving all your earthly possessions - you’re not becoming a nun, are you? Not such a lovely thing like you.”

A little smile lit up Aziraphale’s face, “No, I’m - I’m being given as tribute to the dragon. I don’t want to put Angel in danger. Please, will you take her?”

“Oh, Princess Aziraphale - ” Tracy begun, curtsying low until her skirts were pooling around her feet.

Aziraphale tutted and got down at her side, “No, please, don’t. I won’t be a princess for much longer - there’s no need for all this fuss. Plus, I’d like to keep quiet about what I’m doing.”

Tracy pouted, straightening up, “I don’t like that you’re being sacrificed, duckie. But I’ll take your horse - at least until you come back.”

“Madame, I won’t be returning - it’s a dragon we’re talking about.”

She laughed, “Oh, dear little duckie - I have a feeling that we’ll see you back soon. An angel such as you will have no problem with a dragon like that. Take this,” she said, reaching around and handing her a little bottle of gold liquid, “It’s an old family recipe. Can undo any injury or curse. Trust me, love. It’ll come in handy either for you or that dragon.”

Doubt clouding her light eyes, Aziraphale took the elixir and tucked it into her bosom, “Thank you, Madame. Take care of my girl.”

A crowd had formed at the door as everyone tried to catch a glimpse of the newcomer and they split in the middle when she came out. The young men of the village were quick to flock to her side, offering to carry her pack, inviting her for a meal or drink, and she frowned at them trying to turn them down as politely as she could. When one got a little too handsy, she pulled out the dagger tied to her waist and pointed it at his jugular.

“I suggest,” she said, nose flaring, “that you take a step back.”

Hands held aloft before him, the man backed away - taking the rest of her followers with him and Aziraphale, now alone, squared her shoulders and made her way up the mountain.

The cave was large and Aziraphale could hear a low rumble from within, the dragon’s quiet snoring. Her own breath was coming in shaky inhales as she entered the dark cavern on wobbly knees - looking for the creature. Part of her felt bad for waking it up - speeding up her own death - but she’d rather just get it over with. She came across the smoke curling out of large nostrils and swallowed her nerves down.

“Dragon, awake,” she said, voice stronger than she expected it to be. “I am Princess Aziraphale of Eastgate and I am here as tribute for my kingdom. Take me as - as meal or prize - and leave my home alone.”

An eye of gold opened and peered at her, blinking once before the dragon unfolded itself. A puff of fire lit the nearby torches and revealed the massive being to Aziraphale. If she weren’t so terrified she’d think the creature was beautiful.

Black scales trailed into red on its underbelly and its slender form that gave it more of a serpentine look than draconic, the gold eyes looked at her from above before lowering down til its snout was right in front of Aziraphale.

“Brave little morsel,” the dragon said, its deep, rumbling voice vibrated through Aziraphale’s bones. “Willing to give herself up for her people. Tell me, what made you think that I will stop if given a snack?”

Aziraphale tensed, “I don’t know. But better me than my sister - and better a snack than sending champion after champion to attempt slaying you.”

He laughed, “You think I’d be impossible to slay.”

“I think it would be difficult and not worth the effort and death.”

A little hum escaped the dragon and his tail came up to curl around her feet, “Smart words, little princess. But a waste of time. I shan’t eat you - but I will take you as a prize.”

Aziraphale relaxed, if only a little, “Thank you. And - and you’ll leave my kingdom alone?”

Another hum, “I was just sent here, really. Don’t know what my life was before I was sent here. ‘Go East and cause some trouble, ‘s all the instructions I had. I had no intention of harming a kingdom - really just to sleep here - until you came along.”

“Then,” said Aziraphale, frowning. “What’s the point of keeping me here?”

If the dragon could shrug, he would’ve, but instead his tail tightened around Aziraphale’s ankles, “Gets boring around here - now I have someone to talk to…and you came to me, dove.”

She rolled her eyes, “Alright. But what do I call you now that we’re - roommates?”

The dragon chuckled, “My name is Crowley, your highness. And I look forward to getting to know you.”

That first night, Aziraphale and Crowley kept a wary distance. Aziraphale unfolded her pack’s worth of food and her bedroll. She offered the dragon a piece of her meal - if only due to the manners she’d been taught - but he gave a little shake of his massive head, thanking her, but refusing.

Crowley watched her as she ate, daintily and making obscene little noises that forced his eyes closed lest they show the dilation of his pupils. He didn’t remember much before his orders to come to this kingdom - but he knew that there was something wrong about ogling a woman in such a way.

Aziraphale for her part studied each scale of the dragon and wondered if they were as soft to touch as they looked. But more than that, she wondered what Crowley had meant when he said he didn’t remember much before getting orders. Questions swarmed her mind - but she kept them to the journal she brought with her.

As she curled into the warmth of her bedroll, she took a final look at the slumbering beast and smiled.

One prison to another - but at least no bothersome fiance to worry about.

The next morning, Aziraphale awoke alone.

Panic spread to every cell of her body and broke her out into a cold sweat as she scrambled to her feet. She felt stupid for trusting a dragon - a monster - and risking the lives of her people. Dagger in hand, she ventured out of the cave and, when she didn’t find any trace of the beast, nor the sight of destruction in the village below, stormed deeper within the cave.

She found Crowley curled around a fire, scorch marks around the pile of firewood, and a stack of cooked meat in a pile to his side.

“Good morning, dove,” said Crowley. “I went ahead and caught you some food. Figured beings like you have to eat every day. Also, there are some things hidden in here that you can turn into - a home for the time being.”

Taking a look around, Aziraphale noticed the old furniture that were scattered around - from a lounging chaise and mirrored vanity to the frame of an old canopy bed and dresser - it seemed that there was an old hoard lying around.

“You - you didn’t attack the town.”

Crowley did the equivalent of a scoff, “Said I wouldn’t. Won’t go against my word. Besides, I’m curious and you’re curious and the only way we’ll get answers is through one another. So we’ll make the most of our time together. Deal?”

Aziraphale lowered her dagger, studying the expression on the dragon, “Deal.”

One morning turned into a few more and the two found themselves easing into a comfortable routine and friendship. Amidst their conversations, Aziraphale found out that Crowley didn’t remember anything about what his life was like before the old witch sent him to Eastgate - couldn’t even remember if he’d always been a dragon or a snake or anything else, that he didn’t want to destroy towns because he was curious of human life. And Crowley found out about Aziraphale’s pompous former betrothed that would dismiss her in conversation - about her mother who loved her and had wanted her to be free to explore before tying her down to this man who despised her.

And as the two learned more about each other, they found themselves growing fonder - curling up on colder nights, Crowley nuzzling against Aziraphale to rouse her in the morning, and cohabiting comfortably for the weeks that came to be.

It was on one of the days that were chillier than most that found Aziraphale curled against Crowley’s warm stomach while he prodded her with his snout.

“Are you going to sleep all day?” he asked her with a laugh. “C’mon, dove. Up and at ‘em.”

She gave a little whine and patted his snout, “Just a couple more minutes, dear. You’re just so comfortable.”

“You’ve grown soft. You’re in the perfect position for me to eat you up,” said Crowley, tongue flicking out to scent her, tickling her thighs where her nightgown had ridden up.

Aziraphale turned, nuzzling against the soft underbelly and making the muscle twitch, “Mmm, you won’t eat me - you love me too much. ‘N I’m not soft - you’re the soft one. You let me live.”

The words settled heavy over them and woke Aziraphale up with a start. She pulled away from him, blushing, “Sorry, my dear - I didn’t mean.”

“You’re not wrong,” he said, head coming to rest at her side. “I did spare you and I do - I do care about you deeply. You’re the only friend I have - maybe ever had but - I can’t keep you here forever.”

She frowned, sleepy eyes coming into focus, “Crowley, I made a promise. My life for the life of my people. I can’t return now.”

“Then don’t return. Go explore the world like your mother would’ve wanted for you,” Crowley said, voice getting rougher. “I’ll keep my promise - won’t lay a claw on your kingdom and you - go live your dream.”

“That dream was of a child,” she said, curls flying with her intensity. “That hasn’t been my dream since my betrothal. I wanted to collect books,” an incredulous laugh escaped her, “a hoard of books. A little library to share with others - teach little village kids to read, but not if I can’t have a friend like you.”

Crowley was quiet, the trail of smoke curling around her until he got up, looking away from her, “Tomorrow, I want you to pack your things and go back to the village. There’s gold in the old hoard - use it to build your library.”

“But - ”

“When I return, I don’t want you here,” he said, unfurling his wings. He turned to her, gold eyes covered in a cloudy film, “Make your dream come true, dove.”

Without heeding her cries of his name, Crowley took off and left Aziraphale alone in the cavernous, echoing darkness. Tears welled in her eyes as she turned to her pack long forgotten in the corner underneath the bed frame.

She didn’t want to pack. She didn’t want to leave Crowley alone in this cold cave when all he wanted was answers. She loved him and she couldn’t just leave him.

“Well that settles it,” she said to the darkness around him. “I am not moving and he’s just going to have to deal with it.”

Crowley returned to a fire-lit cavern, Aziraphale sitting cross-legged in front of the fire with her journal in her lap. Part of him felt exasperated at the sight of her, the stubborn set of her chin and sharpness in her hazel eyes. The other part was relieved that she hadn’t left.

“I thought I told you to leave,” he said, voice rough from lack of use.

Aziraphale scoffed, “I’m not gonna leave because you throw a fit. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

With a huff, Crowley curled around her, snout pushing until her arm rested over it, “You just have to make my life difficult, don’t you?”

“What’s the point of traveling the world by myself when the two of us could go together?” said Aziraphale, stroking the smooth scales between his eyes.

“Oh? Now I’m your noble steed?”

“Nothing noble about you, you wily thing,” she laughed, pressing a kiss along the path her hands were taking. “We’ll talk about it in the morning, alright? For now, I’d like to get warm - and I’m sure you would too.”

Crowley hummed his affirmation, tucking her in tight against him and settled in for the night.

The next morning, Aziraphale found herself in the tight coils of Crowley’s tail as he poised to strike - not towards her, but at something at the mouth of the cave.

“Leave my cave now and I won’t be picking you out of my teeth,” he said, a rumbling deep from his stomach that Aziraphale felt down to her bones.

As she tried to get a better look at the intruder, a familiar voice halted her movements.

“Foul beast. You have killed my beloved and for that you must die,” the boisterous voice echoed through the cave, followed by the sound of metal against rock. “It’s time to rid you that way her sacrifice was not in vain.”

Crowley let out a low hiss that rolled into laughter. He turned enough so he could see Aziraphale behind him and the exasperated roll of her eyes.

“Dove, you know this meathead?”

He released her at the tap of her hand on his scales, “Unfortunately. This is the betrothed I spoke to you about - Sir Gabriel.”

At the sound of her voice, Gabriel’s expression shifted into confusion, then anger, “Aziraphale? You’re still alive? The beast hasn’t eaten you?”

Aziraphale pulled the dagger out from underneath her blanket and stood at Crowley’s side, “The beast has a name - and no, he’s been nothing but hospitable. But I’m going to ask you to leave now, Gabriel, return to your manor and forget you ever saw us.”

A little incredulous scoff escaped his mouth, “Sunshine, you’re being held hostage. Let me do this for you - let me save you from your imprisonment.”

Another eyeroll and Aziraphale leaned against Crowley, making him puff proudly. At the sight, Gabriel’s nose scrunched up and he took a step back.

“He’s done something- hypnotized you or bewitched you,” he said, readying his sword. “But never fear, sunshine, I’ll save you.”

He lunged forward, sword aloft, and Aziraphale took a step forward to meet the blow. Crowley, quicker than she was, pulled her back into the safety of his tail, snapping at his assailant and taking the brunt of the attack.

“Crowley,” she said, ignoring the man now laying at their feet, impaled by teeth and the metal of his armor. “Dearest, you can’t leave me - you said we’d go explore together.”

A huff of laughter and smoke escaped Crowley’s mouth as he pressed his snout against Aziraphale’s stomach, “Sorry, dove. He was just a little quicker than me. Don’t cry - I’ll be alright and you’ll be alright, too. You’ll see.”

Tears rolled down Aziraphale’s face and fell upon her chest, rolling down the crevice between them and landing on - on a vial. She sobered up for a second and pulled out the little forgotten vial of elixir Madame Tracy had given her.

“Crowley, I’m gonna fix this - I am,” she said, popping open the vial. “Open your mouth for me, love, there you go - this should make it all better.”

The gold liquid dripped down his teeth and he swallowed thick around it. A relieved purr vibrated Aziraphale’s body and then the wound at his neck started glowing gold - then the rest of him started glowing the same gold color.

As the light disappeared, the weight on Aziraphale’s lap lessened and instead of the massive body of the dragon there was a lighter pressure of a human head - of a man’s head in her lap. He shifted, wincing in pain before opening his eyes and glancing at her, eyes wide and gold and hauntingly familiar.

“Crowley?”

“Dove? You look different, definitely bigger, what was in that drink you gave me?”

Aziraphale thought of the Madame’s words, “An elixir that can - that can heal any wound and undo any curse - my love, you were cursed, that’s why you couldn’t remember anything.”

A spark of realization blinked into his eyes and he sprung up, cupping Aziraphale’s face in his long-fingered grasp, “Cursed - dove, you’re right - I - that witch had something against my father and cursed me. I remember now. I - I’m human - wait, I’m human again and you’re here and - ”

She couldn’t fight the huge smile that spread across her face and lit up her light eyes, “Oh, Crowley. I’m so happy for you. I guess now it’s not that weird to say that I love you.”

He smiled, wide and as dangerous as his dragon’s smile had been, and leaned in to pepper kisses across her cheeks.

“You love me? Dove, I adore you,” he said, pressing kisses to her nose and brushing her lips. “Let me show you the world - let me get that library for you. The castle need not see you again - the dragon is slayed by love, just - just allow me the pleasure of being at your side.”

Aziraphale pressed a kiss of her own to the thumb sweeping across her lip, “Of course, my dear. Anything.”

Aziraphale and Crowley returned to the village and it was Madame Tracy, one hand on her hip and the other on Angel’s reins that greeted them.

“Took you long enough,” she said, handing the reins over to Aziraphale. “Come now you two lovebirds. Let's get you settled in the inn until you can settle. You will be staying in town with us, right duckies?”

And how could they argue with such a wise madame?

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pilot-boi · 4 years

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Too Long Since Rest: Chapter Two

Lacking Something

A little rest has been had, but maybe that wasn’t the real solution to the problem that Weiss still wouldn’t admit she had

AO3 LINK

Weiss woke a few hours later, from a blessedly dreamless sleep. She wasn’t sure what time it was and she didn’t really care either, but it was already dark out and she could hear crickets through the open window.

Glancing across the room, she could see the sprawling lump with matching golden hair that marked the presence of her roommate. Snores like a chainsaw filled the room, and Weiss was honestly shocked that they hadn’t woken her up long before this. She must’ve really been needing some sleep.

She wished she could’ve slept through the whole night like this and made up for some of the sleep she was so sorely missing. But sadly Ruby’s worry, bless her, had not accounted for practical things such as the fact that going to sleep in one’s day clothes, shoes and jacket included, and without dinner wasn’t the best recipe for restful sleep in the long run.

Of course, Weiss wasn’t angry at Ruby for that. She really did appreciate all she’d done today, but she was regrettably awake now, and she would really prefer not to be. Especially not crumpled in her day clothes and with her stomach growling for attention.

She must’ve slept through their group’s regular dinner meet-up. She wondered if Ruby had told the other to let her sleep instead of coming to look for her, and something warmed in her at the thought.

Still lying in her bed, she was already gathering the energy to actually get up. Because she couldn’t go back to sleep like this. Frankly, she was amazed she’d fallen asleep at all, no matter how tired she might have been.

Before she even realized what she was doing, Weiss had a plan in mind.

First, she needed something to eat, because if she didn’t then this time it was going to be his stomach keeping her up all night. Second, she needed to get some proper pajamas on, not just what she’d been wearing all day.

Third… Well third she’d crawl back into bed and hope for the best.

The reason she had been so tired in the first place, and still was honestly, came back to her slowly now that she had enough rest to even think about that.

Working on projects and papers until the wee hours of the morning until Yang, coming back from a party, finally bullied her into actually resting. The anxious tossing and turning that followed, never finding a comfortable position for long enough. Then the nightmares brought on by stress and anxiety and who knew what else that seemed to start up the moment she closed her eyes and scared her back awake.

It had made for an altogether terrible night.

Eventually she ended up so frustrated that she decided to simply forgo sleeping altogether, and just read until morning came. At the time it had seemed like the logical solution. By the tame the sun did rise and Yang’s snoring stopped, she was too exhausted to regret her decision.

Weiss really, really didn’t want a repeat of that, but here she was anyway. Planning a little detour before inevitably diving back into the same hell again.

Because what could she even hope for at this point?

Her nights had been getting steadily worse for a while now. She wished she could do something about it, but she had nothing. So all she could do was resign herself to yet another night of barely any sleep, and then face the rest of campus no doubt looking and feeling terrible in the morning.

It wasn’t really something to look forward to.

I wish you trusted me enough to ask for my help sometimes.

Ruby’s words echoed around in her head and no. No, no, shut up. She couldn’t go to Ruby with this, she’d never live it down! Ruby would never leave her alone about it, surely, let alone anyone else who found out that the great Weiss Schnee was having trouble sleeping and had to call on an eight year old for help.

Not to mention, it wasn’t like Ruby could just magically make her fall asleep and have sweet dreams until morning broke. Ruby’s words had really stuck with her apparently. They made her chest feel all warm and tight and weird, and she’d have to examine them in the morning, hoping she’d still remember them by then. But this… This was not something Ruby could fix. It just wasn’t.

Except, she realized, very very frustrated, None of that is actually true.

Because she remembered Ruby’s gentleness and worry from the day. How hard she tried to take care of Weiss, her complete lack of teasing as she tucked her in. She never once implied that this was a bother to her at all, or that she thought less of Weiss because of it, or that this was anything but natural and given.

She knew that Ruby could be caring if she wanted to be. Weiss had seen how she immediately dropped any and all teasing and joking around if someone was hurt or in need of help, because despite everything, that was where her priorities seemed to lie.

Messing around on the quad with Yang, Jaune and Nora, and without Blake, Pyrrha, or Ren to rein any of them in was a mistake. Those four were known to get a little over-enthused if left to their own devices, and this had been no exception.

They had been playing some game with a frisbee that Nora had made up which was never a good sign. Jaune had tried to explain the rules to her, but she’d ignored him and gone back to her book, only glancing up at them from the branch she was perched on to glare at them occasionally.

One glance, a frisbee to the face, and Weiss had sadly been on the receiving end of a stray hit that Yang swore had been meant for Nora.

Weiss had toppled back out of the tree and crumpled to the ground, winded. The hit had been completely unexpected and stronger than Yang’s previous ones, careful enough not to hurt before that.

She had been fine, she just needed to catch her breath, but Ruby… she didn’t know that. She had ignored Nora’s calls to follow the rules, to stay put and continue the game, and opted instead for sprinting over and landing hard on her knees next to Weiss.

Frantically tugging her up to sit properly, she’d kept her touches fleeting like she’d been scared of hurting her worse. She had apologised and asked if Weiss was okay, over and over, multiple times until Weiss couldn’t help but laugh.

It had been the first time she’d seen Ruby look at her like that. All soft and warm and like she cared.

Logically, she knew that Ruby would never tease her for something like this, but she still wasn’t used to it. She didn’t know how to handle it. And so every time, Weiss assumed again and again, that there wouldn’t be another instance.

There wouldn’t be another moment of Ruby dropping everything just to make sure that Weiss is okay, and so she never expected it when it inevitably happened again. She thought, hoped, that maybe she could ask for Ruby’s help tonight.

Because damn it, she knew, as irritating as it was to admit, that she felt safer around Ruby. She felt strangely calm around her, not all the time but more often than if she were on her own. Even if Ruby wasn’t doing anything special or particularly interesting, just rambling on about whatever or trying to drive Weiss up the wall or just studying with her shoulder pressed up against hers.

She knew that she’d slept well every time she’d slept near Ruby so far, during accidental and planned sleepovers both, because the closeness and contact comforted her. And having Ruby close, when she was the person Weiss was having nightmares about-

-Ruby getting lost, or hurt, or dying-

-Then maybe proximity could help with said nightmares, too. At the very least, when she woke up choking on tears and gasping for breath, she could look down and see her there, asleep and comfortable and perfectly safe.

But dammit, she hated admitting that she needed help. Hated asking for it even more, but that was a different problem.

Sadly, she was also no use to the world when she was barely on her feet from sleep deprivation, and she couldn’t keep hindering her own education due to her own stubbornness. So she pushed herself out of bed, finally.

Weiss very deliberately put off admitting that she did, in fact, need help by instead dealing with the first two items on her to-do list: Food and pajamas.

She changed first, wanting to feel comfortable in her own skin already, and she decidedly hated the feeling of having slept in her clothes. It wasn’t like she would be running into anyone this late anyway, and even if she did, they’d probably seen worse than a sleepy Weiss wandering the halls in mismatched pajamas.

It helped that she was too tired to really care if anyone saw her like this. Embarrassment could come later, when her mind was firing on more than one cylinder.

Next she wandered down to the kitchen on the next floor down. She flicked on the lights, they burned her eyes, and she hoped to any gods that there would be food to scrounge from the cabinets. Hopefully something more than a stray box of macaroni and cheese left there by another student.

Because she definitely did not have the energy required for making any sort of actual meal without accidentally burning down the building. Not even a sandwich. Or cereal.

Bless whoever left a bunch of bananas in the back of the fridge. Sorry whoever these belonged to, she was claiming them in the name of hunger and the Schnee family.

Weiss sat on the rickety table, because there wasn’t anyone around to stare daggers at her until she got off and sat on a chair like a respectable person. She very pointedly decided not to think about anything related to today, or Ruby, or the shameful fact that she did in fact have problems she needed help with.

But it was really hard not to think of something when you were actively trying not to.

She ended up trying to methodically recite poems to herself in her head as she ate another banana, and gave up trying to remember the line she kept getting stuck on when she was left with nothing but two banana peels in her hand.

Weiss frowned, pretending she was just frustrated at failing the memory exercise, and threw them out.

#rwby #ruby rose #weiss schnee #whiterose #yang xiao long #mine #my writing #coffee shop rwby #too long since rest #chapter 2

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thecurseoflife · 4 years

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CHAPTER 4 - Science and Magic

In only two and a half month, Varian and Camalia made eachothers very important in their respective life. But to be honest, since they were stuck together all the time, for someone with a normal schedule, it would have been more of a year of knowing someone rather than two months. The two were very close and they spent most of their time with eachother. They did kept secrets, but they both agreed it was important to have at least a glimpse of privacy. So, when Camalia was leaving for an entire day and part of a night before coming back drained and tired, Varian never said anything. Or when Varian was working on this idea he had back when Camalia had her first periods, the music mage never asked any questions. They would be lying if they said they weren't curious, but they wanted to respect their privacy.

But when you live all the time with someone, secrets and privacy become polar opposites.

If someone would know everything that was going on, it would be Ruddiger. The raccoon was either with Varian or Camalia. And strangely enough, they were always saying everything to him. He didn't really understand why, but sure didn't mind being the one that knew more than others. Some night, he would follow Camalia to the forest, and behind the biggest tree, near a cliff, he would watch her working on... something, before rehearsing a song. She often mumbled things such as "Yeah, that should break it" or "Is it really from my heart ?" and some time even "Oh god, what if this doesn't work out". To be honest, Ruddiger had no idea what she was working on, it was really a blur. But when they head back to the prison, Camalia often talked to the raccoon. She would explain how it had to be it. How she would have no idea what to do if it didn't work. How she worked on that for years. How she could finally get rid of them. That last part always kind of triggered him. He just hoped she wasn't talking about Varian and him.

Talking about him, Varian was really, really easy to read, the complete contrary of Camalia. Everytime the music mage was off to take a bath or work on her weird project, the alchemist would work on a way to erase everyone memories. It was the big idea he had when Camalia talked about how Masha had to look past his mistakes to see the real him. If there wasn't any mistakes, there was nothing to look past of ! He would work with all the tools Ruddiger gave him when he went out with the guitare girl. The raccoon listened hours of the alchemist talking about how it was a great idea, trying to reassure himself more than actually talking to his pet. He would also make countless tries with him, which always ended up with failing. But Varian didn't lose hope. But he was afraid of Camalia's reaction to this insane project, and he really didn't want to hear her say that this was crazy and that he shouldn't be doing this. So he kept it a secret.

KEEP READING UNDER THE CUT

This day, Camalia was out working on that thing again, and Varian was all alone in the prison, studying books about the human mind and trying to make a memory wiper. Thanks to the music mage, he had now a table, and even in the tight space of the jail, it was really useful, especially to do alchemy. Or hot cocoa. He took a sip of the one he made before starting to work. He yawned, it was getting late, and even if he could work at night now since they found a lantern, he still needed sleep.

-Just one more, I'm sure this one is going to work.

After a long hour of work, the mixture was ready. Maybe not to wipe memories, but it was ready. He just had to test it out first. He looked around and spotted a small sprout of grass growing in a dark place of the cell. He walked up to it and poured a little bit of the brownish liquid on it. The grass didn't seem to react at first. Then it turned black and crumbled away. Varian sighed and put the beaker on the table beside his cup of cocoa.

-Okay, I think I know what is wrong this time ! This is easy, I just have to...

The alchemist started to work again, confident and very tired. He yawned for the third time in the same five minutes and thought that maybe the cocoa would keep him awake. Still in the head in his work, he searched for the cup with his hand and drunk it all as soon as he catched it. But it had a very, very weird taste. Varian frowned and put the cup in front of his eyes. A cold sweat ran down his spine when he saw that the beaker was in his hand. And the cup, still filled with hot cocoa, wisely waiting on the table. He staggered backward, his vision became blurry and he felt his strength leaving. He fell on the ground, unable to move as he dived into unconsciousness.

Camalia had spent a lot of time working on her project, but Ruddiger had been really useful, she was glad she took him with her. When she entered the castle, everything was dark, and she only crossed the path of old lady Crawly, that just greeted her with a mumble. The music mage was in a great mood. She actually worked really well that day, and with a lot of luck, it should be ready on time. She strechted and yawned as she was taking the stairs to the prison. She was really tired and couldn't wait to meet her pillow with a satisfied sigh.

-Ball, I'm back !

She walked in the corridor, waiting for Varian to greet her as usual, but only the silence answered. She knew he wasn't asleep, the lantern in his cell was still on. Well, even if it did happens that he fell asleep while working.

-Ball, you're asleep ?

Still no answer. Ruddiger and Camalia exchanged a look before the raccoon hoped down and ran to the cell. When he got there his eyes widened and he let out a scared squeal. He came back to Camalia and pushed her forward, with hurry in his eyes. The music mage felt her throat tighten. She had a terrible feeling about this. Her legs were heavy but it didn't stop her.

-Varian ?

When she got there, she felt numb. Varian was on the ground, a broken... vial beside him. Everything on the table had fallen, and the only thing that catched Camalia's eyes was a cup of hot cocoa, full, and the empty vial, well, beaker, with a drop of brown liquid. She opened the cell with trembling hands, praying whoever she could that he was just asleep. She threw herself beside him and took his hand, listenning to his heartrate... if there still was one. Thank the king, there was. But it was... it was slowing down. Camalia felt sick, way, way worse that when she had the periods. She let herself fell, still holding Varian's hand, and feeling his heart dying so painfully slowly. She couldn't breath, couldn't see, couldn't hear. Her world at that instant was the oh so slow beat she could feel in her hand. Ruddiger forcefully pulled her out of her trance and pointed at the empty beaker than at Varian, and then crossed his arms.

-Y-yes, right. Sorry Ruddiger, you're right, I have to pull myself together. Okay, okay, I-I can fix this. Think Camalia, for the love of all music mages. Think think... Okay, so he took some kind of... of poison. So the melody of heal won't work. Okay hum... Ruddiger, this might help, do you know what he was making ?

The raccoon nodded and took one of Varian's chalk. He drew people and the symbole of Corona above them. Everyone was angry at a replica of the alchemist. Camalia turned to the real one with worry before coming back to the drawings. The people was pointing at him, and they were talking about what he had done. Then Varian threw a mixture to the bubble where the drawing of his past was, and suddenly everything disappeared and they forgave him. Ruddiger stopped drawing and looked up at the music mage.

-A... He wants to... Oh man WHY are you so freackingshly dumb Varian ! Ok, he wants to wipe everyone memories, that's right ?

The raccoon nodded quickly.

-Okay, I have to breath. Camalia, you definitely don't have time to be absolutely MAD at him. Breath. What should I do. Alright, first, Ruddiger I want you to keep me updated about the state of his heartrate, can you do that ?

Ruddiger started to protest but one glare of Camalia made him obey. He taped at the rythm of Varian's heartbeat. It was a lot more slow than what the music mage anticipated. She pulled herself together and started to think. Varian had to drink the poison, so it was in his veins, and the melody of heal only worked on what it could touch. She had to make an anti-poison, but had no knowledge of it, and they didn't have time to go look for what they needed. They had to do with what they had. Camalia turned to the alchemist tools and started look through his stuffs, not really knowing what she was looking for. She saw Varian's books on the human mind, and pointed them at Ruddiger with an angry look. It wasn't really important, but still. She did find something interesting. It was Masha's pain killer recipe. With the ingredients needed for it. The boy's heart rate was getting painfully slow, and he didn't have much longer. Camalia had to act, one way or another. She looked at the recipe, the ingredients and her guitare. She didn't have a choice. It was hit or miss. She took at deep breath and focused. She wiped the table of all the tools and started working, the slowing rythm of Ruddiger's feet following her in every single one of her movements.

It was all her fault. She should have been here. She shouldn't have given him that idea. She was guilty, and she should admit it. Isn't that right, Camalia ? If you didn't talked to him, maybe he wouldn't have this stupid idea. If you were there tonight, you could have stopped him from drinking that. If you two talked to eachothers, if could have worked out. But you didn't because you're scared and weak. You're disgusting. Camalia slammed her fist on the table, and hold her head, hoping it could keep them away. It was getting stronger, she'll probably go through a crisis very soon. But now was not the time to worry about it. The pain killer was done. She took her guitare and played the melody of healing, concentrating in the medicine. The green fog fell on it, before disappearing. The alchemist heartrate was so slow that Ruddiger had to hold his feet in the air to be sure to keep up.

-Okay, Ruddiger, it's done. I don't know if this will work, but it better be.

Ruddiger crossed his fingers... paws... things and Camalia had a weak smile. She held Varian's head and made him drink the medicine.

-Please, please make it work. Please... Please Varian, wake up.

The raccoon still had the alchemist's hand in his paw. He suddenly had a happy squeal and started taping quickly on the floor. Camalia allowed all the relief go through her body and she let out a very nervous laugh. She thanked every single person she could think of, you never know. A noise from the boy pulled her out of her prayers. He was waking up, sitting and looking very confused. Ruddiger immediatly went on his shoulders and licked his face.

-Hey Ruddiger ! Gross ! What has gotten into you ?!

He was tackled by the music mage warm and tight hug. Feeling his heart happily beating in his chest while he was completly lost about what was going on was probably going to stay with the girl forever. Suddenly the whole situation hitted Camalia back in the face and she pushed him back and properly slapped him.

-Okay now I am really, really confused ! What did I do to deserve that ?!

An insane giggle crossed the girl's mouth.

-Oh, oh you want to know what you did, uh ? Wow, never heard a bigger joke than that ! Hilarious ! Can't overthrow such an hilarious JOKE !

Ruddiger hid behind Varian's back, which was trying to stop the burn in his cheek where his friend slapped him. He was lost and a bit angry that point. He held Camalia's look.

-What's wrong, Camalia ? What did I do ? Why are you mad at me ?

She took him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him centimeters from her face.

-What is wrong, Varian, is that you tried to do MAGIC with SCIENCE and it obviously blew up in your face. And do you have ANY IDEA how I felt when I came back to see you lying on the floor ?! I thought you DIED ! And when I look closer, oh wait it's fine, you're not dead, you are in AGONY. You are the only friend I have and I'll really, really hate to lose you. Ugh, I can't believe you were so... so RECKLESS !

-What are you talking about ?!

-I know Varian. I know what you want to do.

Varian's angry face fell and he suddenly looked very guilty and worried. The music mage took that as a confession. She was still insanely angry at him for many, oh lord so many good reasons, but his look forced her to let him back on the ground. But it wasn't enough to stop her from pouring her heart out.

-I was terrified Varian ! I-I didn't know what to do, and you were... you were dying two feet away from me ! And do you know WHY you were dying ? Because you were stupid and reckless and crazy enough to do this ! And... and I didn't know ! I didn't and you could have DIED because of that. I want you to feel guilty and to-to deeply understand what just happened. Because I am not, I am NEVER going through that EVER AGAIN ! I never want to ! N-Never...

At this point, Camalia was crying, and rivers were flooding down her face. All the pressure was going down. The alchemist was looking anywhere but his friend, avoiding her burning glare.

-I knew it... I knew that you would think I am crazy...

-YES ! Obviously ! You don't do memories wiper with ALCHEMY ! It's magic stuffs !

The last words sunk into Varian as he lightened up. He turned to her, still unsure.

-Wait, you mean you don't think my project is crazy ? It's... it's just my method ?

-Of course ! I mean, I don't have a melody to erase memories, but I know a lot of magical artefacts that does that, and I was in a prison for ten years, so-

She couldn't finish her sentence, cut by the alchemist's hug. She was really surprised and didn't react until he broke it and looked at her right in her green eyes, gratitude and a growing friendship shining in his.

-Now you got ME confused. She joked.

He giggled, but the sparkle in his eyes didn't leave. When they cleaned up everything while joking around, when they finally drank that ho- that cold cocoa, when they sat down on his bed to talk about it, it didn't leave. They talked about how keeping secrets actually put them in danger, especially in an empty prison. They talked about Varian's plan, and how to improve it. Camalia jumped on the occasion to underline what she already said : that he really, oh man, did he really, REALLY needed to be more careful with alchemy. And that next time he has a plan like this, he had to talk about it to someone before doing anything, to prevent any new... accidents. He was really embarrassed to be scolded by his friend, even if he could see he needed it. So he listenned. And even then, the light didn't leave his eyes. Then they talked about her secret, what she's been hiding when she went in the forest.

-Well, I-I was practicing melodies.

Varian seemed surprised and a bit sad that she didn't want to test her melodies out with him in those hangouts afternoon they had. Ruddiger, on the other hand, was looking at the music mage with concern. He saw them on all those times they shared to analyze Camalia's melodies, and it had nothing to do with what he saw in the wood. She wasn't practicing melodies, she was building something and writing a song. He didn't know why, but he knew that she shouldn't be lying to him, especially at that moment. Clearly, his master was ready to open up more, and to put all his trust in her. It was a really, really bad time to lie. But the raccoon didn't do anything. He saw things in the forest that made him believe that it probably was for the best. Plus, if the guitare girl was ready to take the consequencies of her actions, then so it'll be.

-After the grass episode, I thought it would be better if I try melodies before we are stuck to the ceiling until our last breath.

-So we can keep testing them together ? Lightenned up the boy.

-Yes, of course !

They smiled to eachothers and a comfortable silence installed itself. Varian was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling while Camalia was sitting on the ground. That's why the alchemist didn't see what happened. Ruddiger approached the music mage and pulled her pants to catch her attention before angrily looking at her. The girl avoided his glare, guilt on her face. The raccoon realized she felt really terrible for lying to her friend at that moment. But in her eyes, he could see she didn't have a choice. The animal sighed and patted her knee, earning a smile from the guitare girl. He went on her lap and decided to rest there, a bit bumped out by what was going on. He couldn't believe that between the two humans, he was the one that knew more. Come to think of it, it wasn't really the best thing. A red and juicy apple landed in front of him and his thoughts magically disappeared. He jumped on it and started happily eating it, while Camalia, that gave him the fruit, was petting him absentely.

-Camalia... I-I think I am ready to talk about what brought me here. I mean, really talk about it.

Varian sat on the bed, looking at her with gratitude, friendship and complete trust. The music mage throat tighten seeing that, but she didn't let anything slip on her face. She smiled and sat beside him without saying anything, patiently waiting for him to begin. He took a deep breath and started.

-Everything started when I met the princess, Rapunzel...

FIRST / PREVIOUS / NEXT

#fanfiction #the curse of life #chapter #chapter 4 #tts #tangled the series #varian #varian the alchemist #fanwork #disney #tangled #rapunzel's tangled adventure

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thedungeonsbat · 5 years

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Muggle Love (Chapter 4)

A/N; Hey lovely reader!! I have been receiving some really positive feedbacks and it makes so damn happy to read them.. I love yea all!!

Chapter 4

Your heart began pounding faster and faster at the sight of a very particular house which stood there. You started running out of your breath. Severus noticed your unusual behaviour and quickly asked you what was wrong. You couldn't get a word of of your mouth, he saw you shivering in fear and his hand found its way to yours. You were trembling. What were you fearing?

He immediately asked the driver to stop and he did as told. He gently pulled you out of the car, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other in yours. He helped you stand but you seemed too weak. You almost fell on your knees but Severus' grip tightened, not letting you go.

"(Y/N) what's wrong? Is this car sickness? Just tell me." You could hear the slightest amount of concern in his voice. You looked up at him and said in a barely audible whisper,

"Severus, I- Please take me somewhere else. Anywhere else. Please." You pleaded and your eyes started tearing. He nodded. He couldn't let anything wrong happen to you, he was the one who brought you here.

The sunset looked exquisite but you two had no time to enjoy it. It would take too long to go back into the city by car. He was left with no other choice.

He sent off the cabbie and took a deep breath. He looked around, made sure no one was around. The neighbourhood was a quite one, like Severus'.

"(Y/N), I need you to stay calm for what we're about to do, okay? Just don't freak out." His voice sounded softer than usual. He was tensed up. Was he afraid for you? Was he really concerned for you?

You nodded. You had no idea what he was about to do but you wanted to get away. Having him so close to you and looking at him concerned for you made your heart melt. Warmth was spread all over you body and you felt a bit better in his embrace. But you were still having the shakes.

He straightened up and apparated. HE JUST APPARATED WITH A MUGGLE?!

He apparated to his own house in Spinner's End. He knew you found this house 'boring' and 'gloomy' but he didn't know where you lived and it was the first place that popped into his head even if it wasn't the most suitable one. It was his home after all.

You did not believe what just happened. You felt sick but luckily did not throw up. You were shocked! What just happened? How did you reach there in just a moment?

"Severus, ho- how are we here? We were- we were at that place and now we're h- here. I- I mean, how did we even-" You started feeling sick again. Before you could say something else, Severus sighed and you were cut off when you saw him taking out his wand,

"What is tha-"

"Obliviate." He muttered and with that he erased the memory of you and him apparating. You felt weak and your feet began trembling again as Severus held you by your waist once more. You fainted. He had expected this to happen.

He still didn't know what happened to you back there. What troubled you so much?

He held your waist tighter and bent a little to pick you up the bride-style. He carried you inside his home and carefully walked the stairs to reach his bedroom.

He delicately set you down on his bed and removed your shoes. He put your feet on the bed as well. He took out a blanket out of a dark cupboard which stood in the corner and tucked you nicely in it.

You looked very peaceful while your were unconscious even though you had fainted because of… perhaps apparating or seeing something terrible but none of these were pleasing. He cleaned up the dusty room with a flick of his wand. He sighed heavily and was disappointed the task he had for today couldn't be accomplished.

He was confused about what should he now. He looked outside the window, it was dark and it wasn't really a starry night. He looked back at you, lying motionless in his bed. Never in his life had any other person laid in his bed but you were now.

"It's odd to see her so quiet, unlike the time being she's awake." He thought and smiled at you. Wait, did he just smile?

His smile quickly vanished as soon as he realised it. He recalled what happened. He remembered the feeling of you trembling in his arms, clutching on to him.

He changed into his normal robes after muttering a spell and sat on the bed. He maintained his distance between you and himself. He looked at you, just breathing calmly. It seemed to calm him too. He closed his eyes trying to relax but there were so many things on his mind, he just couldn't. Soon, he will be going back to Hogwarts and his job still wasn't done.

~~Flashback~~

"Severus, I trust you with this. I need you to look after the boy. Just for some time." Dumbledore said, standing in his office with Severus.

"But there is no need. The boy is with those muggles, Black won't get him there." Severus replied in an angry voice, barely louder than a whisper.

"You and I both know that Sirius can get him, I do not ask much of you, Severus." Albus said looking at him through his half-moon spectacles.

Snape growled, "Not much! You are asking me to stay among those senseless muggles! I can not and will not fulfil your command."

Albus sighed moving closer to Severus, "Severus, you promised to protect the boy…" With these words Sevrus turned his face, he knew he had no choice. He frowned more than usual as he agreed with Albus finally. He felt like he was being blackmailed.

"Great, I knew I could rely upon you. Now all need to do is find yourself a new home in the muggle town." He said casually but Severus' reaction to this was contrasting.

~~~~~~~~~~

He grunted as he recalled the conversation. A few days ago, Sirius Black, the mass murderer and Voldemort's supporter had broken out of Azkaban. Everyone knew he'd go after Harry Potter whom Severus truly despised but had to to protect.

His eyes found you again and unknowingly, he had been stroking your head. He did not seem to realise his actions again and retreated his arm suddenly. He clenched his fists and got up. Why was all of this happening? Why couldn't you just be a normal woman for him? Why did you have to affect him like this?

Severus planned on sleeping on the couch but he sat sleepless that night. He could not sleep (Psychology says when you can not sleep, it is possibly because you are awake in someone else' dream ;)). He, after a hard time trying to sleep, got up and grabbed a book from his shelf.

Not even realising it, he fell asleep on the couch after a while.

__________________

The next morning you woke up and found your self tucked properly in a very soft blanket and on a very comfortable bed.

You gently rubbed your eyes. As you glanced around, you saw Severus asleep on the couch in a corner. You almost jumped when you him and gasped. You blinked rapidly, in case it was all a dream but it wasn't. You were in his room.

You could recollect very little of last evening's happenings. Your head hurt. You yawned and stretched. You sat up and looked at sleeping Severus, his head was leaning sideways. He had a book resting on his lap.

You remembered how you were in Privet Drive and began panicking. Yes, you were familiar with the place. You remembered Severus holding you tight so that you won't fall. You smiled at how concerned he seemed for you.

After a while you finally got up and stepped on the floor barefoot. A shiver of cold was sent down your spine as you set foot on the freezing floor. As you stood up, a creaking noise was produced. You hoped it didn't wake him up. You glanced in his direction and saw him stirring up. He eventually woke up as you stood motionless, guilty to ruin his sleep.

He wasn't surprised to see it was you who made the sound. He rubbed his eyes a bit and yawned and got up, approaching you.

"Morning, Sev." You said trying to sound cheerful but Severus did not look like a morning person.

"How do you feel now?" He asked, his words pleasure to your ears. A flicker of concern in his eyes could be seen.

"Better, I guess." You replied with a weak smile.

"You don't need to smile all the time." He said in his low voice, soothing as always. Your smile disappeared and you, to be honest, thought it rude.

"Did I snore?" You weren't joking, you really were afraid. It would have been really embarrassing if that had happened.

He thought you were not serious but as it turned out you were, "No. But tell me, does your head hurt?" He questioned. He expected this from you after the apparation.

"Yes, but how do you know?" You asked, curious.

He smirked. It wasn't the first time you had the feeling that he just knew stuff.

"You are still weak, sit and I'll get you breakfast."

"But I can walk, see and I need to-"

"Sit." He almost ordered you. His tone was colder now and you could not possibly say no to him.

He stormed out of the room and you sat on the couch. You picked up the book he was reading and were very interested when you read the title. It read "Moste Potente Potions". It was an old and thick leather-bound book. Your curiosity grew and you opened the the book even though you had a feeling you shouldn't.

There were various 'weird' pictures and recipes to some 'potions'. The pages were old, so you flipped through the book carefully. Why was he reading this book? He is a professor, he shouldn't be wasting his time reading this sort of odd stuff.

You heard Severus' footsteps and withing a second, you shut the book and lay it aside and sat up straight.

The door opened to reveal him with a tray in his hands. There was a bowl of vegetable soup and its fragrance reached your nose, it smelled amazing.

You found him bringing you breakfast very cute. You smiled at him, genuinely this time.

"Eat, you'll feel better."

"This is amazing! Really! Did you order it or did you make it yourself?" He raised his eyebrow, he had not expected you to like it so much.

"Do you think food delivery is possible in such an 'unfriendly' neighbourhood?" He replied with a slight smirk. You chuckled slightly.

"You don't need to do this, you know." You said after taking another sip. He stood there without any change of expression waiting for you to continue.

"It was my fault, " you continued, looking down at your soup, not able to meet his gaze. You thought it was your mistake he did not get his work done and your long journey resulted to be a huge waste of time.

You did not see it coming, but he sat down beside you. You looked up into his black orbs, you could start tearing up right now recalling last evening but held it back.

He looked into your eyes said, "(Y/N), do not blame yourself for anything that happened. I should have told you where we were going… But if you do not mind," he hesitated while asking, "Can I know what happened…to you?"

You knew well he will be asking you and were already fighting mentally, deciding whether or not tell you about it.

"I understand, Severus. It's just-" You began as he interrupted you.

"I am not enforcing you. You may take your time. As much as you wish." He said in a concerning tone, making you feel something different.

You place your hand on his, startling him at first but a few moments later, you could feel him relax under it. You reassured him with a gentle smile.

"Sev, I trust you, I don't know why. Not yet. But I have no reason to hide it from you."

You could swear you saw the corner of his lips rise a bit as you spoke. He looked into your eyes more intently than before. Your pupils had already dilated to their maximum extent.

"Well, here it goes.." You hesitated like he did before and he did the same to calm you down, he rested his hand on top of yours. His touch did really calm you down. His hands were cold yet soft.

You continued after a deep breath, "During my childhood..…."

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superrobotmonkeyteamramblingsgo · 4 years

Text

Things that Never Happened - Ally

You were once my closest ally

Summary - Otto makes his choice and sides with Mandarin. And so Mandarin achieves his goal of leading Shuggazoom and makes it the utopia he promised Otto is would be. But Otto is seeing that this peace come at a price, and it is becoming quite steep.

A/N - Remember those ‘5 things that never happened’ fic prompts? Yeah, this was suppose to be just one story out of five for that, but given how I’ve working on this one story for years, heaven’s knows if I’ll ever get the other four done. Figuring out he Mandarin-Otto dynamics in this was the main reason this took so long.

It was the smell that Otto first came aware of, even through the fog and haze that covered his mind as he woke up. It was rather delicious smell of cinnamon and nuts that made his stomach rumble.

The second thing he became aware of, even with his eyes closed, was the light. He groaned and made the mistake of opening them straight into the open window, causing him to shut them immediately again with a wince.

The third thing was that his workshop didn’t have a window. Actually, his workshop also didn’t have a seat as comfy as the one he was lying on. That caused him to sit straight up, eyes now wide awake as he took in the airy and clean room that was the antithesis of his dark and dirty workshop.

Admittedly, it was a great way to wake up: on a soft bed in the morning light to a delicious smell in a room where he wouldn’t have to worry about tripping over any of his several projects. But the issue was that, last he remembered, he never left his workshop.

He sighed and –reluctantly- got out of bed and opened the door of his room, intensifying the smell of baked goods. “Jinmay.”

His room opened out to the short hallway and then the kitchen where he saw her pulling out a tray of muffins from the oven. She giggled as she turned towards him. “Well good morning Otto! I hope you slept well! I just got done making muffins for breakfast!”

“Jinmay,” He repeated, trying to be as strict as possible in his voice (how did Mandarin always make it seem so easy?) as he walked into the kitchen.“What did we discuss about interrupting me while I’m down in my workshop?”

She frowned as she put the tray down on the counter. “I know, but you’ve been down there for days! You had me worried and I figured that you could at least use some time in an actual bed with a good meal.” She put the muffins on a platter and set them down on the table. “At least eat something before you head back.”

A quick check of his internal clock confirmed that it had been almost five days since he locked himself in his workshop, trying to figure out what was causing the weird readings from their surveillance satellites. The reading were far too similar to the ones they would get on the Super Robot’s scanners, in the days of before, but at least they weren’t originating from Shuggazoom. Their city was in peace, but the readings were enough of a concern to consume him for five days. Five whole days of sleeping on his hard work-bench and eating rations, and away from Jinmay.

He sighed. “Alright, but next time how about you wake me up before moving me?”

“Only if you promise to actually come back with me, and not just say you will.” She placed one of the muffins on a small plate that she then handed to him with a smile. “And I mean it about not going back until you eat something substantial. Start with this and I’ll make you something else. Anything you’re craving?”

“Maybe bacon and eggs,” He took the plate as she returned to the kitchen and began pulling out more pans. But he noticed how she was also trying to keep the corner of her eye on him, actually stopping to watch intensely as he took his first bite, even though she was trying to be discreet about it.

That kind of intense anticipation only happened when she was waiting for his reaction to her newest recipe.

He chewed and had to admit the muffin was as good as it smelt: a nice blend of nuts and spices, with a hint of something that he couldn’t identify. He took another, bigger bite as he gave her a thumbs up. “It’s good!” He muffled through his mouth full of muffin.

Jinmay let out a high pitched screech that he might not have heard if it wasn’t for his cyber-ears. “Yes, yes, yes!” She jumped and clasped her hands. “Otto, do you know what flavor of muffin you just ate?”

He blinked at he looked down at the baked good in his hand. “Nuts?”

“Close,” She giggled. “It’s banana nut.”

Otto stopped mid-chew, looked between her and the muffin, and resumed chewing in a slow, thorough manner. “Huh”

Assessing the flavor again, he guessed that the taste he couldn’t identify might be banana, but it certainly didn’t taste as disgusting as they usually did. He begrudgingly gave his approval by taking another bite, half of the muffin now eaten.

Jinmay was practically vibrating in joy and mirth. “I told you I would find a way for you to eat bananas, didn’t I?”

Otto shook his head, though with a smile. When his last physical revealed several concerning vitamin and mineral deficits, Jinmay had taken upon herself to be his personal nutritionist and chef. Each deficiency had been easily remedied through careful meal planning, except for potassium. A supplement or any other food source could have been utilize to resolve his hypokalemia, but Jinmay had stubbornly decided that it would be bananas or bust once he mentioned how much he hated them. She was determined to find some recipe that would get him to eat his bananas.

And now she succeeded, Otto thought as he began wolfing down a second muffin. Jinmay was humming a victory song as she began frying up eggs and bacon for him.

It was actually a very nice and pleasant morning to wake up to, his plate of eggs and bacon (along with a fresh cup of coffee, pure black since he long ago stopped taking it with cream and sugar) just placed in front of him, when Mandrin had to barge in. If it wasn’t for the fact that the door was an automatic slider, he probably would have broken it down with how much rage was shaking in his fist.

“Otto! There you are! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you! You were supposed to be in your workshop going over our satellites! And why did you not respond to your communicator!”

The joy escaped from Jinmay as she stiffened into a curtsy, eyes remaining downcast. “That would be my fault, Lord Mandarin. The previous doctor’s report for Otto-”

“Lord Otto” He corrected, venom in his voice as he glared daggers at her.

Jinmay’s body grew even more rigid. “Lord Otto, yes, his previous physical brought up some issues regarding his sleep. Since he had been working the previous week at his workshop, I moved him to his room last night and disabled both alarms and communication to ensure he would get a full, uninterrupted night’s sleep.”

“You disabled communications? How dare you, you malfunctioning scrapheap-”

“Mandarin,” Otto grabbed the tray of muffins and placed himself between his best friend and companion. “Jinmay is just doing as the doctor said. She’s the reason why my health reports haven’t been as bad as they were before. Like these muffin, you ought to try one, it’s really good but also nutritious-”

Mandarin swatted the tray out of Otto’s hand, the ceramic shattering and mixing with the muffins along the floor. “We don’t have time for eating Otto! Not when we have disobedience in our mist.” He gave Jinmay a critical once-over. “What are you wearing, girl?”

Jinmay wore a light blue and white checked apron, lined with lacy frills, over a slightly darker blue sundress. “I’m...that is…”

“Why are you not in uniform!” Shuggazoom City had a strict uniform policy for its civilian, and while it might differ based on the person’s actual job, the base color was always gray and orange.

“Mandarin,” Otto said again, but firmer this time. “Jinmay’s allow to dress as she wishes with me. In fact, I was the one who got that outfit for her.”

Otto never had any interest in fashion, or clothes in general, before. Mandarin still wore his armor with a bit of added regalia to denote his position as leader, but Otto had rejected all of his friends attempt at dressing up and was the exception to the uniform rule.

Then Otto got Jinmay and discovered how much fun it was to dress her up. It was fun to look up different outfits and see all the options possible for her to wear. She decided that her favorite color was blue, and it was fun playing with the pink of her hair and green of her eyes. Before he would just order machinery parts and tools, but now his orders would include the occasional measurement and specifics for a new outfit for her. It was always a joy to see her eyes light up at each new gift and the impromptu fashion shows as she tried on each on.

“Of course,” Mandarin spat out. “It seems to be that you are giving her way too much freedom Otto. You are not to disable any more communications or alarms, girl, as well as resuming adherence to the uniform code if you want to be useful to your Lord. And get to cleaning up your mess.” He kicked one of the muffins. “Otto, you probably shouldn’t be eating such junk anyway.”

“It’s not junk!” Jinmay snapped. “I made sure that they are packed with the vitamins and minerals that Otto needed, and his health report actually noted he was losing weight so he needs to eat. And this is his house, so he sets the rules such as what I am allowed to wear and do, not you! What is yours is this mess, since you decided to intrude on our nice breakfast and...and…” The fire in her smothered as she saw Mandarin’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and she scooted closer to Otto in escape.

Mandarin turned his focus on Otto. “She talked back to me…no, she refused me.”

“Mandarin-”

“I want you to order her to change into a uniform.”

“Mandarin, I can’t.”

“Why not!” He yelled. “She’s under the Three Laws of Robotics, isn’t she?”

Otto didn’t say anything, as Jinmay wilted behind him.

“I thought so,” Mandarin went cold, his eyes and body steeled.

But Otto knew Mandarin, and what the coldness was precedent for. “Jinmay, can you please go get the broom?”

She nodded and tried to be as small as possible as she disappeared into the hallway. And just as he did, Mandarin exploded, his hand slamming into the wall and leaving an indent.

“Inconceivable! Have you gone mad Otto! I know that she had the three laws when I gave her to you! What possessed you to remove them?”

“You said I could use her as I wanted, and I wanted to see how her AI would develop without them.”

“I meant for you to decide if you wanted to use her as a maid or an assistant! So you removed the only means of complete and utter obedience from her? Otto, those laws exist for a reason and that reason is to protect not just us, but the order of our society!”

“I know that Mandarin!”

“Do you? Or have you let your affection for that-that robot cloud your thoughts? I never would have given her to you if I knew you would go soft in the head over her! But that is a mistake that can still be fixed.”

You are not taking her from me!” Otto yelled, in a move that surprised him as much as it did Mandarin, who actually stepped back.

Most of the time, Otto was fine with Mandarin taking the lead with Shuggazoom, much like how he took the lead with the Hyperforce. Most of the time he was fine with Mandarin being in charge and making decisions.

But Jinmay was his.

There were several seconds of silence after his outburst, during which the air seemed to grow colder.

“Or what Otto?” Mandarin said, in a controlled and distance tone. “Will you betray me like our brothers did before? Will you turn your back on the peace we brought to this city and all that I have taught you? Because haven’t I already taught you, no, haven’t I shown you the importance of complete obedience of our subordinates? Haven’t I show you the value of not giving them choices because that will only lead to conflict? These are the pillars we built our society, our peace, on so what does it say when you, my second, refuses to uphold them?”

“I didn’t say anything about that, Mandarin! I’m as much for this peace as you are!”

“Are you? Because our very civilization is being threatened and here you are having breakfast like it doesn’t matter!”

“If this is about the weird findings from our satellites, I’m just taking a break from them but I will get back to it-”

“I’m not talking about the satellites! I’m talking about the very control that makes our peace possible! I’m already dealing with a problem with that and don’t’ need you or your free-thinking robot to add to it!”

Mandarin’s words were like a splash of cold water in the heated atmosphere. Otto hesitated and then reached out and put a hand over Mandarin’s shoulder. Mandarin flinched at his touch, but he didn’t push the hand away as white pupils meet red.

“Mandarin, you didn’t come over here to talk about the satellites. What else is wrong that you are worried about?” Otto could be kicking himself now. Didn’t he know Mandarin the best, wasn’t he the closest to him? He should have picked up sooner how upset Mandarin was and been more accommodating for his feelings.

Mandarin took a deep breath as he shut his eyes. “I’ll show you at the capital.”

- - -

The down fall of the team, in the end, was forgetting just how smart Mandarin is. As leader, it was expected that he would be well-versed in battle formations and tactics, but Mandarin went beyond that. He would never specialize in mechanics and science the way Otto and Gibson did, but he occupied the step right behind them. Science, mechanics, piloting, fighting, and even the Power Primate...he may have been a master of none of them, but jack of all trades made him far better than a master of one. That was why his ideal utopia was already planned out and ready to be implemented when he presented it to Otto.

All Otto had to do was go over everything to ensure that it would work properly and that there wasn't any overlooked loose ends. That was why the rest of the team -the rest of the traitorous team, Mandarin always reminded him- was unable to resist the shutdown sequence and escape from their cells while they were transported to their observational prison. The two had plans for a world of peace and harmony, and Otto hoped some time in HOOP would allow their eyes to be open to the good they were doing.

That day hadn’t come yet, but Otto was sure it would come...eventually.

Mandarin's utopia rested on the implementation of control collars that would ensure harmony and order. No longer would they have to be reactive to the evil doings of the Shuggazoom citizens, but take an active role in ensuring that all crime was prevented.

Shuggazoom operated like a well-oiled machine and, as a mechanic, Otto took care of it. He left administrative and internal affairs to Mandarin and, once the system reached the point of being self-regulatory, he retired to a corner of the city where he kept to his own inventions. He was allotted a group of assistants, but had declined them. He probably would have stayed alone if Mandarin hadn’t presented him with Jinmay, an blank slate of an android he found for Otto to tinker with.

But even the most up-kept of machine occasionally malfunctioned and today was one of those times when Otto was called on site.

“This is the fourth time it happened with this one citizen.” Mandarin explained as Otto looked over the information on the tablet that had been shoved in his hands. They were in Mandarin’s private transporter -designed to look quite similar to the Torso Tank- and going to the capital in the center of the city. The capital was built in front of the Super Robot, which would forever overlook the citizens. There was no more war or battles for it to fight, no evil for it to stop, so there was no need to activate or disengage it for something as trivial as transport, as Mandarin had said.

Otto frowned as he read the citizen’s file. The brain was too complex of a system for the collar to be one-hundred percent perfect. Age was a big factor, especially when puberty happened and the brain began pruning neural pathways. It wasn’t uncommon for collars to fall out of sync and fail during that time at least once, even twice.

The first and second de-sync was expected, and with this citizen just being twelve he was at the right age for his first adjustment. It wasn’t even unheard of for a third time to be needed, thought that was more often seen in older cases.

But four times? At at such a young age?That was unheard of.

“Mandarin, I’m sorry for arguing with you,” He repeated as he looked up from the tablet. “I should have picked up that you were upset over something like this.”

“You should have.” Mandarin waved off his apology. “But I will forgive you if you can fix this. And you can fix this, right?”

Otto frowned as his finger traced the latest printout of the citizen 91804’s brainwaves. “I have some ideas, but I’ll need to go over the data some more, and get a hands on look at the collar.”

“Well can you at least get him to stop until then? I can’t have him running around doing Shuggazoom-knows what!”

“Stop him? Like suppress all other brainwaves?”

“Well that would guarantee that he can’t go off on his own, does it?”

“Yes, but Mandarin, he would be little more than a vegetable-”

“But he would be a cooperative vegetable. The only thing I care about is that this doesn’t happen a fifth time. Do it!”

The transport stopped Mandarin didn’t even wait for the guard to open the door before he threw it opened and he was stomping into the building. Otto grabbed the tablet and gave a nod to the guard, who stayed stone still and didn’t even respond to him.

Mandarin was standing outside a cell, flanked by guards, when he caught up with him. “He’s in here.” The guard opened the door at Mandarin’s command. Otto handed the tablet to the guard and walked in.

In the beginning, Otto had to manually scan, analyze, and reprogram the collars in person. He hated the process, so he created the current system that allowed for automatic reprogramming and adjustments to the collars. His latest upgrade even allowed for prediction for when the reprogramming would be needed, allowing for greater security of their society.

It was a long time since Otto had been called to one of their holding cells to personally fix the command collar. They were the same as ever, four walls with a one-way screen at the front, and a restraint built into the wall at the back. And there was the citizen, strapped to it but struggling against his bonds.

Otto lost his breath as he looked at him. He was just a boy! Sure, his file had mentioned he was twelve, but Otto had been too out of touch with humans to remember just what such a number meant.

The boy looked to be Jinmay’s age, or at least the age she had been built to. And he had such clear blue eyes that widened at Otto when he stepped forward.

With each step Otto took, the boy’s eyes went from wide with worry to narrowing, trying so hard to look threatening. But it was more like Jinmay’s attempt, when she tried to look tough as she lectured him about his health.

To someone who had battled countless monsters and seen terrors from all sides of the galaxy, it didn’t elicit so much as a flinch. But the true impact wasn’t to inspire fear, but the others emotions it stirred up in Otto.

Right now the boy’s attempt was making him feel unsettled.

“It’s going to be alright,” Otto didn’t know why he spoke; before he would fix the collars without saying a single word. Mandarin always reminded him that he needed to be efficient and trying to talk to them was a waste of time, especially when a gag kept the prisoner from responding.

But the boy did seem to calm, his struggle stopping even as Otto’s fingers were messing with the inner mechanics of the very collar that controlled his life.

The collars could tap into the spinal nerve to completely suppress brainwaves. But the point of the collars was to have a peaceful society, and a society required somewhat cognitive and moving citizens. Hence why Otto made it so a manual override, done in person, was required to activate such a setting.

“Otto, hurry up!” Mandarin hissed over the intercom and Otto felt like he had been slapped awake. He had a job to do, a peace to keep, and work needed to be done.

This really would be for the best. The boy would basically be asleep while they worked on figuring out what was causing him to de-sync. It was for the best, for him and the peace of their society.

But still, Otto hesitated before he finished rebooting, he finger resting on the switch as meet the boy’s eyes, so full of emotions that Otto couldn’t even begin to decipher them all.

And then there was a jolt or something that caused him to pull his hands back while the boy’s eyes seemed to…glow green?

Otto looked over the room, but didn’t see any broken wire or anything else out of place that could have caused the stray electrical shock. Actually, now that Otto thought about it, it didn’t feel like electricity.

But it felt achingly familiar…

The boy was looking at him, and his eyes were blue so maybe the glow had been the trick of the light or something?

(But if was a trick of the light, why did Otto feel like this? Why was he acutely aware of an emptiness inside his spirit?)

And then there was a flicker and the boy thrashed against the collar’s grip before his eyes were vacant and his body slummed lifelessly against his restraint.

“I don’t know what was taking so long,” Mandarin slammed the door open, and it took Otto another moment at looking at the boy’s body to realize that Mandarin had probably issued the collar reboot on his end.

Otto just kept looking at the body as Mandarin ordered the guards. “Release him and take him to the infirmary to hook up to a life support. I don’t want him dying until I can figure out why he is causing such trouble.”

When they were gone, it was just the two of them in the cell and Mandarin let out a deep breath. “Much better. Now that is one less things to worry about. I still want to keep this from happening again, but at least he’s back under control.”

“Yes Mandarin.”

He frowned as he turn to Otto. “Are you still upset?”

Otto didn’t say anything, just kept looking at his feet with thoughts weighing his head down.

“Otto,” He looked up to Mandarin, who wasn’t mad but still had his ‘leader’ voice, like he did whenever he was giving criticism. “You know that I only get so angry because I worried. And that is why Jinmay had me so upset, because I am worried about your safety”

He wanted to argue that she would never hurt him, that he trusted her, but he was so drained from everything that he just nodded.

“Good. Otto, you have been with me for every step of our utopia,” Mandarin smiled. “And it is because we are so close that I know you will make the right choice, like you always have.”

Otto nodded again and turned towards the door.

“A ride for you will be here-”

“No, it’s fine,” Otto’s voice was as rough and shaky as thoughts. “I want to walk home and get some air.”

“Well don’t dawdle because you still have the satellites to figure out. Our peace depends on it.”

Otto nodded again and left.

There wasn’t any more parks in Shuggazoom. Mandarin hadn’t seen any reason for them, since any time a citizen could be frolicking in the flowers was better dedicated to helping the city. There was always some task that needed to be accomplished and the land was better used for their ever expanding industrial field, he said.

Otto had pleaded for at least one park to be kept, but Mandarin had put his foot down. So the area had been paved and filled with buildings and factories.

That was why Otto had his workshop build on the outskirts, where there were still plenty of plants in the peace and quiet.

Otto walked down the road, the occasional citizen immediately stopping in their task to salute the great second of their civilization. But there was no smile, cheers, or even attempts at conversation. They simply got back to their work.

But that was how things were supposed to be, Mandarin said. They would protect the city and in return the citizens would keep it running.

It hadn’t been that way at first. The collars had been more lax and allowed more free thoughts. But that had brought more issues, more instants of them breaking free and starting rebellions. So Otto had adjusted the collars bit by bit, until they were as they were today.

Jinmay would smile or laugh or wave, or all three and it didn’t matter if he caught her in the middle of her chores or hobbies.

It hadn’t been that way with Jinmay at first. For being the most human looking robot Otto had ever seen, she had been so robotic in everything else. She would not move or act unless he specifically commanded her to do so. Otherwise she would just stand there like a very elaborate piece of furniture instead of the companion she was meant to be. So Otto had adjusted her programing, bit by bit, until she because what she is today.

The citizens didn’t need free time for frivolously things, Mandarin said. They never risked their lives to protect the city, after all. By what right did they have for hobbies or pastimes or games?

Jinmay had hobbies. He still remembered her first attempt at baking, how she had tried to make a pot pie by literally putting the chicken and veggies in the batter to cook. It had been a mess, but he had loved how she kept trying new things. Sure, she could stick to a recipe when she wanted, but most of the time she wanted to experiment. And as she got better, so did her results. Case in point were her delicious muffins from the morning.

He had told her ‘no bananas’ but she didn’t take that as a command but a challenge. She kept trying again and again, because it was her personal challenge.

The citizens of the city would hear ‘no bananas’ and that would be it.

The more Otto walked, the more empty the city seemed even as citizens bustled around in their duties. The more he walked, the more eerily the quiet became, far from the calm that it usually brought him. The more he walked, the more he realized how far things have come from the utopia Mandarin sold him all those years ago.

The more he walked, the more the empty ache in his soul grew.

The sun was setting when Otto reached the outskirts where his house was, the corner of the world he had retired in his naive and ignorant desire for peace and quiet.

Well, there were certainly plenty of the latter.

Jinmay had probably finished cleaning up the mess from this morning and be busy making something extra filling and nutritious for dinner, no doubt trying to make up for the miss meal.

Otto didn’t go in through the front, but took the side door down to his basement workshop. His bench was like it had been when he fell asleep the night before, all of his tools in a mess on it.

He looked down at the satellite that he was currently dissembling and reassembling, meticulously going through each part to see if there was any flaw responsible for the readings they were getting. He was going through each one and wasn’t even half way through, and wondered what was the point. What was the point in figuring out if there was a threat outside of Shuggazoom? What was the point in fighting a battle when it was clear the war has been lost?

What was the point in protecting a peace that left the city a shadow of its former self?

He slammed his arm on the bench, jolting the mess of tools and parts before he shoved them onto the floor. He didn’t even care as some of the delicate parts shattered against the floor, because he had turned his eyes this long to how bad Shuggazoom had become, what was more broken pieces on top of it?

Then he rested his arms on the now bare space and put his face in his hands, but didn’t cry. He didn’t have the right to cry over mistakes he made.

That was how Jinmay found him who knows how long afterwards. He just heard the door open and the lights flickered on. “Otto? You’re back? When did you get back? I have dinner ready-”

Otto looked up to her and he must have looked horrible because Jinmay put her hands to her mouth as she gasped. “Otto, what’s wrong?”

Otto just took a moment to look at her, his Jinmay who was still wearing the outfit he got for her and looking at him more worry and care than he deserved.

His Jinmay, who was far more free than any other person on Shuggazoom.

“Jinmay, I-” He tried to speak, but his voice cracked as the tears finally broke through. “I made a mistake.”

“Oh Otto,” She put her arms around him and he buried his tears into the sleeves of her dress. He felt her rubbing his back as he cried. “Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”

Otto made a promise in that moment, when he was shown far more care and compassion than all of Shuggazoom has been given. He would cry and get all his tears out, but then he would pull himself together and get to work.

Jinmay could come if she wanted, but it would be wholly her decision, her choice. He was done taking that away from people.

It would be a lot of work, but Otto was determined. Shuggazoom may be a weak facsimile of what it once was, the Hyperforce locked up, and a threat lurking just out of orbit, but he’s a mechanic.

Fixing things that are broken is what he does.

A/N: Otto and Jinmay were intended to have a parent-child or even sibling like relationship, but if you want to see it as romantic, go for it. I’m too exhaust from figuring out the Mandarin-Otto dynamics to squabble over theres.

#srmthfg #Acara's fanfiction #its finally done #And I'm still only mildly happy with it #but its done I'm washing my hands of it #...I'll probably go back and edit it if some part really begins bugging me

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years

Text

Jazz?

Author: Saintli

Year: 2010

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Howince

Vince sat with his socked toes pressing up against Howard's leg, his mug of hot cider wafting steam into the air. It was Friday, he was home, it was dark out and he was drinking cider and feeling giddy. This sort of behavior was only acceptable on Christmas Eve, in his opinion. He stirred his cider with his cinnamon stick and watch Howard stare at the flickering Christmas lights on the tree. Vince dug his big toe into Howard's thigh. "What do you hope Santa brings you?" he asked with a grin. Howard can't really tell if Vince is being cheeky or if he really still believes in Santa Clause. Either way he answers honestly "Cool Boppin'. Original LP." He turned his tired eyes to Vince, who was staring sheepishly at him from under his fringe. "And if you got a glitter and macaroni belt, you'd be fine with that too, right?" Howard felt a weary smile part his lips. "Yeah, I'd be just fine with that. I'm going to head off to bed. You coming?" "Nah. I'm just gonna watch the snow fall for a little while, yeah? I'll be in in a few." Howard nodded and internally sighed with relief. He still needed to wrap Vince's gift. Howard said his 'good nights' before trying not to run to their bedroom. He locked the door behind him and dropped to his knees to pull the box from under his bed. It was a cherry red laptop with silver lightening bolts. He had to have it special ordered. Howard got out his ruler and sellotape and carefully started sectioning off the wrapping paper. He folded up the edges with great care, treating it with all the seriousness of bomb dismantling. Howard sat back on his haunches to admire his handiwork. He congratulated himself on his fine craftsmanship as he tiptoed down the corridor to check on Vince. He was passed out cold on the sofa. Howard smiled, placing a blanket over him and tiptoed back into their room to get the present to put under the tree. ****** Christmas morning Howard acted surprised and pleased to have received a macaroni and glitter belt while Vince ran his hands over the present Naboo handed him. The one Howard spent 27.8 minutes wrapping and Vince spent all of three seconds dismantling. Vince let out a sound that was frighteningly similar to the scream of Nanatoo and clutched the box to his chest. "Howard! I--I--" Vince stammered. "Did he finally propose, Vince?" Naboo lisped sarcastically next to him, reaching for his arm to move it and get a better view of the side of the box. "Don't get too excited," Howard said, getting embarrassed "I only bought it because you've been tying up the shop computer all day. Don't touch me!" Howard squeaked, Vince's arms thrown 'round his neck. "This is genius, Howard! I'm going to go try it out, yeah?" Naboo craned his neck to watch Vince skip merrily down the corridor to the bedroom. When the door slammed shut, he pulled something out from between the sofa cushions and slid it across the floor to Howard. It was the original LP of Cool Boppin'. Howard looked up at the tiny shaman with disbelief. "Don't get too excited," Naboo lisped sarcastically, taking another pull off the hookah (which Bollo had decorated with tinsel) "I only bought it because you've been listening to the one in the shop all day." ****** Howard doesn't see Vince for the rest of the day, other than to bring him food and cups of tea. "What do you do on there all day, anyway?" he asks Vince's screen-illuminated profile later that night as he's lying in bed. "What can't you do online all day?! Since I've been sat here, yeah, I've downloaded every album Gary Numan ever recorded, bought a brilliant pair of boots and I'm now debating whose better--Jagger or Iggy Pop. Genius!" Howard was thankful Vince was too distracted to notice the look of apprehension clearly engraved on his face. Howard dreamt of warding off machines that were trying to kidnap Vince. ****** Howard woke in the middle of the night. His insomnia was getting worse. Since he gave Vince the computer, they'd been spending less and less time together. Howard quickly discovered he was becoming something he'd never been in his life---bored shitless. He pulled on his bathrobe and shuffled down the corridor to the kitchen. In the time it took him to put the kettle on and make himself some tea, he was fully awake. Howard grumbled to himself, scanning the flat with a sweeping glance and looking for something to do. The computer in the corner of the room caught his eye--the monitor gathering dust from its disuse. He shrugged to himself and shuffled in its direction, sitting down on the squeaking desk chair and hitting the power button. He'd used a computer before. Twice to look up recipes. A few more times to search for the guitar chords to songs he couldn't play by ear. But every time he logged on, he always had a purpose. Howard sighs and goes to Google. And spends nearly ten minutes staring at the screen. Finally, he types in 'Jazz' and hits 'enter'. He's directed to more links than he can count and decides to narrow his search to 'Jazz lovers'. This time the links are fewer, but terribly embarrassing, as he realizes they lead mostly to obscure jazz porn sites. He blushes, thinks about clicking on one, nixes the idea and scrolls up. He's about to change his search words from 'jazz lovers' to 'jazz enthusiasts' when he sees a link to a question on Yahoo Answers that looks interesting. He clicks on it. Resolved Question Sexy Jazz Song? My boyfriend is a jazz lover. I myself can't really stand it, but our 1st anniversary is coming up and I'd like to play some jazz to commemorate the occasion, if you know what I mean. Are there any sexy jazz songs that won't make me throw up in my mouth? Howard's lips twitched up into a smile. S'nice of her. He scrolled down further to read the reply. I quite like "Love Theme From Spartacus" by Bill Evans. One line. Ten words. Howard's heart skipped a beat. "Love Theme From Spartacus" was not only one of the most underrated and overlook songs in jazz (in his opinion), it was also the song he wanted to lose his virginity to. He checked the user name of the person. It read "R&RStarr". Howard clicked on the name to bring up the profile page. R&RStarr's profile page yielded two links for Howard to choose from: R&R's personal email address and a link to something called 'Live Journal'. These were the only two things listed on his or her profile. Howard sat there for a moment, contemplating the links. He didn't want to just email this person out of the blue to talk about jazz. That would seem weird. But it would be an exciting change of pace to have someone new to discuss jazz with.... He clicked on the Live Journal link. It was another profile page, which Howard took the time to read through carefully. This time the user name was jggrizgod. Connect Interests (13): Aerosmith, Bowie, Cartoons, David Bowie, Gorillas, Iggy Pop, Jagger, Jazz, Lady Gaga, Pop, Sugary cereal, Sex, Telly. There between Mick Jagger and Lady Gaga was 'jazz', which seemed highly unlikely. But, curiously, instead of disappointing Howard, it only intrigued him. Well, it wouldn't be creepy if I made myself an account on here to talk to a fellow jazz lover, would it?Howard mused to himself. He got to typing. Twenty minutes later, Howard T.J. Moon starting his new online life as "daddy_noise". ******** Howard spent a total of twenty-seven minutes concocting the final draft of his message.

'jggrizgod' sent a reply in less than three minutes.

Howard stared at the last line for a while. Sexy. Someone thought of him as sexy. Well, only just my user name, the rational half of his brain said. Yeah, but who came up with that name, hmm? That's right. You did, tiger. chimed in his decidedly more neurotic half. While he was normally more inclined to ignore his neurotic half (and was trying desperately to do so as he re-read the message), he couldn't help but to smile a little as he drew up an outline for his reply.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #howard moon #vince noir #vince noir/howard moon #howince #naboo #naboo the enigma

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enchantedbride · 5 years

Text

Commission: A Soft Evening

Pairing: Kumiko Mitsu/Shinjiro Aragaki

Fandom: Persona

Warnings: None

Commissioned by: @blackquills-wife

A/N: Thanks for commissioning me!

Cloud cover obscured the moon that evening, making the sky look rather gloomy as Kumiko returned to the dorm. Of course it would get more eerie under the green of the Dark Hour. But, even so darkness was a way to make one easily more wary of their surroundings. The sight of the dorm up ahead as she approached was welcome though, and did put her at ease. The light were still on, shining in a golden glow from the windows.

Her shoes tapped against the stone as she made her way up the steps, and the front door made a creek when she opened it. Even if there were people still awake at this hour as was often the case, it was still important not to make too much of a ruckus. Kumiko tried to as quietly as she could close the door behind her, looking around to see was there.

“I’m back!” She began to give greetings, but then her eyes fell to a pair of figures laying off to one side of the couch. “O-oh…” Kumiko intentionally attempted to hush her voice, but she couldn’t help a small laugh that escaped her at that moment. Under a magazine with Koromaru on his lap was none other than her boyfriend Shinjiro, appearing to be fast asleep. The flicker of the television bathed his lap and the sleeping dog in a soft white light. The sound was barely audible when Kumiko first stepped in. But now that she took a moment to listen it sounded like a cooking show was playing.

It was so very much like Shinjiro to watch those sorts of shows. Although it wasn’t like him to fall asleep during such either. She had to wonder if it was possibly a ruse. He could get rather embarrassed when it came to his interests after all. If he was genuinely exhausted and sleeping though, Kumiko didn’t want to wake him.

That left her wondering what she should do.

Perhaps I should go get a blanket for him and put the magazine on the end table nearby. Yes, she thought she could manage that without waking Shinjiro or Koromaru. Kumiko attempted to stealthily sneak past the two, looking out for the others in the dorm as she went. She thought back to a spare blanket she had back in her own room that would be adequate. Shinjiro usually was one to accept what he was given, but he didn’t seem to mind her fussing over him a bit. After all, he was the sort to fuss over others in his own way. Although the two were close enough that he’d come to be more gentle and less cagey as far as she was concerned.

Thinking about those things made her a little distracted, but she tried to keep herself attentive to the task at hand. She made her way up the stairs, passing by a gathering of the dorm’s second year residence as she went. She greeted them, gently waving as she continued on her way. They waved back as she went, although they seemed to be rather preoccupied in their own conversation. It was just as well, as Kumiko didn’t want to tarry too long.

It was good to see that they were well though, she observed. Shinjiro, Mitsuru, Akihiko, and she tried to do their best for each other and for them. Although there was some concern since Shinjiro was staying with them in the dorm now. At least for now though, those concerns kept their distance. Peaceful evenings like these were something to be treasured these days. Even the task of just getting a blanket was something Kumiko found some comfort in. At least for a bit, she could remember that despite everything else going on, there were moments in their lives that were… ‘normal’ for lack of a better word. Although perhaps that wasn’t the right word to describe it.

Kumiko managed to swipe the blanket she had in mind from her dorm room and make her way back to the longue where Shinjiro was still lying to the side on the couch. However, when she reached the foot of the stairs, she saw Koromaru perk up his ears, tilting his head curiously at her as she approached.

“Sssh. Let’s try not to wake Shinji, okay Koro-chan?” The Shiba gave a light snort through his nose in reply. Kumiko then carefully started unfolding the blanket, Koromaru slowly sitting up and padding off to the side. She placed the blanket gently over Shinjiro, patting it slightly to make it more comfortably without making it too snug. Koromaru then took his place on Shinjiro’s lap once more, curling up into a ball and resting his head.

The next thing to do was to take the magazine off of his face and place it over on the end table. However, as she attempted to reach for it, she heard a muffled laugh from underneath, and felt a hand reach and cover hers for a moment.

“It’s okay, I got that.”

With his other hand, Shinjiro reached up to remove the magazine from his face, folding it closed and setting it on the end table. His lips were curved slightly in a smile, his usual beanie hat slightly askew from his head brushing against the cushions. Despite his state though, he didn’t seem all that sleepy from what she could tell. His eyes were too alert for that.

“Shinji, were you just pretending to be asleep?” she asked almost accusingly. Although her own smile betrayed she wasn’t in the least bit perturbed by the idea. Shinji shifted in his spot, trying his best not to disturb Koromaru.

“Yeah. I heard Aki and some of the second years come in earlier and I well… didn’t want ‘em giving me any crap for it.”

“I don’t think they would,” Kumiko gently retorted while shaking her head. “You gave it enough of a chance to come back. But then again, it’s probably best not to push yourself to the point you’re uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well…” Shinjiro paused for a moment. “I was watching some shows earlier to get some ideas. I think… I’d like to make dinner at some point. I was trying to help Fuuka the other day and it would help a lot if we actually put a dinner together. She really needs to watch and learn by example.”

“A dinner for the group? It sounds like a great idea, Shinji.” Kumiko answered. She sat down in the empty space next to him, looking over at him with affection in her expression. “If you need an extra set of hands in the kitchen to help cook and to assist Fuuka, I’m certainly willing to lend them.”

“Thanks. I might need some help. Although more than anything, I want you to enjoy the food with the others.”

“Oh, I can do that even if I’m helping out a lot! Nothing quite works up the appetite like working hard.”

Shinjiro sighed softly, but his small smile didn’t abate. “I suppose I can’t argue with you there.” He looked either which way for a moment. Then, as gently as he could, he leaned into to give her a kiss on her cheek. “I appreciate you going to get the blanket. It was a little chilly in here but… you didn’t need to, you know.”

“I know. But I wanted to,” she replied. She returned the kiss on the cheek with a swift but affectionate one to his lips in kind. “I love you you know.”

Another stifled laugh from him. “Yeah… I love you, too.”

At that moment, everything fell silent. Kumiko leaned a little towards Shinjiro. The instance of silence at that moment was perhaps the quietest, the softest moment of the evening. They didn’t need to fill the silence unless something needed to be said.

“Hey, Shinji?” Kumiko’s question was the first to break the silence, to bring the conversation back into focus.

“Yeah?”

“What were you thinking of making?”

“Hmmm…” he shook his head. “Not sure yet. I saw a few recipes that might look interesting. Some of them have ingredients that aren’t easy to come by.”

“I see.” Koromaru perked up, looking at the two of them as he turned his head. He whined softly, patting one of Kumiko’s hands with his paw. Kumiko reached up and scratched him behind the ears, which earned her a contended look from the canine. “Do you think that narrows things down a bit, or was there something you wanted to try that had a hard to find ingredient?”

“It’s more of the latter. I’d have to go all the way across town to get it is the problem. And at the one place they’d have it, it would be pretty damn expensive.”

“That’s a pain. I can understand why you’d feel indecisive about it.”

“Yeah. It’s frustrating. I don’t know…” he paused. “I just worry about them all eating right, you know? I thought this would be good for everyone as well as taste good.”

“It’s okay, I get it,” she assured him, “Well, I can come with you if you like. I think if we split the cost between the two of us, it shouldn’t be too bad. Plus, I’m helping you anyway and it’d be a nice excuse to spend time together.”

“Heh.” He shifted one of his hands as well, scratching Koromaru’s other ear. “That’s certainly true. Well, if you want to, I’ve got time tomorrow. We can go then.”

“Alright,” she agreed, “Sounds good.”

#do you require services? (writing commissions)#worlds afar (other people's self-inserts)#fallings petals (other people's self-ships)#self-ship commissions #self-ship community

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