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hardyimagines · 4 years

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Sleepy

Eddie brock going out with his gf at like 3am to a cafe just to drink hot chocolate and chill cause they had trouble sleeping. Is that a decent one shot tiny idea thingy?

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The moon was bright in the night’s sky. Stars sprinkled the blank area surrounding the glowing orb, glittering in the sky vibrantly. The city below was dark, most homes cascaded in a sheet of black as the owners slept peacefully behind closed doors. There were cars that would occasionally speed down the empty streets, fleeing past the lights that had been tinted green for majority of the night. There were a few fast food restaurants still open, sleepy employees residing inside with bored expressions and droopy eyes as they impatiently waiting for the clocks on the wall to strike a certain time, signaling for their departure. And for the remaining people who remained awake along with the city, people like you and your boyfriend, it was night’s like these when you just couldn’t seem to fall into slumber.

The air outside was chilly, much chillier than it was during the day now that you were without the heated glow from the sun. You walked alongside your boyfriend, clumpy slippers slapping the pavement beneath you as you shuffled beside him. Your hair was drawn up in a messy bun, fingertips wrapped around a dark purple, fluffy blanket that you had lugged off the sofa on your way out the front door and clutched around your body. You had smeared eyeliner under your eyes from the night before and you were dressed down in a pair of pyjama pants that belonged to the man at your side but they were too small for him, yet still baggy on you, so you’d taken them. Your eyes dropped to the plaid material, studying it for half a second before your attention was pulled to the heavy weight added to your shoulders.

Eddie Brock moved along beside you, his arm now rested around you snugly. His fingertips were gentle on the comfy fabric of the blanket, rubbing your arm through the thick material as he continued to talk to you about the nightmare he’d seemed to keep slipping into throughout the night.

“I’m telling you, babe,” He sighed breathily, his breaths visible in the streetlights glow. “It was terrifying. I mean, really, imagine a sixty foot tall horse trampling over you.” He lifted his gaze to the trees in the distance, as if a dark shadow would emerge from the clutter of leaves to reveal itself as this creature his brain had conjured up.

“Eddie.” Your eyes fluttered as they drifted up to his own. Your long lashes tickled your cheeks every time you blinked. “Honey, you have a parasite living inside you, how can you possibly be scared of a horse.” The amusement in your tone told Eddie that you were merely teasing the symbiote that lived inside him by using the term Venom hated most. Parasite. The flicker of Venom in Eddie’s gaze made your lips curve up on one side into a lopsided smirk. Opening your blanket, you stepped in closer to him and weaved your strong grip around his waist, squeezing him tightly.

Eddie peered down at you, doing his best to ignore the internal complaints that Venom continued to drone on about. Eddie wished that your thoughts could be invaded just as his were. It really wasn’t fair that he had to suffer all on his own.

The conversation came to a halt when you drew the heavy door open that led to the diner. The place was small, a hole in the wall, but it was known for its family business and original recipes — not to mention it was delicious — so the customers would pile in on a daily basis, typically in the mornings. They were also open 24/7 and any business that was tended to be worthy of being so. You stepped inside, unsurprised to find that it was even colder inside the small building. Eddie held the door open and piled in directly after you, coming to a stop when his chest brushed against your back. He was taller than you, chin almost pressed against the back of your head as his hands lifted to graze your covered arms.

The redhead by the door was busy smacking on a piece of gum, pink apron tied around her waist with a frilly lace lining the bottom. She was wearing a frizzy wig and bright blue eyeshadow. It was all a part of the outfit that her mother insisted was adorable — and therefore good for business. She thought she looked like a cheap extra, auditioning for a role in some movie that took place in the 50’s. The name tag on her white shirt read ‘Margaret’ and as you parted your lips to greet her, she did the same. Her lengthy nails lifted to dip past the curls and scratch at the wig that had been irritating her scalp for hours.

“Welcome.” She smiled sweetly, almost too kindly. “Would you like a table or a booth?”

Eddie’s eyes were busy dragging along the length of the room. There weren’t many people inside, but why would there be? The only other people here at this time of night would be people who travelled for work, policemen, the elderly, and people like you — people who couldn’t sleep.

You shuffled in front of your boyfriend, arm lifting so you could point toward the booth in the corner. “Booth is fine.” You didn’t mean to suggest a specific one, it was just habit to animatedly use your hands.

Eddie’s eyes flickered back to the girl as she spoke to you, gathering two menu’s and a slip of paper with the specials scribbled along the front. “Right this way.” She sighed before stepping past the pair of you and leading you through the scattered tables. Eddie was dressed down in a dark grey hoodie and some jeans he’d yanked on when you snagged the blanket from the sofa. His hand managed to find yours as it barely crept out of the underside of the blanket. Taking it in his own, he followed you toward the table that the lady ushered toward. You slid into the booth and Eddie followed suit. The woman would’ve given the pair of you a look of judgement, but she was too tired to poke fun at the fact that you’d both settled for one side when booths were double-sided. She dropped the menu’s down on the table before ensuring she’d be right back.

You knew she was probably lying, no doubt heading into the back to prepare some coffee and cups of water before she’d slip out the back door for a quick cigarette. Well, you assumed so since she stunk of ash and smoke, not that it bothered you. It wasn’t as if the pair of you were in a rush to get back home so you wouldn’t have minded if she climbed into her car and drove off to buy a pack of cigarettes, much less had a quick one in the alley. You frowned softly, realizing that you were lost in your thoughts and analyzing such a small thing. If it weren’t for Eddie’s raised brows and inquisitive stare you probably would’ve remained there, inspecting each person tucked away inside.

You didn’t feel the sleepy droopiness yanking at your stubborn eyelids just yet so you fixed them on your boyfriend. A slow smile pulled at your lips. Unlike you, he did look exhausted. He had forming bags under his eyes that left a visible dark shadow and his chin was propped up in his palm, supporting the weight of it since he didn’t have a pillow to lay on. It wouldn’t matter if he did and it didn’t matter that his eyes begged him to close. He couldn’t find the oblivion that was ordinarily so easy.

“So,” You spoke up as you grabbed ahold of one of the menu’s. Lifting it so you could inspect the muddled words in front of you, your heart sank. The font was small on the plastic, rectangular card. “Shit, i didn’t bring my contacts.”

Eddie’s brows arched at your choice of words before directing his stare toward the menu you clutched. Lifting his arm, he draped it across your shoulders, warm and exposed muscles grazing the softness of the purple blanket you still had draped around your body. “Here, I’ll read it to you.” He mumbled out, voice drowning with tiredness. He grasped one corner of the sheet but instead of dragging it away from you, he slid across the seat so that your bodies were closer together. Staring down at the options, he tried to keep it simple instead of running through a hundred different items. “Do you know sort of what you want?” He inquired, heavy breaths tickling your shoulder and cheek.

You craned you’re neck to the side, lips almost bumping his cheek. “Um.. pancakes.”

“Plain?” He grunted, doing his best to avoid the breaths of yours that tickled his rough skin.

“Plain?” You scoffed. “Are you sure you’re my boyfriend?” Plucking the menu away from him completely, you discarded it back on the clean table before rotating on the squishy cushion to face him.

“Nutella.” He corrected himself, looking in your direction slowly. Even sitting, he was taller than you. His fingertips pressed against your arm firmly, dragging you toward him so that you were forced to meet him in the middle for a gentle kiss.

“Mh, there you go.” You mumbled against his lips, not daring to break it first.

His smile broke the lip lock, teeth on show and therefore forcing your lips to graze his pearly whites. “Nutella is so sticky. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” His eyes were tinted over with amusement. “You’re disgusting.”

“Funny you should say that.. last time I had Nutella smeared on my lips, you licked it off.” Your brows arched in an accusing manner. “So clearly I’m not that disgusting.”

Eddie chuckled under his breath at the memory that formed in his head. Turning toward the little machine perched on the corner of the table, he drew it toward him to rest so he could type in your order. “Two pancakes?” He asked quietly.

Your eyes moved to the screen. The longer you thought about the pancakes, the lesser they seemed to appeal to you. Pursing your lips, you reached out and let your hand cover his own, big eyes squinting. “Nevermind, Baby. I don’t think I’m hungry enough for food.” Your eyes lit up at the beverages. “I think I just want a hot chocolate.”

Eddie turned his head toward your own to inspect you. “Are you sure? We can always bring them home if you don’t eat them all.” He offered.

The table in front of the pair of you blinked, waiting for the order to be placed. Eddie waited for your response, but you were busy scrolling through the lengthy list of flavors that they could add into the hot, creamy, mug of chocolate. You’d grown up hating the cup of goodness. You could hear your mother’s faint voice as she asked you if you were interested in a cup. You’d stick your tongue out in distaste before claiming that it was too sweet for your liking. Now, you drank it so often that Eddie joked at times you should just grow out a mustache — seeing as you typically had a faux chocolate one across your upper lip most mornings.

“No,” You finally spoke up quietly, pressing on a cup of hot chocolate with a cocoa stick and whipped cream. “It’s okay, baby, really. I think I’m just trying to convince myself I’m hungry because we’re here, but i probably wouldn’t even be able to take one bite, I know it.” Kissing his rough, stubbly cheek, you lingered in place before offering the tablet up to him. Eddie was the farthest thing from picky so with a brief inspection of what you’d ordered, he pressed the small ‘1’ that resided beside your drink and changed it to a ‘2’ so he could have the exact same thing.

In the corner of the room, a small computer lit up brightly with your order. You briefly looked in the direction where the quiet ding erupted from before lifting your hand to the back of your boyfriends neck. Giving him your sole attention, you ignored the woman — a different woman than the one who had seated you.

Eddie set his elbow on the table and let a heavy breath of air escape his lips. He was tired, but it seemed that the only time his body was willing to sleep was at the worst times. Now was not the most opportune moment and yet there he sat in the bright diner, chilly air wrapped around his body as he sat in the booth with droopy eyes directed at you.

Your hand lifted to his hair, brushing through the thick strands slowly, smoothing them down. “You know, for a person who couldn’t get any sleep, you sure do look like you’re on the verge of passing out.”

Eddie smirked toward you before leaning in and slowly wrapping his arm around your shoulders. His lips moved to your own, stealing a few soft kisses before he shrunk back against the chair and directed his stare toward the table. “It’s a lot easier to sleep when I’m not suppose to be.” He grunted. “And Venom’s being awfully quiet so that helps too.”

Your eyes searched his for a few moments, wondering silently if the symbiote’s need to talk all night was what kept your boyfriend up at such late hours. “Well we can take our hot chocolate’s to go.” You murmured sleepily. The bright light was beaming down on your sensitive eyes, forcing them to grow droopy just as Eddie’s had. “Maybe we need to start sleeping with our bedroom lights on and our air conditioner on high.”

Eddie chuckled lowly before moving his hand to rest on your upper back. He traced lazy shapes along your skin, over your shirt. “We can stay here. We’ll grow sleepier and sleepier and then when we get home, hopefully we’ll pass out.” He drew you toward him so your head could lay against his broad chest. The sound of his heartbeat comforted you, lulling your droopy eyes to flutter before closing. The pair of you were probably a sight, curled up in the small booth pressed against one another while you waited for your drinks.

Shockingly, it didn’t take long at all before a waitress came sauntering over with a tiny try. She lifted each mug by the warm handles and set them on the table in front of each of you before taking the tablet and setting the screen to check-out. She made sure there was nothing else either of you needed before excusing herself so she could tend to the other tables. Not chocolate must’ve been very popular at this hour because you hadn’t had to wait very long. You lifted your head away from Eddie’s chest, unsurprised to find that it felt so heavy. Peering down at the whipped cream that lined the rim of your mug, you leaned forward and licked the topping before looking toward your boyfriend when he did the exact same. The only difference was that he’d managed to smear some on his nose. You didn’t have a chance to point it out before he lifted his hand to his face and with the back of his wrist, wiped away the smudge. You smiled fondly toward the man before slipping your hand beneath the table and letting your fingertips graze his thigh. It was innocent. A touch just to touch him. But he sent you a side glance either way, inspecting your true intentions for only a moment before his hand lowered to cover your own.

A peaceful silence settled over the two of you. The only sounds present were your occasional giggles when he was messy due to the cream. The hot beverage was soothing on your throat, it made your body internally hot but weirdly comfortable. It was probably because of how cold it was inside the establishment. Eddie leaned his head to the side and let his temple find your shoulder as he continued to sip at the chocolate.

“We should’ve drove.” He finally spoke. His voice was heavy and low. The gruffness of it told you all you needed to know — he didn’t feel like walking. Especially not now, now that his limbs were deadweights and his body was ready to absolutely collapse. He leaned against your body further, arm moving to loop around your waist. You lifted your hand to his hair and began to caress the messy strands. With your free hand, you adjusted the blanket that was draped around you and made it so that it laid across him as well.

“I can get us an uber, baby. Don’t worry about walking.” You assured him. Sending a look toward a waitress in the corner, who’d been gawking at Eddie for what seemed like the second she handed him his hot chocolate, you turned your head and kissed his nose softly. It was the easiest part of him to reach. You were unsurprised when his head tipped and he leaned in for an even better kiss. Your lips pressed to his own for a few seconds before you drew back and pulled your phone from the little zip on the front of your purse. Eddie watched the blinding light from your phone before his eyes slid shut. He could hear the faint tapping of your thumbs as you clicked the little icons and typed in the addresses. Your hot chocolate wasn’t even close to being finished though, so before confirming the ride, you set your phone on the table so it would be ready when the pair of you were.

As you sipped your got chocolate, indulging in pointless conversation every now and then, Eddie remained slumped against you with his mouth hanging partially open and his eyes closed completely. It was only when you were in the middle of discussing the strangeness about chocolate being able to rock them to sleep that you heard a faint, little snore leave his lips. Your head turned, inspecting the big, sleepy bear. Your heart tightened and a little smile graced your lips. You figured you could get his hot chocolate to go, but he wouldn’t drink it cold and he’d insist it didn’t taste the same if he warmed it up. You reached around his body for the little screen on the ledge and pulled your wallet from your pocket so you could pay for the drinks.

Eddie’s body followed your shoulder wherever it went and when you began to squirm to get back in your regular position, he sleepily wrapped his arms around your body more securely. You could tell, with each passing second, that he was falling deeper and deeper asleep. So the guilt that pooled in your stomach seemed to instantly swallow you whole.

How the hell were you going to wake him up and get him to the uber?

He was finally sleeping.

The envy that flooded you intertwined with the guilt though and as you felt the reluctance to wake him, you also felt the desire to join him. Your hands fell to his hard shoulders, squeezing them tenderly before your thumb mashed the ‘confirm’ button on your phone. You supposed you could let him sleep until the headlights rolled up outside. Tilting your head so that it rested against his own, you let your eyes flutter just for the time being. The driver was still 8 minutes away, so you figured it would be okay to just rest your eyes.

The waitress in the corner lifted a brow. The pair of you definitely were a sight. Sitting in a booth, laid against one another with a frilly blanket draped around you. The glow from your phone pulled her gaze to the glass door, peering outside. She wasn’t stupid. Loads of people came to the diner at all hours in the morning. You weren’t the first couple to fall asleep while waiting for your ride, and you wouldn’t be the last. She crept up to the table and cleaned the dishes off the surface before making her way back to the counter. Along with waitressing and clean up duty, she also considered herself to be an alarm clock — for she would wonder over and wake any slumbering customers when their lifts had arrived. She slumped against the wall and waited patiently, arms folding over her chest and big green eyes sliding along the darkness that kissed the windows. Patience seemed to be a necessity — a requirement for this job. She was lucky she had plenty.

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A/N: I know this is shitty and very simple, but I’ve gotta her back into it 🥺💞 thank you so much for your patience!!

#tom hardy x reader #tom hardy imagine #eddie brock x reader #eddie brock imagine #venom

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jayeray-hq · 3 years

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The Great Christmas Bake-Off

This is my SFW secret Santa fic for @rice-hime! You have no idea how excited I was to see that you were who I got for the SFW secret Santa, Rice! You were one of my very first requests, and I love all your writing! I know you’ve been having a bit of a tough time lately, so I hope this makes you smile!

Want more Osamu? Check out my Character Masterlist!

Thanks to the amazing @deathcab4daddy for beta-reading for me! Love you Tay! 😊💖 Timeskip/Manga Spoilers! 8.6K words

Warnings: Brief mentions of depression but drowned in Fluff

You stared out the window quietly watching the snow fall, nursing a cup of your favorite hot beverage in your hands. It was Christmas Eve day, and for the first time since you’d started dating your boyfriend, you were home alone. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Osamu was supposed to be on his way back from a business meeting in Tokyo yesterday, but inclement weather meant he hadn’t been able to travel home safely.

When you’d taken his call earlier that morning he’d told you trains were delayed, and there was no word on whether or not they’d be up and running again any time soon. It didn’t help that it had yet to stop snowing. Your poor boyfriend had sounded extremely frustrated and put out with everything when you’d talked, and you’d done your best to assure him that everything would be fine. You’d told him that you’d wait for him, and that you much preferred he get home safe rather than rush and potentially get hurt because of the weather.

You had also made sure to tell him you didn’t blame him for not being able to make it home, that you wouldn’t be angry even if he couldn’t get home until after Christmas. It wasn’t like he could control the weather after all, and the meeting in Tokyo had been incredibly important so it wouldn’t have been possible to cancel or delay it. After all it had been about finally getting approval to open up a branch of Onigiri Miya in Tokyo, expanding his business out of the Hyogo prefecture for the first time.

Both of you had been excited at the possibility of expanding his dream restaurant, and you firmly believed that the chance had been worth potentially missing a single Christmas with him. However, despite your beliefs it didn’t stop you from missing him, from wishing rather desperately that he was there with you and not trapped in Tokyo.

It was probably a bit strange, but you thought it might actually be harder to not have him today than it would be to not have him on Christmas. The two of you had created your own tradition for Christmas Eve, one that you couldn’t imagine doing without him.

It had all started back during the first year the two of you had started dating. Osamu had claimed to have the recipe for the best sugar cookies ever. You’d decided to challenge him, not really understanding just how obsessed your new boyfriend was with eating, and creating the perfect foods.

He’d brought his recipe, one he’d spent several years perfecting, and you’d brought one you found on the internet. The two of you had made both recipes together in the kitchen on Christmas Eve Day, the one day the two of you could find that neither of you had previous obligations for.

Originally, you’d planned to make the cookies separately, each of you making your own, on your own time, but Osamu had insisted on doing the activity together. He’d convinced you that everything had to be done with the same quality of ingredients, the same oven, and in the same space in order for things to be equal. You’d conceded, figuring your new boyfriend was even more of a food nut than you’d initially assumed and finding it rather cute. It wouldn’t be until several years down the line that he’d admitted he’d only insisted so he could spend more time with you.

After the cookies were baked, you then frosted and decorated them with the exact same frosting and tried both for comparison. In the end, you’d been forced to concede that his were much better than the ones from the recipe you’d found, but had sworn you’d find something better by the next year. Thus, your little tradition had been born.

This year you had all the ingredients, bought well beforehand, all the equipment, and your own beautiful kitchen that you shared with your boyfriend. The recipe you’d picked out even had thousands of five-star reviews. The problem, of course, was that you didn’t have your boyfriend. Technically speaking, you could probably do it yourself. You’d made his version of the cookies with him enough times now you could do it in your sleep, but it wouldn’t be the same.

Thus, you’d decided to wait until he came home. Was it a little disappointing not to be able to do it on the day you’d planned? Yes of course, but it couldn’t be helped. However, you’d rather do it on a different day than do it without your boyfriend. It was just one more thing that had gone wrong this year, which hadn’t been all that great considering everything that had happened.

It was honestly wearing, and the blow of not having him there felt far heavier than it would under normal circumstances. Usually you’d be able to shrug it off with a smile and go about your day, but with everything else it felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back. You’d done your best to put on a cheerful, optimistic façade during your phone call with your boyfriend, not wanting to stress him out more than he already was.

However, after that call you’d spent a good majority of your morning feeling out of sorts, listless, and unmotivated to do much of anything but watch the snow fall and hope it would let up soon. You wanted your boyfriend home, not just because you wanted to make cookies with him, but because Osamu gave the best hugs, and there was nothing you wanted more than to be wrapped up in his arms for a while.

The sound of several loud knocks at the door startled you out of trying to quietly calculate how long it might take the snow to stop and when your boyfriend might be home. You hadn’t been expecting any guests today, but the sound of a scraping key in the lock let you know exactly who was at the door before it opened. After all, there was only one person who would knock like he was trying to break the door down and who you’d given a key, even if it had been a rather reluctant concession on your boyfriend’s part.

“Well, ain’t this cheery,” a voice that was both exactly what you wanted to hear, and absolutely not at the same time, announced as your boyfriend’s twin brother breezed into the door. You shivered slightly at the cold wind he let in with his arrival, and turned to watch in bemusement as he stomped off the snow from his boots and began stripping off his outer layers, clearly making himself at home.

“Atsumu,” you greeted, a little puzzled at the blond twin’s sudden unannounced arrival at your home, “What are you doing here? You know Samu is still in Tokyo, right?”

“Is that really the way ya should be greetin’ yer future brother-in-law?” he asked teasingly, a wide grin on his face, “And o’ course I knew! Who do ya think was the first person that scrubby brother of mine called after he got off the phone with ya?”

“Your mother probably,” you countered wryly, “Considering she was probably worried about him, and both of you are too afraid of her to not check in when she wants you to.”

“Okay, so the second person,” Atsumu conceded without argument, making you smirk slightly. It always amused you that the twins were absolutely petrified of getting on their mother’s bad side. The Miya matriarch was a sweet, kindly woman, who absolutely doted on you, but according to the twins she was actually a dragon in disguise and downright terrifying in the same way Kita Shinsuke apparently was. You’d personally never witnessed this so-called terrifying side, but you had bowed to the twins’ experience.

“So what, ‘Samu asked you to check on me?” you asked with a frown. You’d been fairly certain you’d managed to conceal your feelings from your boyfriend, but maybe you hadn’t done as good a job as you’d thought you had.

“Actually, he sent me here ta be yer assistant fer the day,” Atsumu told you with a slight pout on his face, “Somethin’ about subbin’ in fer him and makin’ cookies.”

“You realize you can’t actually sub out for one another in real life, right?” you asked him with a sigh. You were torn between annoyance that your boyfriend would think it was alright to substitute his twin in his place for your tradition, and touched that he wanted you to still be able to do it despite the fact that he wasn’t there.

“Hey! I will have ya know that yer getting’ the superior twin fer the day!” Atsumu protested giving you a cocky smirk, “I even agreed ta put myself at yer disposal and everythin’!”

“What did he bribe you with?” you asked skeptically, well aware the twins, despite being fond of each other deep down, never actually did anything for one another without at least some token bribery.

“I can’t just come ta bake cookies with my brother’s lovely girlfriend outta the goodness of my heart?” Atsumu demanded, clearly affronted. You raised an eyebrow at him, and waited arms folded across your chest.

“Okay so maybe there was a promise of some of those famous sugar cookies fer myself,” he conceded, with a huff.

“Thought so,” you acknowledged with a triumphant smile, ignoring his indignant grumbles about Osamu dating a woman as scary as Kita and their mother.

“Does that mean ya aren’t gonna make cookies with me?” Atsumu whined unhappily, “After I came all this way in the snow and everythin’ just ta help ya out?”

“You literally live a block and a half away,” you protested with a laugh.

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a cold, wet, and miserable block an a half,” he informed you with a pout, “C’mon please? I never get any cookies from the two of ya, ‘Samu always hogs em all!”

You briefly considered saying no, wanting to uphold the sanctity of tradition. You’d meant what you’d said before, you couldn’t just replace one twin with the other. You loved Atsumu, but he wasn’t your boyfriend, more like a bratty little brother, ironic considering he was technically the older twin. However, even just his presence had been a fantastic distraction from how miserable you’d been before. Besides, Atsumu could be a lot of fun in his own way, and you could always make cookies with Osamu later.

“Fine,” you conceded with a huff, “Let’s make cookies then.”

“Alright!” He cheered his entire face lighting up with a boyish grin, the same grin your boyfriend wore whenever he got to cook something new. It was simultaneously comforting and a bit of a punch to the gut, though you chose to push aside the negative feeling and focus on the positive for now. Even if your boyfriend wasn’t here you still had a friend with you, one who was surprisingly sweet when he wanted to be, and you were grateful for it.

Baking with Atsumu turned out to be absolutely nothing like baking with Osamu. With your boyfriend, the two of you had it down to an art, working with and around one another easily. You trusted one another in the kitchen and were very used to one another’s presence and it showed. Atsumu on the other hand, was a bit of a disaster.

For all that the man was absolutely graceful on the volleyball court, it turned out he was a bit of a disaster in the kitchen. He did admittedly know what he was doing, he just wasn’t as careful as he should be. It meant eggshells accidentally got in the batter and had to be fished out, baking soda and baking powder got confused, the vanilla got knocked over, and flour exploded everywhere when he turned on the mixer, covering the two of you and leaving white residue everywhere.

It took twice as long as it usually did because you spent over half your time babysitting Atsumu to ensure he didn’t screw anything up too badly. By the end of it all you, Atsumu and the kitchen were a mess, but you were smiling. The presence of your boyfriend’s twin having cheered you immensely, mostly because despite how cool they tried to act, both Miya twins were idiots, lovable idiots, but idiots nonetheless.

You were so caught up in Atsumu’s antics that you didn’t notice you’d been joined by someone new, not until an extremely annoyed voice piped up, “Oy, ya scrub! What the hell did ya do ta my kitchen and my girl huh?”

You whirled around surprised to see your boyfriend standing in the entryway, flecks of snow still clinging to his hair and eyelashes as he glared at his twin. Your heart jumped in your chest, a mixture of disbelief and joy swirling inside of you at the sight of him, home where he should be when you’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to make it at all.

“Ya told me to distract her so I distracted her,” Atsumu protested, “And yer the scrubby one ya scrub! I ain’t the one who got stuck in Tokyo after all!”

“’Samu!” you practically barreled into your boyfriend, throwing yourself at him without even bothering to take off your dirty apron. Not that he seemed to mind at all, catching you up in his arms and cradling you to his chest without complaint, nuzzling his face into your hair.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted, pressing an affectionate kiss to the side of your head, both of you ignoring the gagging sounds Atsumu was making in the background.

“What are you doing here?” you asked a bit tearfully, “I thought you weren’t going to make it home?”

“And miss Christmas with you, sweets? Not a chance,” he assured you, pulling back a bit so he could cradle your face in one of his large hands, swiping his thumb affectionately along your cheekbone.

“But I thought the trains weren’t running?” you pointed out anxiously.

“They’re not. I rented a car and drove,” he admitted with a casual shrug, as if he hadn’t admitted to making a six-hour drive in terrible conditions.

“’Samu that’s dangerous,” you protested. Your eyes automatically roving over him to assure yourself he was there and in one piece, as your hands clutched at him a reminder that he was solid, warm, and present, “I could’ve waited for you. I would’ve waited for you.”

“I was real careful sweetheart,” he assured you earnestly, “Drove slow and everythin’ plus the highways weren’t so bad, promise. I just really wanted ta be home with ya fer Christmas, and I didn’t want ya to be frettin’ bout me, which is why I sent ‘Tsumu over to distract ya.”

“Well, he did that at least,” you acknowledged with a huff, casting a glance at Atsumu who looked immeasurably pleased with himself.

“And made a right mess of the kitchen while he was at it,” Osamu noted with clear disapproval on his face, as he gazed around the disaster zone.

“Hey, I’ll have ya know we’re equally responsible fer the mess,” Atsumu informed him promptly shifting some of the blame your way, completely unashamed at the blatant lie, “Yer girl helped me out too.”

The completely unimpressed look your boyfriend leveled at him let you know just how much he believed his brother. Which was, of course, not a bit. Osamu knew you were fairly tidy when the two of you worked together, so he knew who was at fault for the mess. Still, you were grateful that Atsumu had come over at all. It was sweet of him in his own way, so you decided you wouldn’t let him take the fall on his own, not this time anyway.

“Don’t worry ‘Samu, Atsumu and I will clean it up,” you assured him, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Your boyfriend let out a long-suffering sigh in response, giving you a look that told you he knew exactly what you were doing. However, he must’ve been feeling pretty indulgent because he went along with it anyway, “Alright sweetheart, let me just put my things away and I’ll help the two of ya clean up.”

“You don’t have to,” you insisted, reluctantly releasing him so he could move away, “Atsumu and I can handle it.”

“Yeah ‘Samu, we don’t need ya,” Atsumu taunted, slinging an arm over your shoulder and pulling a face at his twin, “So buzz off, or I won’t share any of my cookies with ya!”

“Pretty sure it’s my kitchen and my ingredients ya used to make those cookies,” Osamu pointed out, leveling a glare at his brother, clear annoyance written all over his face.

“And I think I’m the one who made them, bought the ingredients, and it’s my kitchen too, which I believe makes them my cookies,” you informed the twins before they could really start squabbling, “And I won’t be sharing with either of you if you don’t behave. ‘Samu go put your things away and get settled in, and Atsumu we have a kitchen to clean.”

The twins exchanged glances over your head, one of those looks that spoke volumes and sometimes made you wonder if they could read one another’s minds. However, in the end they conceded, Osamu ambling down the hall with his bags and Atsumu joining you to clean up the mess in the kitchen, though not before Osamu pressed an affectionate kiss to your cheek.

Between the two of you it didn’t take too long to clean the kitchen up, and get everything looking pristine. It did slow down a bit when Osamu returned from your bedroom and began ‘supervising’ meaning heckling his brother and generally being a pain as he insisted things weren’t clean enough.

By the time you finished, all the cookies were out of the oven and completely cooled, which meant it was time for frosting. Luckily this time things went much faster as Atsumu was firmly pushed out of the kitchen by Osamu, who insisted it was only right he take over since it was his tradition with you. Atsumu whined, but had eventually been appeased by you agreeing to let him lick the spoon.

You laid out several bowls and split up your icing, quickly deciding to do red, yellow, green, and white for your colors to make it nice and simple. Or at least it should’ve been nice and easy, if not for Atsumu’s commentary.

“Is that supposed to be red?” Atsumu asked, casually licking frosting off as he watched his brother add food coloring to the frosting, “Cuz I’m tellin’ ya it definitely looks pink from where I’m standin’.”

A quick glance over your boyfriend’s shoulder proved that it was a little on the pink side, but getting a true red with frosting was extremely difficult without adding enough food coloring to stain your mouth. Though the comments didn’t stop there either.

“Is that really a Christmas green? I’m thinkin’ it looks kinda pastel, don’tcha think ‘Samu?” he pressed eyeing the other bowl, “I hope ya don’t think I’m gonna be decoratin’ my cookies with such a weak lookin’ color.”

“Who says yer getting’ to decorate any cookies at all, huh?” Osamu demanded flatly.

“I did, cuz I helped make ‘em,” Atsumu informed him bluntly, “And I’m gonna do a much better job than you could even dream of.”

“Oh, ya think so do ya?” Osamu asked, his eye twitching slightly in clear annoyance.

“I know so,” Atsumu informed him smugly.

“Then how about a bet?” your boyfriend proposed, with a challenging stare at his brother, “Whoever decorates the best cookie wins.”

“What do I get when I win?” Atsumu demanded, as you watched them go back and forth feeling a bit like a spectator at a tennis match.

“The cookies o’ course,” Osamu proposed evenly, staring his brother down.

“No way! I was supposed to get ‘em anyway fer comin’ over here to help out, and I ain’t wagerin’ ‘em fer nothin’ in return,” Atsumu protested, vehemently.

“Fine, the cookies an I’ll make ya bento fer a week,” Osamu countered, “But in return when I win, I get the cookies an’ you have ta deal with Ritsu Baa-chan at the annual holiday party.”

You snorted at that, trying hard not to laugh at Atsumu’s terrified expression. Ritsu Baa-chan was their grandmother’s sister, their great aunt. She was honestly a rather sweet elderly woman, but she was also a bit blind and couldn’t tell the twins apart despite having different hair colors. She also liked to pinch cheeks a lot, and tended to go on long tangents about her youth.

“That’s unless yer chicken?” your boyfriend taunted, well aware his brother would fall for it.

“Fine, yer on, but she ain’t allowed to judge,” he compromised, the sudden finger in your face making you flinch in surprise. Honestly, you’d thought the twins had forgotten you were there for a moment, so the unexpected acknowledgment was a bit baffling.

“Don’t point at her. It’s rude,” ‘Samu scolded, smacking Atsumu’s hand with the back of the frosting covered spoon he’d been using to mix, making the blond yelp in surprise and indignation, “And who’s gonna judge if not her eh? Don’t tell me yer tryin’ to say somethin’s wrong with my girlfriend.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with her!” Atsumu conceded immediately, shooting you an apologetic look. For all the twins argued, he’d always been extremely courteous to you outside a bit of teasing, so you weren’t at all hurt, “But she still can’t judge, she’ll just pick ya and won’t give me a fair chance cuz yer her boyfriend!”

“So, who’s gonna judge then?” your boyfriend asked skeptically, “Everyone we know likes me better.”

“That ain’t true!” Atsumu pouted at him, as he absently licked the frosting off the back of his hand, earning a disgusted look from his twin, “Everyone knows I’m the superior twin!”

You watched them squabble for a minute as you considered their little conundrum. Osamu had told you back in high school he’d been known as the ‘nice twin’ of the two of them. It was actually a little hilarious to you, as the longer you’d spent around your boyfriend, getting to know both him and Atsumu by extension, the more you realized he wasn’t actually nicer. He just hid it better.

According to Aran, your one trustworthy source on what the twins had been like in high school, things had gotten better as the twins matured, Atsumu becoming a little less uptight, and Osamu a little more open. When you’d met Osamu in college and then Atsumu shortly after, you wouldn’t have pegged either of them as nice or better necessarily, until you’d gotten to know them. Osamu was simply a bit more laidback than his twin, sarcastic, and witty. He was a bit more conscious of the people around him, and their opinions. He was also quieter and less prone to emotional outbursts. It made him come off a bit more thoughtful and mature, though he definitely still had his moments. He was meticulous and incredibly sweet when he wanted to be.

Atsumu on the other hand, was a ball of energy- impulsive but fun. If he loved something he loved it wholeheartedly, and if he hated something he hated it just as ardently. He definitely came off as less mature, and a bit more naïve in some ways as well, which was why you’d never been able to see him as anything more than a good friend or younger brother figure despite being head over heels for his twin.

You wouldn’t call the two of them opposites per se, but you would say to those who knew them knew that the twins were very different. It meant that despite them sharing a lot of the same friends, most of those friends had a ‘favorite’ of the twins, one whose company they preferred even if they liked both of them. It made having someone neutral to be the judge of the outcome of the little bets they liked to make with each other a bit of an interesting conundrum.

The only two friends you could think of off the top of your head who both twins would agree on as neutral were Aran and Kita. However, you weren’t about to let the twins pester their friends on Christmas Eve. Luckily, there was one person who was guaranteed neutral that not even the twins would argue against, and who wouldn’t mind having you call, would in fact probably enjoy it a lot.

“Why don’t we ask your mom to judge then?” you cut in, breaking off their little tiff, “We should call her tonight anyway, to wish her happy holidays. You let her know you got home safely didn’t you ‘Samu?”

“Course I did,” your boyfriend agreed looking a bit horrified that you’d think he wouldn’t, “I ain’t a scrub like ‘Tsumu.”

“A guy forgets to text one time,” Atsumu whined, looking more than a bit traumatized at the mere mention of the wrath he’d apparently brought down on his head for forgetting.

“Then we’ll have her judge,” you told them, ending the argument you knew could last hours if you didn’t intervene, “It will be nice to talk to her later anyway.”

The twins exchanged another of their speaking looks, but in the end agreed to do things your way. In order to be fair, you split up the cookies and frosting as evenly as you could between the three of you, and set to work.

Honestly, you probably should’ve known it would be a disaster. The twins had always been competitive, and liked to do anything they could to win, which apparently meant sabotage. It had started off innocently enough, and you were fairly sure it was an accident. Atsumu’s elbow had knocked into an open bottle of red sugar sprinkles and tipped the whole thing on to one of Osamu’s cookies.

Your boyfriend had been outraged of course, and immediately tried to retaliate by smearing red frosting on to Atsumu’s green Christmas tree. It had only escalated from there, as sprinkles and frosting flew, Osamu’s usual concern for his kitchen flying out the window in the face of competition with his brother.

Luckily, you’d had the foresight to put yourself outside the disaster zone, well aware there was nothing that brought out immaturity from your boyfriend quite like Atsumu. Therefore, instead of stressing, you got to watch, thoroughly entertained from the side lines. Taking a leaf from Suna’s book, you recording some of it on your phone, fully prepared to share it later.

You couldn’t help the quiet giggles that escaped your lips as you watched their antics, giggles that devolved into side splitting laughter as Osamu, fed up with having sprinkles flicked at him by Atsumu, dipped his hand into the frosting and smeared it all over his brother’s face.

Both twins froze at the sound, your boyfriend giving you a soft fond look, the kind he reserved just for you. He quickly abandoned his cookies to come over to where you were sitting so he could wrap his arms around you.

“Samu you’re getting frosting all over me,” you protested with a laugh even as you hugged him in return, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.

“Ya know ya love it, sweetheart,” Osamu teased affectionately, “Besides weren’t ya the one who got flour all over me earlier?”

You hummed in agreement, sighing contentedly in his arms. You probably could’ve stayed there for a good while longer, except you were interrupted by a very pointed throat clearing.

“I’m still here ya know,” Atsumu pointed out clearly disgruntled, “Can’t ya save yer gross coupley stuff until I don’t have to watch?”

“Yer just jealous,” Osamu brushed him off, squeezing you affectionately and shooting his brother a look over your head, “Ya don’t have to watch ya know. Yer free to leave at any time.”

“An’ leave ya alone to sabotage my cookies?” the blond demanded self-righteously, “What do ya think I’m an idiot or somethin’?”

The look your boyfriend gave his brother for that question was really all the answer that was needed. You coughed, pressing your face into his neck to stifle your giggles at the extremely indignant look on Atsumu’s face.

“I ain’t gonna sabotage yer cookies, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu informed his brother, resting his cheek on top of your head, “I don’t think they could get any uglier if I tried.”

“An whose fault is that!” Atsumu protested, as easily riled as usual, “Besides it ain’t like yers are any better!”

It was true both of their cookies were complete and utter disasters, a smear of frosting all blended together into an ugly brownish color with only hints of the previous green and red. Mounds of sprinkles were smeared in and thrown everywhere in a mish mash of colored sugar some on the cookies but a lot on the floor. They honestly barely looked edible, even though you were sure the taste was probably fine. They were, truthfully, some of the ugliest cookies you’d ever seen in your life.

“Still better than yers,” Osamu countered stubbornly, “I’m still gonna win.”

“Like hell ya are, mine are clearly superior!” Atsumu retorted.

“We’ll leave that up to Miya-san to decide,” you cut in before they could really start bickering again, “In the meantime, why don’t we all get cleaned up.”

You glanced pointedly at Atsumu’s face, still covered in flecks of frosting despite his attempts to wipe it clean, along with the globs on his shirt, and at Osamu’s hair, which was shedding sprinkles everywhere.

Atsumu grimaced down at this shirt, pouting at the frosting that covered it, and promptly reached for the hem, clearly ready to strip it right off. He didn’t get very far, as Osamu promptly released you to smack at his twins hands.

“The hell! Don’t just start strippin’ ya scrub!” your boyfriend protested.

“Why not?” Atsumu protested genuinely baffled, “It ain’t like ya’ve never seen it before ‘Samu, we shared a room fer years.”

“Do ya always just casually take yer shirt off in front of girls without warnin’?” Osamu asked aggrieved, “No wonder ya can’t get a girlfriend!”

“Oy! I’ll have ya know the ladies love when I take my shirt off,” Atsumu informed him snottily.

“Well my lady doesn’t,” Osamu informed him, gesturing to where you were sitting, watching the whole thing play out.

“Why would she mind?” Atsumu pointed out snottily, “If she’s seen ya naked, she’s basically seen me too.”

“Eww no,” you interjected, unable to resist, your face scrunching up in disgust, even as your boyfriend smacked his brother over the back of the head.

“What do ya mean eww no?” Atsumu demanded clutching at his head and turning slightly watery eyes on you, glaring in offense, “We’re twins! We look the exact same!”

“’Samu is sexy,” you explained with a shrug, unable to resist teasing him a little, “You’re just… you.”

Atsumu squawked in indignation, clearly very offended, though your boyfriend just looked amused, winking at you from behind his brother’s back and adding, “That’s right, so keep yer damn shirt on ‘Tsumu, no one wants to see it.”

“But it’s got brown gunk all over it,” he whined gesturing at the rather unfortunately colored frosting smeared down his front from where he’d wiped his face clean with it, “It looks like someone wiped their ass with it!”

You choked at the realization that he was unfortunately correct, nearly falling off your chair as you were overtaken by laughter again. Really, the twins could start their own comedy show, you had the feeling they’d make a killing. It was no wonder Suna had managed to collect so much blackmail on them over the years, the two of them really made it too easy.

“So, go home and change then stupid,” Osamu informed his brother flatly, though you could tell from the way his lips twitched that he also found it terribly amusing.

“No way!” Atsumu griped, “If ya don’t want me shirtless in front of yer girlfriend then just let borrow a shirt ya jerk!”

“Go get yer own,” your boyfriend countered, completely unimpressed, “No way in hell am I lendin’ ya one of mine again. I’ll never get it back.”

“Yer so cruel ‘Samu, and here everyone still thinks yer the nice twin,” Atsumu informed his brother snottily, “Tryin’ to send me out into a storm like that!”

Surprised you glanced at the window only to find Atsumu was right, the weather had gone from bad to worse. Enormous flakes of snow falling from the sky, coming down so hard you could barely see the blurred outline of the home across the street from yours. It looked like a genuine blizzard out there. It looked absolutely nasty, and even though he did live fairly close by you were hesitant to send Atsumu out in it.

You glanced at your boyfriend, and he clearly saw the concern on your face because he heaved a sigh and nodded in acknowledgment.

“Fine ‘Tsumu, but yer changin’ in the bathroom so ya don’t make a mess in our room, and ya ain’t leavin’ in it. Rinse yer shirt while yer in there and toss it in the wash,” Osamu ordered as he grabbed hold of his brother hauling him away down the hall, completely ignoring Atsumu’s protests at being manhandled.

You smiled after them for a moment, amused. You knew without a doubt, no matter how much he griped about it, that Osamu would never have sent Atsumu home when the weather was like this. Which meant you should probably resign yourself to having a guest for the night. Not that you minded all that much.

You’d known from the beginning that while they were separate people, the Miya twins came as a set. If you were going to be dating Osamu, Atsumu was going to be part of your life, that was a simple, inarguable fact. You were just glad you got along well with him, even if having the two of them together did end with your kitchen a complete and utter disaster area for the second time that day.

Huffing a sigh, you finished up the last of your own cookies that you’d carefully kept out of the line of fire, covered them and hid them in one of the cupboards. You were well aware if you didn’t they were bound to get snitched by one of the twins. With your cookies safe, you surveyed the mess that was the kitchen and grabbed a cloth intent on getting things cleaned back up again while you had the chance.

Your work was interrupted by the feel of strong arms wrapping around you from behind, pulling you upright and back into a solid chest. You immediately relaxed into the embrace tilting your head back against your boyfriend’s shoulder so you could see him.

“Hi there,” you greeted affectionately, tossing the rag you’d been using to wipe things down on to the counter in favor of wrapping your arms over his, savoring the feeling of being held.

“Hey sweetness,” he returned, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, “I missed ya.”

“I missed you too,” you admitted quietly, “I’m so glad you made it home, even if you really should’ve stayed where it was safe.”

“Like I’d let somethin’ as stupid as a snowstorm keep me away from my girl on Christmas Eve,” Osamu scoffed, “This is our day. I wasn’t gonna miss it fer anythin’ sweetheart.”

You hummed in response, feeling immeasurably comforted by the feel of him wrapped around you, the loneliness and depression chased away completely by the afternoon’s laughter and the warm presence of your boyfriend.

“How’d the meeting go?” you asked quietly as he rocked the two of you back and forth, the motion familiar and soothing. You’d learned early on he was completely unable to stay still for any length of time unless he was sleeping, a trait he shared with his twin.

“It was good. The investors are all in, looks like we’re gonna get our new shop in Tokyo after all,” he told you, clear pride in his voice.

“Our shop huh?” you asked teasingly, more than a bit touched that he said it so easily. Onigiri Miya was his dream after all, and the fact that he shared it so openly with you meant the world.

“O’course sweetheart,” he told you, “I…!”

Unfortunately, whatever he might’ve wanted to say after that was interrupted by the untimely arrival of his brother, who reappeared, dressed in a clean shirt, all traces of frosting removed from his person.

“Oy! This place is still a disaster! I thought ya said ya were goin’ ta help her clean, ‘Samu?” he demanded, turning judging eyes on the kitchen.

You sighed, partly annoyed and partly amused at the sheer audacity of the blond twin, as Osamu reluctantly untangled himself from you. The glare he sent his twin would’ve had lesser men cringing away, but Atsumu was unfortunately rather immune by this point.

“Ya have no sense of timing at all do ya, ya scrub?” Osamu asked him rhetorically, heaving a put-upon sigh before smacking his brother over the back of the head in punishment and shoving a cloth in his hands, ordering to, “Help clean too, ya ungrateful jerk! Since half this mess is yers anyways.”

Luckily, though they squabbled through the whole thing, they did manage to get things cleaned up, just in time for dinner. The snow was still coming down hard, so you quickly invited Atsumu to stay, though Osamu ordered him to stay out of the kitchen. He went, though you quickly sent Osamu after him, insisting that he’d had a long day of travel and didn’t need to cook tonight as you’d fully planned to cook for the two of you.

Osamu gave you a soft look for that, one that got him thoroughly teased by Atsumu for being a sap. Your boyfriend pressed a quick, chaste kiss to your lips before joining his brother to stream the latest Black Jackals game on the tv, clearly fully intending to heckle his brother over any mistakes he made while you put together something for all three of you to eat.

Dinner was lively and enjoyable as Osamu told the two of you more about the meeting in Tokyo. Apparently, the area they were looking to open the next restaurant was in a prime location, and construction would start after the new year once the property lease was signed. If things went well it would be open before summer, which was incredibly exciting.

In turn, Atsumu shared some of what he’d been up to with the Jackals. He had a lot of funny stories to tell about the players you’d met briefly and heard lots of stories about from their high school days. His stories about Hinata Shouyou, Sakusa Kiyoomi, and Bokuto Koutarou in particular were always amusing, mostly because they were always teasing him in some way, never allowing him to get his way completely.

The twins also asked you some about what you’d been up to, and you shared the things that you knew they’d find interesting, little anecdotes about your day, or small stories you knew would make them laugh. It was honestly heartwarming how both of them worked to include you in their dynamic, trying to ensure you never felt excluded, and you understood how very much it meant that they tried so hard for you.

After dinner the three of you gathered together at the twins insistence to video call their mother. The kindly woman answered on the third ring, and immediately leveled a suspicious look at the twins.

“What did the two of ya do now?” she asked clearly resigned to whatever antics the twins had gotten up to this point. You giggled, unable to help yourself at the identical expressions of offense on their faces.

“Oh, hello darling!” their mother greeted you warmly, “How are ya doin’? Are these two rascals causin’ trouble fer ya?”

“Hello Miya-san,” you returned just as warm, to the woman who’d gladly welcomed you into their family with open arms, nudging your face into the frame so you could see her better, “It’s good to see you!”

“You too dear, and I told ya, no need for Miya-san, call me kaa-san okay? Yer my future daughter-in-law after all!” she told you jovially, making you flush slightly, pleased and a little flustered, glancing hesitantly at your boyfriend out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t look at all bothered by the insinuation, simply watching you with a fond look in his eyes.

“Kaa-san then,” you agreed a little shyly, earning a beaming smile in return.

“What can I do fer ya tonight darlin’?” she asked, both of you ignoring the way Atsumu was grumbling to his brother about how unfair it was that their mother loved you more than she loved them.

“The twins are having a bit of a contest and we were hoping you’d be a neutral judge,” you told her with an amused grin.

“Really?” she asked partly amused, partly resigned, “Again? Ya would’ve thought at their age they’d stop doin’ silly things like this, but I shoulda known. I really probably shoulda stopped ‘em the very first time they brought me the prettiest rocks they could find and asked which I liked better when they were toddlers. It was too cute at the time though, and I didn’t have the heart ta tell em to knock it off.”

“That is cute,” you told her with a helpless little grin, giving your boyfriend, who was pointedly not looking at you, a fond look trying not to giggle at the slight pink tinge on his cheeks. He at least was doing better than Atsumu who was fire engine red and sputtering indignantly.

“So, what did they do this time?” she prompted, looking all too amused at having managed to embarrass them both, the vicious twinkle in her eyes reminding you yet again where the two of them had gotten their mischievous side from.

“Decorated Christmas cookies,” you told her wryly amused, “I’ve been volunteered to show them to you, so you don’t know whose is whose.”

The two of you exchanged eye rolls at that, both completely done with how seriously the twins took their ridiculous contests. It was a little hilarious honestly while also being simultaneously endearing and annoying.

“Let’s see it then,” she agreed, heaving a put-upon sigh.

You did as asked, holding up the plate with the two cookies. The twins had each chosen the one they thought came out best from their lot, though that wasn’t saying much considering they all looked rather terrible. The look on her face let you know that their mother shared your thoughts on this as she deadpanned at the cookies, which were a complete and utter mess.

“Is yer kitchen still intact?” she asked, her spot-on guess startling you into laughter as the twins both gave indignant shouts, Osamu insisting he would never destroy his own kitchen, and Atsumu indignant at being accused of destroying kitchens in general.

“It was a bit of a mess for a while, but they cleaned it up for me,” you answered easily, completely ignoring the pout sent your way from Atsumu and the betrayal on the face of your boyfriend for outing them to their mom.

“Well there’s that at least,” she conceded with a put-upon sigh, “Did ya save any of the cookies fer yerself darlin’.”

You grinned at her and stood, retrieving your own nicely decorated cookies from where you’d hid them earlier to show them off to her, “I did kaa-san, these ones are for me, and for the holiday party in a couple days.”

“Yer such a good girl,” she praised with a proud smile, “It’s no wonder yer my favorite child.”

“Oy!” both twins protested, clearly indignant, though Osamu looked torn between indignation and pride. Still she completely ignored them with the ease of long practice.

“I think it’s obvious who the winner is dears, hers are much better than either of yers,” their mother proclaimed, her word clearly final, making the twins sulk.

“How did ya know somethin’ went wrong with ours anyway?” Atsumu whined, taking his own cookie from the plate and shoving it into his mouth rather mutinously.

“I’m well aware neither of ya have much in the way of artistic skills,” their mother informed him with a put-upon sigh, “But that was bad even for the two of ya. Besides I’m yer kaa-san, it’s my job ta’ know.”

You giggled at that, well aware that it was the truth. Osamu could make a very pretty plate of food when he wanted to, but only when he was copying someone else. He didn’t seem to have a single original bone in his body when it came to design or aesthetics even if some of the recipes he came up with were absolutely inspired. Atsumu also could pull off beautiful movements, and plays in volleyball that were enough to impress the most seasoned of professionals. However, you’d seen him attempt to color before and the man could barely keep within the lines. There was no doubt the twins were talented, but artistic they were most certainly not.

With the cookie judgment out of the way, the rest of the conversation was nice and casual. The family was actually due to meet up in a few days, and you were looking forward to it. The Miyas had treated you like family from the very first time Osamu had brought you home, welcoming you with open arms, and you never failed to feel included and loved when they had their gatherings.

It didn’t hurt that your boyfriend never failed to keep an arm around you the entire time. The affectionate gesture garnered only approval from his relatives, even as it reassured you of his presence at your side.

By the time you’d finished up your conversation with the twins’ mother it was fairly late, and just as you’d expected the snow was still coming down rather heavily. Atsumu had made one, incredibly half-hearted attempt to leave, and Osamu one even less fervent attempt to push him out the door. Attempts that your fervent insistence he stay in the guest room, one that was basically his anyway, easily overrode.

The three of you chatted for a while longer, but eventually the long day caught up with your boyfriend. Atsumu teased him a bit about going to bed early like an old man, but considering he was yawning just as badly at that point, he didn’t really have a leg to stand on. You’d ushered both of them off to bed, following Osamu into your shared bedroom. The two of you had your night time routine down pat by now, easily working around one another to get ready for bed.

You’d just settled down on the side you’d claimed for yourself when you were gently tugged forward, your boyfriend pulling you into his arms. You went without a fuss, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his chest, breathing in his familiar comforting scent.

“Thanks for today,” you told him, lifting your face so you could look him in the eye. You were more than a bit sleepy after all the activity from the day, but you really wanted to tell him this before you let yourself fall asleep, “For sending Atsumu to cheer me up, for distracting me and making me smile.”

You were well aware that both twins had played up their antics a bit for you today. Yes, they bickered, but it had been a bit over the top even for them. It was only as you’d been talking to their mother that you realized how well they’d distracted you from the glum mood you’d been in, not just earlier that day but for a while now as things had begun to weigh on you. You’d thought you’d hidden it well, but apparently your boyfriend knew you too well for that and had gone out of his way to help cheer you up, even dragging his brother into it.

“I’m the one who should be thankin’ you,” he pointed out gently brushing his fingers over your cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, “Fer puttin’ up with his whiney ass, especially since he destroyed our kitchen twice.”

There was a tenderness in his face and voice that belayed his words as he casually brushed off your thanks, one that let you know he knew just how much it had meant to you, and that he was just pleased it had worked. He’d always said he didn’t need thanks for being there for you, for cheering you up when you were down, or holding you when you needed it, and it seemed he was determined to stand by those words.

“He was sweet,” you protested a bit on his behalf, accepting the gentle redirection with grace and giggling a bit at the skeptical look he gave you for that assertion, “Besides it was partly your fault the kitchen got destroyed a second time.”

“Keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna start ta think ya prefer him over me,” he grumbled at you a slight pout on his lips, one that you were quick to press a smacking kiss to, your over dramatics making him smile.

“You know you’re my favorite Miya twin, ‘Samu,” you told him earnestly, gently brushing his dark hair back from his forehead and meeting his eyes, hoping he could see the honesty in your own, “Always and forever.”

“If ya say it like that sweetheart, then I guess I’ve got no choice but ta believe ya,” he told you, a faint smile tugging his lips upwards, the soft look he reserved just for you on his face, “Cause always and fer ever is just exactly what I’m after with ya.”

“Good,” you told him, nuzzling your nose against his, and smiling into the soft kiss he pressed to your willing mouth, “that’s all I want, for this Christmas and for every Christmas to come.”

“Ya’ve got me sweetheart,” he assured you, his voice warm and filled with promise.

“I love you, ‘Samu,” you murmured to him tiredly, unable to help the yawn that took you over. You were utterly exhausted.

“I love ya too sweetness,” he affirmed fervently, gently tucking you into his chest and settling the two of you comfortably into the bed, “sleep well.”

You hummed in agreement, unaware that as you fell asleep his eyes were locked on the bedside table, quietly contemplating the future and the small precious box he’d hidden in there earlier, where it would be safe from your prying eyes. He’d thought he’d had the perfect moment earlier when you’d asked why he’d called the new Tokyo branch ‘ours’ instead of his, but then ‘Tsumu had interrupted.

That was alright though. He had time. Time to figure out just what he wanted to say, and time to ensure you really truly understood how much you meant to him. You’d said always and forever, and he intended to hold up his end of the bargain, for this Christmas and every Christmas to come.

#miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x y/n #miya osamu x you #osamu #osamu fluff #miya osamu fluff #haikyuu!!#osamu x reader #osamu x you #osamu x y/n #haikyū!!#haikyu fluff #JayeRayWrites

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tsuki-chibi · 3 years

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Ladrien June Day 7 - Squall: Sleeping Beauty

This story is a sequel to my Marinette March, Adrinette April, and Marichat May stories; I highly recommend reading those first.

You can also read this story on AO3: Squall

---

Adrien broke into a run as soon as he was outside the bakery. He didn’t know what Bridgette would do when she came back and found both him and her phone gone, but he didn’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity to find out. Only once he was a few blocks away from the bakery did he stop and duck into an alley, panting for breath.

“Did you seriously just steal her phone?” Trixx asked, bursting out of Adrien’s pocket.

“I – well…” Adrien looked down at the phone in his hands. It was a model he wasn’t familiar with. A wave of guilt and shame flooded through him. Bridgette and Alice had been so nice to him. Much nicer than they had to be.

“And you didn’t even pay for your coffee!” Trixx said, looking unnecessarily delighted by this.

“Wait, what? Oh my god. You’re right.” Adrien facepalmed with a groan, realizing that Trixx was entirely correct. He had paid for his food before eating it, but Bridgette had brought him the coffee. The thought of leaving some money behind to cover the cost of it hadn’t even occurred to him.

And it wasn’t like he could go back now.

Bridgette had surely noticed that her phone was missing. If Adrien went back, she would definitely ask him about it. The odds of someone else having taken the phone were pretty slim; she would naturally blame him for the theft. Even if he did go back and managed to somehow convince her that he hadn’t stolen her phone, he’d need to come up with a plausible explanation for why he’d left when he had without paying in the first place.

“Ugh, I am just a horrible person,” Adrien said, slumping back against the alley wall.

Trixx giggled. “Wow, you’re not at all what I expected. You’re much sweeter than Plagg’s usual kittens.”

“Eh?” Adrien looked at the kwami in surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“A willingness to use the power of destruction usually requires a certain sort of temperament,” Trixx said with a shrug. “You must be made of strong stuff to be so sweet but still be able to wield the Black Cat miraculous.”

Adrien didn’t know what to say to that.

He had never thought to ask Plagg about previous users of the Black Cat miraculous.

Well, maybe that wasn’t quite true.

For some reason, Plagg didn’t like talking about his past. Adrien did his best to respect that. That sometimes meant that his conversations with Plagg were limited to things like cheese and Ladybug, but Adrien didn’t mind that. Plagg was always there when Adrien needed him, and that mattered more to Adrien then anything else possibly could.

“No wonder Plagg likes you so much,” Trixx added, smiling at him. “I’m only teasing, Adrien. Stealing that phone was a necessity. It’s so you can look up the miraculous holders, right?”

Adrien nodded, feeling a bit better that Trixx understood the theft had a purpose, and said, “Exactly. I needed a quick way to get more information about them. Then I can decide how I’m going to try to approach them.” He also wanted to do a little research into the reputation of the miraculous holders. What Bridgette had said wasn’t promising, but he was hoping there was more to it then that.

He unlocked Bridgette’s phone again and found himself staring down at the recipe. It was for some kind of cake, and he realized that she had probably set her phone to not need a password while she was baking. That was lucky for him, at least. He minimized the recipe to her home screen and smiled.

She had set her home screen to have a picture of three Disney princesses: Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, and Ariel. The artwork was very good, and he wondered if maybe she had drawn it. If she had, she was a very good artist. It was tempting to take a quick peek through her pictures to see if there was more artwork, but Adrien refrained. He might be a thief, but he wasn’t a snoop.

He would need to figure out some way to get her phone back to her before he left, he thought. Maybe he could drop it off outside the bakery, or Trixx could phase inside after hours and leave it in the kitchen. He could leave some money too. That might make up a little bit for the inconvenience he had caused poor Bridgette.

“Alright, let’s see what I can find,” Adrien muttered, leaning more heavily against the wall as he opened up the browser – again, one that he had never heard of before.

But at least Google seemed to be the same no matter what universe he was in.

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #trixx #alternate universe #ladrienjune2021 #storm verse #squall

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xsparklingravenx · 3 years

Text

breathtaking

Title: breathtaking

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters: Albedo, Klee

Rating: G

Word Count: 2,275

Summary: The times that Klee and Albedo tell each other to breathe.

AO3

The paintbrush dashed across the canvas, and in turn, something true came to life.

On the grassy plains of Mondstadt’s surrounding areas, a boy stood silent, a palette of colour in one hand, the brush in the other. Gently, he curved those colours across the blank sheet, splashes of blue and green and brown, the boars that roamed the plains recreated in paint and chalk outlines.

These boars were unremarkable, but that in itself was what made them noteworthy. Such a contradiction shouldn’t have made sense, but to the boy, it was perfect enough to immortalise. Hilichurls and Abyss Mages took to these lands like they were their own, but still the boars persisted, living free and unafraid. At any moment, they could be hunted, for sport or for food, and yet the few before him had survived their entire lives out in an unforgiving world.

Now they lived immortal in his image. Caught up in his work, he paid no attention to the passing of time around him, how the sun crossed the sky, how the wind danced across his skin, the Anemo Archon’s quiet blessing. Another brushstroke here and there brought his vision closer to completion. The boars continued to graze. The grass was emerald green, and if he mixed his colours just right, then maybe—

A distant explosion had him pausing. The boy turned his head, a single strand of pale hair falling into his eyes as he searched for the source. Somewhere over the hills, it seemed, far enough from him that he needn’t pay it any mind. Were the Knights of Favonius out exterminating vermin today? He wondered, idly, if Sucrose was with them, though he didn’t identify any sort of Anemo traces in the air from this far away. Another boom in the air, and he cast the thought aside, returning his attention to his art.

Life stilled around him once more. That was it. The boars carried on quietly. The colours melded together. Three boars, quiet, content, living beings, born from the soil and destined to return to it. They breathed, interacted with the elements, survived—

An explosion shook the air, so close that it rattled his canvas. The boy stopped still, a frown on his face, because he was certain he knew that sound. And he knew that intensity.

And he knew that brand of giggling.

He opened his mouth to shout, to cry, wait—but he was a fraction too late. The sight before him erupted into fire and chaos as an explosion roared and took out every single sign of life in front of him. The grass flamed, the boars that had survived their entire lives out on the plain now little more than charred carcasses before him. He stared at the carnage in front of him, the canvas still depicting his quiet moment from moments before, wordless at the sight.

And then, from the smoke and disaster, a tiny figure came sprinting out, arms at her side, eyes wide. She skidded to a stop before the boy, planting her hands on her hips, looking immensely pleased with herself. “Albedo! Did you see Jumpty Dumpty! It went boom!”

Albedo looked beyond her, to where the grass was still burning, smoke rising up into the sky. “Klee…? Why did it have to be here?”

He knew better than to question her intentions, because her intentions were always cause the biggest explosion possible. She beamed at him, and then, spotting his canvas, she bolted up to it. “Oh! Oh! Were you drawing again? It looks really good!”

“I was…up until you decided to blow my subjects up, yes.” Albedo looked between the smoking grass, the charred meat that was cooking in the fire, and his art, which was miraculously unscathed. “How did you…why were you…where’s Jean?”

Klee giggled. “Master Jean is busy today, so she let me go exploring! I wanted to try out some of my treasures, but Kaeya says that ‘explosion inside city wall, grounded be thy woe’, so here I am!”

She admired his painting as he looked down at his colours and wondered if he should add the fires to his painting. It was hardly an interesting specimen to recreate.

“They look really cool, Albedo is so good at making pictures!” Klee sat on the ground in front of it and watched the flames rise. “I didn’t know you’d be here, I just got lucky! I haven’t seen you in a while…you’re always so busy, but now we can hang out, right? Maybe we can play with my treasures?”

Playing with her treasures was a shortcut to a fiery doom, but he couldn’t deny that her words instilled a sense of guilt in him. So caught up in his alchemic studies as of late, all his time had been spent with Timaeus and Sucrose. He’d been hanging up his do not disturb sign constantly, and Klee had been all but left to her own (chaotic) devices. “Sorry, Klee. I didn’t realise you wanted my attention. Seeing as the boars are all…well, halfway to becoming a sticky honey roast, I suppose I can spare some time to play with you. Not that it was exactly how I saw my day going.”

“Oh! Oh! Can we find a cooking pot? Can you make Woodland Dream? I love when you cook, Albedo! It’s just like when you do your alchemy stuff, like, you go poof and then…bam! You make something new!”

Her enthusiasm might have been infectious to someone else, but fortunately, Albedo had been blessed with the ability to remain calm and casual-minded in her presence. “Considering we have plenty of fresh meat right here, Woodland Dream seems like a waste.”

“But if you make that, then I can go and get all the fishes with Jumpty Dumpty! We can play, and then we can eat! And then you can draw. Maybe you can draw me?”

She hopped up as Albedo considered her request. He hardly ever used his skills to paint that which did not pique his interest in the realm of alchemy, but she’d asked so earnestly. Would it be so wasteful to dedicate a couple of hours to produce happiness?

“Albedo?”

He looked down. The fire was beginning to die away now behind Klee, the grass singed and blackened. She adjusted her backpack, and he said, “Yes?”

“You should breathe,” she said, smiling impossibly wide. “Come on, let’s go! We’ve got fishes to get!”

And then she was gone, dashing off across the plains, and he realised that she was right. In his pursuit of life, in his creation of art, he had not taken a single breath in. He closed his eyes and did as she asked, allowing himself the mimicry of human necessity. Nobody noticed, except her, and she didn’t question it.

In the distance, she turned and shouted, “Albedo! I’m gonna leave you behind if you don’t hurry!”

Packing up his art supplies, he chased after her, thoughts of eruptions in the back of his mind. It was going to be a long day, keeping her from wanton destruction, but at least she’d be happy—and he couldn’t deny that a day spent with her wouldn’t brighten his spirits regardless.

***

The outskirts of Dragonspine mountain were bitterly cold, the water close to freezing entirely, and yet the moment Klee went beneath the surface, Albedo didn’t hesitate to dive beneath.

It wasn’t supposed to be serious. He’d asked the traveller and her floating companion for assistance in collecting Starsilver for an alchemical recipe, and yet Lumine had shown up on the mountain side with Klee in tow, claiming that she’d been with her when he’d sent word to Mondstadt that he wished for her help, and that she refused to stay behind.

“It’ll be fine!” Paimon had declared in Lumine’s lieu. “Paimon thinks that even if things go bang, at least it’ll be nice and warm!”

“And we can always cook you over one of her open flames if things start looking dire,” Lumine added, looking a little smug.

Klee had been giggling then, but that had been before they’d run into the Lawachurl, before the lumbering beast had picked her up in its great hands and thrown her through the air. Her scream still rang out in his ears. Life born from soil was so fragile, and that was what he’d thought when he’d watched, helpless, as she hit the water and sank beneath it.

He had not thought through his plan, he’d just acted, tossing aside his sword and abandoning the traveller to the battle. The cold had not been a factor in his mind. The fight was forgotten. Miss Alice’s words echoed in his skull, treat her like a real younger sister!

Elder brothers protected their siblings. The traveller had told him stories of her own brother, how she would do anything to find him. She’d also mentioned the Fatui Harbinger who would do anything for the sake of his baby brother, and he knew of Diluc’s loyalty to his own non-blood sibling, how the rift between him and Kaeya had not prevented him from coming to his aid before. Albedo was not related to Klee, but she was his sister nonetheless, and that meant he had to save her.

The water was akin to ice, but his body withstood it, powered by something more than adrenaline. His eyes stung, but there she was, floating lifelessly, a small body so still, and something surged in his chest, emotion that he did not often feel, emotion that overtook his thoughts, his logic.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest, and oh, she was still a child, still so tiny, with so much power but as fragile as every other being. He thought of the boars she’d taken the lives of that day before his canvas, how she’d ended their existence with the childish joy of an exploded bomb, and he thought of the Lawachurl and its base desire to attack. They were not the same, yet they were; life was inexplicably difficult to understand.

He broke the surface, not choking or hacking, but that was normal for him. Klee did not move. There were no coughs, no groans, no cracking open of her eyes. She was limp in his arms, drenched through and frozen in his arms.

“Klee!” Albedo shouted, the roar of the Lawachurl’s fierce battle with Lumine nearly sweeping away his voice. He kicked his legs to keep them afloat, but he was losing his strength fast, the cold sweeping it away. “Wake up!”

Still, she didn’t move. She hung there in his grasp, and it was then that he realised that she wasn’t breathing. Fear gripped his heart as he dragged her through the water to the snowy bank. He had to hope that Lumine could hold it off without him. He had to hope that there was still enough of Klee left in her body for him to save.

Pushing back his shivers, he laid her on the snow and tipped her head back. Acting on instinct more than thought, he pressed the heel of his hand to her chest, one hand instead of two, not wanting to hurt her with his actions, but wanting to keep her with him through any means necessary.

Usually, he brought things to life through the act of creation, through alchemy, through his paintbrush and his clever mind. This was different. Klee was already living, he just had to keep her that way, and in his experience, keeping something alive was almost always more difficult than giving it a pulse. Practicality and alchemic practices went hand-in-hand, and yet here he was, doubting himself.

He pressed down. One compression. Two. Three. Keeping track of the time between them as Lumine shouted behind him, as the Anemo Archon’s winds whipped across his skin, as the unforgiving bitterness of Dragonspine bit deep into his bones of chalk. Albedo thought of blooming flowers, of exploding bombs, and he thought of Miss Alice and his own chest splintered beneath the pressure.

“Breathe, Klee!” he cried. “Breathe!”

And she did. She choked. Water expelled itself from her lungs as Albedo sat back to give her space. He heard the thump of the Lawachurl hitting the ground behind him, and, trusting Lumine to finish it off, he gave Klee all his attention.

As her breathing calmed, he asked, “Are you okay? Klee, speak to me.”

“Too much water…” she whispered, reaching out her arms to him. “I was scared…”

He knelt in front of her and answered her request silently, pulling her close to his chest as she buried her head into his. Alive. She was still frozen but she was alive.

“Your catalyst,” he said. “Your Vision. Use it.”

Between them, Pyro erupted, warmth in a different sense than her usual explosions. It swept through him and her both, and into his chest, she said, “You rescued me, Albedo…”

“Of course I did.”

And as she wrapped her tiny arms back around him, she said, “Breathe too, please?”

He closed his eyes and did. In and out in time with her, soil and chalk. The oxygen did nothing for him, but it did everything for her, so he followed her lead, this girl full of energy and life, his family until the end.

“Woodland Dream when we get back,” he said. “I promise.”

She held onto him tight, and he listened to her breaths, the cold forgotten, the fear draining away.

He could breathe for her as much as she needed him to.

#Genshin Impact #Klee #Albedo #My Writing

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chibienvychan03 · 3 years

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A MC Surprise

Since you’ve been taking care of his plants while he’s away on missions, he’s given you a key to his place. Not even Minor or Eli have that privilege. He trusts you to be in his sanctuary. Trusts you to not be too curious and go through his stuff unlike a certain person who shall be nameless but somehow they’re still friends… No, it’s not Eli.

Thanks to having a friendship with Eli, you have an ally willing to help you within reason. He has informed you they’ve been working on a case, and that is why Gavin hasn’t been at his home or contacting you lately. It’s an urgent and confidential mission so you understand when Eli can’t give you the specifics of it though he tells you the hardest and most dangerous part has been finished. They’re wrapping things up.

Since Gavin has been working hard, you decide to put your culinary lessons to good use and make him a home made meal… using his own kitchen. Considering the last time you visited, you stop by the grocery store before you head over to his place. You thank whatever deity there’s a market close to his place as you don’t think you can carry it the entire way there, and you want to keep this a surprise. Eli will warn you when he can’t stop Gavin from heading back to his place.

Seeing as he trusts you, you ensure you don’t lose the keys by having it hang on a necklace around your neck. You use it to unlock the door. Inside two birds greet you from their respective cages. After you close and lock the door, you head over to their cages to pet each of them. Pearly coos at you while Zappy, being the little imp they are, insists on being scritches. You decide to humor them and give them a few scritches, however, Pearly is feeling left out so you give him some too.

Once you decide they’ve had enough, you head into the kitchen and start emptying your bags. You sort them according to the dishes. Anything that needs to be kept chilled is placed in the fridge until you’re ready to use them. However, something catches your attention.

“Zappy!” You sigh as they’re poking their head into the bag, being very curious. “How did you get out of your cage?” Is Pearly still in his cage? You take a risk and check. At least you only have to worry about one escaped bird.

“Let’s get you back.”

Zappy gives you those incredibly cute birdy eyes which melts your heart. “Fine. You can stay, but you better be on good behavior.”

It seems Zappy understands you, making you wonder how much they understand. That’s for another time when you have time. Better start cooking before he comes home. You want him to come home to a fully cooked home-made dinner.

With everything organized, you start preparing the vegetable starting with carrots. You move onto the next vegetable. As you’re chopping it, you notice Zappy entertaining themselves by playing with the carrot peels. “You silly bird.” When you pick up a new vegetable, they become interested in it and then goes back to playing with the peels when their curiosity has been satisfied.

Soup, curry, duck, rice, and a dessert. While you’re standing behind the stove stirring the soup, Zappy uses your shoulder as a perch to get a better view. They snuggle against your neck to which you pet them. At least they aren’t making a mess and just want to watch what you’re doing.

Time flies by. Soon Zappy is chirping up a storm. You wonder what has their feathers ruffled before remembering Eli promised to text you when Gavin leaves work. You race over to your phone, which is charging. There are over half a dozen texts. It hits you. You have left it on vibrate as earlier you’ve been on scene doing a shoot.

With Zappy being this chirpy, it must mean Gavin has arrived. You peek out the window to find him parking Sparky. Hurrying over to your cooking, you attempt to finish it and hopefully you can get it on the table before he opens the door. In your haste, you don’t notice Zappy jumping off your shoulder to assist you by somehow dragging out the necessary silverware and plates.

After triple checking to make sure they’re done, you’re ready to set the table. That is when you noticed the table already set. You glance over to Zappy who appears to have that smug look… if birds can have one. “I’ll give your reward later on.” They don’t give you any trouble when you put them back into their cage.

Soon enough, you hear the key being inserted and the lock being unlocked. You race back into the kitchen to pretend you’re not there, however, the smell of dinner is a dead giveaway. Not to mention, you’re wearing the ginkgo bracelet.

“Something smells good,” Gavin comments as he enters. He’s wearing a huge smile, knowing you’re already there and have prepared him a dinner that he never saw coming. “What’s the occasion?”

You leave his kitchen. “It’s your reward for all your hard work.”

Gavin hangs up his coat before embracing you. “Thank you. But I don’t want to trouble you.”

“How many times must I tell you, you’re no trouble at all, and I wanted to do this,” you mumble against his broad, muscular chest. “You give so selflessly. Why can’t I give you something in return?” You puff your cheeks and pout.

Gavin chuckles. “You can, and I appreciate everything you do.”

“Now go wash up.” You shoo him away so you can finish by doing the final touches.

Humoring you, Gavin heads to his bedroom to get some casual clothes. A couple minutes later, a shower can be heard.

You squash any naughty thoughts especially ones where water runs down those muscles. Oh great. Better busy yourself before your mind heads in that direction. You place your creations on the table, making sure to give yourself the less spicy curry. When you’re cooking, you make two, one for yourself and one for him. You don’t know how he can withstand such spicy food.

“Maybe it’s because he’s hot.”

“Who’s hot?”

Gavin’s sudden appearance startles you almost causing you to drop the soup. He manages to catch both you and the soup you’ve worked hard to cook. “Sorry.”

As soon as you calm yourself, you give him a playful slap on his upper arm. “Are you part ninja? I didn’t hear you coming.”

“Um… no, I can make more noise if you like.” You assure him you’re fine either way. Then Gavin goes back to his original question. “Who is hot?” The way he says it sounds like he wants to give a beating to whoever you think is hot.

You decide to tease him a little for nearly giving you a heart attack. “Someone we both know. He’s kind and gentle. Helps me and everyone else. Often neglecting himself.”

Gavin’s frown becomes more and more prominent as you gush over this person who he doesn’t know as himself. “…. As long as he treats you well.”

“Yes, he treats me well, and I hope one day he will have the courage to ask me on a date.” You bat your eyes at him.

“If he doesn’t, then he doesn’t know what’s he’s missing out. You’re a good catch.” Gavin pauses. “I’ll beat him up if makes you cry.”

You press yourself against him. “Does that mean you’ll beat yourself up?”

“Yes, I will…” It dawns on him who you’re referring to. “Ahem, would you… Um… Can I? Crap, this sounds a lot better in my head.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’d love to go on a date with you.” You answer his unasked question.

The brightest smile graces his face as he lovingly looks at you. “Thank you.” It seems he can stare at you for a long time without being bored.

Your stomach has other things in mind. You blush. “Before dinner gets cold.”

“Of course, can’t let your efforts go to waste. I bet it tastes great,” Gavin comments you on your cooking before he even has a bite.

Typical of him. You usher him to his usual seat. “Let me know if it’s not spicy enough.”

“You didn’t try it?”

You give him that look. “You know I can’t handle spicy.”

Gavin blushes big time as he recalls your lack of tolerance for spicy. He’s about to tell you to not to make it spicy for him when you cut him off.

Pointing the serving spoon at him, you prepare to give him a piece of your mind. “You’ve always made sure I enjoy my meals. Why can’t I do the same for you?”

“Ahem… okay.” Gavin holds up his hands in surrender. He wants to make you happy, but if making him happy makes you happy, then so be it. “Let’s dig in.”

“Right.”

The two of you enjoy the meal you’ve painstakingly cooked. Thanks to your friend, your knife skills have improved to the point of you not cutting yourself at all. You talk about what you’ve been up to lately, the latest movies, songs, and whatever crosses either of your minds.

Then you bring out desserts. “I hope you’ve made space for this.” You made sure to make it not too sweet.

“Of course.” Gavin thoroughly enjoys the piece you’ve given him. “It’s the best fruit tart I’ve tasted.”

Your blush will make a tomato green with envy. “I just followed the recipe. Nothing special about it.”

“It’s special because you made it,” Gavin says in between bites.

“Just finish your dessert.” Could you get any redder? You have a feeling the answer is yes, and Gavin isn’t even trying. He’s being his honest and genuine self.

“As you wish.” Gavin finishes his dessert according to your wishes. When you eat yours, he picks up the used plates. Before you can object, he refuses to let you do any of the washing. “Since you cooked dinner, I’ll wash the dishes. You can play with the birds.”

Okay. It’s been awhile since you’ve really played with them. You head over to where their cages are only to find Zappy has escaped his cage again… “You little escape artist.” You open Pearly’s cage, allowing him to fly out and onto your shoulder. Soon Zappy is on your other shoulder. The two snuggle against you, chirping in content. You sit down before you give them scritches. They love the attention you’re showering on them.

Minutes later, Gavin joins you and the birds. Did he just take a picture of you? You stare at his cell phone which is in his hands. “This picture is for my eyes only… and yours.”

Phew. You hope you look good in it given his photography skills. “Do you know you have a little escape artist here?”

“Zappy broke out again? I swore I put a better lock on his cage.” Gavin turns his attention to the cage. You both look at this bird, wondering how they escape no matter what Gavin tries.

“Apparently you need to do better,” you chuckle as you pat the empty space next to you on the sofa.

He complies with your wishes and sits next to you. However, neither birds budge from their perches on your shoulder. Gavin isn’t annoyed as he knows the birds love you too, just not that way. He doesn’t blame them. After all, you’re kind and generous. It helps you sometimes spoil the two whenever you’re there or take care of them.

“Indeed. You want to watch a movie?”

You shake your head. “It’s been a long time since we’ve chatted. I want to catch up.”

“Didn’t we do that over dinner?” Gavin appears to be confused. When you puff up your cheeks, he realizes his mistake and profusely apologizes.

“I want to get to know you better,” you say as you lean on him, being mindful of Zappy who’s on your right shoulder.

“What would you like to know?”

You giggle. “Part of the fun is finding out without asking directly.” He gives you that confused look. “Find out through conversation. Let it happen naturally.”

“Oh okay. It’s about the journey, not the destination.” Gavin is now on board. You’re on the same page. “So what shall we start with?”

You start off with a random subject.

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc bai qi #mlqc mc #zappy #pokemon #zapdos #mlqc pearly

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fiction-in-my-blood · 3 years

Text

Holiday Spirit (ObeyMe! Fic)

I’m feeling in a christmasy mood for the first time in, well, years, and feel like we all need a bit of chaotic joy at the moment ^.^ (I may have had a few, maybe more than a few, whiskey and cokes so this may not be as good as I think it is haha (￣▽￣)" )

Warnings: None, this is just some brother fluff/existence fic.

~~~~~~

It was hard to tell the changing in seasons in Devildom, mainly because there were no seasons, but the flakes of ash that fell from the sky every now and again gave MC an idea of what time of year it was. In recent years, it hadn’t even snowed where they lived on Earth, so this was the next best thing. But, even as that specific spirit blossomed within them, no one in Devildom seemed to take notice of the calendar, even if it wasn’t the same as MC was used to.

Luckily, however, MC still had their music thanks to their trusty DDD. Whether they were getting ready for school, doing their chores in the kitchen, or wondering the streets with one of the demon brothers, cheerful- and some a little depressing- tunes were playing through headphones or speakers. The brothers didn’t take much notice of it, their human was already a little... weird, but they were their human and they didn’t actually know how regular humans acted. Solomon wasn’t much of an example, he was as devilish as any of them at some points.

But, it was when MC started putting up strange ropes of sparkling rags and paper chains in the hallways did they started to really wonder if everything was okay. It was too late before they realised all the white and red trinkets that started to litter surfaces in the living room and dining hall.

“Hey, MC, whatcha up to?” Mammon approached accusingly, frowning his brows at his human, stood on the tallest ladder the House of Lamentation’s attic had. Slightly spooked by the sudden announcement, seeing as their ears had been plugged by headphones once again, MC almost toppled right off. Well, by almost, I mean they did. Fortunately, Beel had been observing the affair from a different angle.

“Oh! Thanks, Beel! I didn’t want to be in a cast for Christmas!”

The second that word, or, more precisely, the first half of that word, was uttered, the surrounding demons froze up, sending MC tumbling to the floor as even Beelzebub jumped. Groaning, rubbing their bruised butt and looking up at the duo of curious demons, MC couldn’t understand why they would react in such away. It didn’t take long for Mammon to provide them with an answer.

“MC! Are you stupid? You can’t say that word here! Diavolo will hear you!!” Mammon, almost three metres from where he had last been seen, yelled loud enough for any other avatars to come investigating.

“What’s going on here?” Asmodeus wiggled his brows at MC, now on their knees in an attempt to stand back up, and Beel hurrying to help them back up after dropping them.

“They said the word!” Mammon whispered, pointing an accusing finger as MC quietly thanked the mass of muscle and kindness.

“What word?” Asmo pulled a confused, and slightly exhausted, expression as he followed Mammon’s gesture.

“I just said Christmas and they both f-.” MC couldn’t even finish their sentence before Asmo was clapping his hand over their face.

“Love, I wouldn’t say that! Diavolo wouldn’t exactly take kindly to it.” Asmo, shockingly, looked stressed by the phrase as he ensured MC ould keep their mouth shut before he let them go.

“I don’t see how Chri-.”

“Oh I’d love to see how this turns out.” A new voice spoke up from behind the quartet, everyone turning to see Satan with a mirthful smirk on his face, hand on his hip as his one shulder held up his jacket. He had one book in hand, surely something about the latest potion MC had told him about. This one was from Earth, nothing magical to it but the taste. It was eggnog, and Satan was sure he had heard the term before from many years ago, sure he could make the best concoction MC had ever tasted. He was holding a recipe book.

“Satan, would you please explain to them was Chris-.” And with that, MC finally understood why they were prohibited from saying that one word.

“OoOOhhhhHHhh, you think I’m saying Christ.” Everyone, excluding MC and Satan, went into a frenzy at their true pronunciation of the name. It didn’t calm down until a booming voice instructed everyone to stop.

Turning around, the five in the hallway turned to see two very tall, and one a little shorter, statues of men. Lucifer, Diavolo, and Barbatos at his side.

“What is the meaning of this racket?” Lucifer sneered, trying his best to kee his composure in front of the prince. Mammon was visibly sweating, Beelzebub so very hungry from the sudden franticness of the situation, and Asmo trying his very best not to seem affected by the word. He didn’t like losing his cool, but this was a situation he did not expect to find himself in. MC, their MC, saying that name- in their house?! He never imagined it.

“Ah, MC, I see you standing putting up your decorations! Doesn’t the place look cheery.” Diavolo smiled up at the piece of tinsel hanging from the rafters, one end swinging back and forth, waiting to be taped up. “Barbatos, you should help them. We can’t have MC falling and hurting themself.”

“Wait! You let this happen?!” Mammon awed at the nerve of the prince, looking up at what must be some sort of religious hanging. He didn’t really remember what humans did for God, but he was sure this must be new.

“Why not? MC explained to me the holiday doesn’t mean the same thing for all humans, some don’t even associate it with Christ, so what’s the harm?” Although his tone faltered on the certain word, Diavolo seemed as happy as ever to accomodate the human’s traditions. It may have been because Christmas was usually celebrated for Christ’s death, but lets just let that slide for now...

With that, MC had a lot of explaining to do. At first, they used the time to rope the brothers into helping them put up the decorations. With a lot more hands, and on Beelzebub’s shoulders, the halls of the dorm were decked much quicker than they would have if MC had tried on their own.

“So... You use Chr-... Ma-... The holiday to connect with your friends and family?” Mammon, not being able to say any part of the word without a shiver running up his back, trully tried to understand the meaning behind Christmas.

“That’s what it used to be about. Although, in recent years it mainly been about being with my friends. I don’t have a lot of family to celebrate with nowadays. But, for others, its mainly about presents and food. Oh, and not to mention the songs.” Not wanting to dampen the mood with their everyday life, MC started to list off all the joys of Christmas they remembered. Their mouth started to water at the memories of roast dinners and yorkshire puddings. The familiar popping of Christmas crackers echoed somewhere in the background of chattering as the brothers discussed their favourite parts of what the holiday sounds like. MC laughed remembering the static those flimsy paper hats would cause with your hair, making it stand up like a crazed scientist.

“Oh, and snow’s the best part. My friends and I used to go to a hill near our home and sledge down it. I almost broke my arm once when I crashed into a tree!” Nothing could help the cute giggle that left MC’s mouth as they remembered those fond times.

“Yeah yeah, enough about the cold, tell me more about these presents.” Mammon pushed through, cutting off one of the brothers, he didn’t take note who, who was about to ask for more stories of MC’s past. This didn’t put him in a very good light in any of the men’s eyes. MC merely laughed, a lighthearted affair that quickly turned everyone’s attention back to them.

“When you’re a kid, you usually make a list to send to Santa, but he’ll only give you want if you’re good. If not, you get coal. Or Krampus.” It was MC who shivered at the name this time, nightmare horro stories their mother used to tell them as a kid imprinting a fear in them that would last a life time.

“Kr-Krampus?” Levi, who had joined the group as they passed his room mid decorating, stuttered out in anticipation. He knew about christmas was anime, but nothing about a scary version of Santa.

“Legend has it, he kidnaps or punished naughty children by stuffing them in his sack, taking them to his lair, and eating them. Sure got me to behave when I was a kid.” MC laughed, although the nightmares they had were as real as the demons in front of them were.

“Anyway, come on, I’ll show you guys how to make Christmas cake!” MC jumped, wanting everyone to learn the joys of Christmas they had waited so many years to enjoy again.

“Now?? But you said its two months away??” Satan awed at the odd timing, looking down at thenotes he had jotted down in his recipe book. Not that he let anyone else see them.

“You have to let the brandy ferment to get the best taste! Come on, I’m gonna need the help!” And with that, the student council, with a sleeping Belphegor slung over Beelzebub’s shoulder, headed to the kitchen.

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ooops-i-arted · 4 years

Text

More Miscellaneous 101 Yoditos AU Things

Given he is responsible for soothing up to 101 children to sleep, Din has absolutely cheated by filling his glove with sand and setting it on them, laying them by his helmet when he’s not wearing it, or taking off his breastplate and setting them on it. It worked a grand total of once for most of the kids. (OG did not put up with that shit at all and definitely stalked over to Dad with a little pouty face and held up his arms to clearly indicate that he expected to be rocked to sleep IN PERSON, thank you.) Now it only works on the 10 youngest babies, but only if they’re really sleepy, so that they fall asleep before they bother reaching out with the Force to sense HEY, THAT’S NOT DAD.

The kids can track him using the Force. Din is their favorite, so of course they are very attuned to his presence in the Force. Din figured this out after several times where he was 100% certain everyone was occupied before he slipped away to take a shower and had barely turned the water on before the kids were trying to beat the door down.

It does end up being a benefit eventually though. Once the kids start self-managing their initial (and understandably significant) separation issues from the first person to actually care about them, the fact that they always know where Dad is, even if they can’t see him, is very reassuring and gives them more confidence that Dad leaving doesn’t mean he’s leaving forever.

Din swears they are using the Force to know exactly how far to push limits before he is about to lose his cool, because somehow they always know when to stop being little shits and instead hug his boot while looking up adorably and saying “Buir, I love you.”

Din and Cara like to spar with each other both to stay sharp and relieve stress, but have to be careful about when they do it. The first time the kids from the lab found them they were very upset to see their aunt and dad beating the crap out of each other, and Din had to calm them all down and explain play-fighting. (Cara was just glad she didn’t get choked. She could handle angry glares, and tell anyone raising their hands and squeezing they better not, and stop anyone who decided to copy her and start beating on their brother, or worse try and join in with her and Din, but one of them sobbing and running up to her and begging her not to hurt his papa was hard.)

One of those days where everything just went wrong and Din was running really late and the kids were hungry and he broke down and just stopped at a space McDonalds. Din had to admit just getting approximately 1,000 chicken nuggets was a very easy solution to feeding 101 children (once he convinced the server this wasn’t a prank and he really needed that many). Dragging them all out of the playplace was absolute hell.

Otherwise Din absolutely will not shut up about is the food healthy, what if there are space pesticides in it, this ration bar composition doesn’t have enough protein, etc. IG-11 is the only one who puts up with this. Even Kuiil is eventually like, I think they’re fine and you’re feeding them well and you can stop. I have spoken.

Kuiil is the one Din seeks out when he’s feeling really unsure about any Parenting Things. Kuiil will listen to him natter as long as he needs to, then say one simple wise sentence that either validates or corrects Din followed by “I have spoken.”

Din doesn’t want to get along with IG-11 but IG is the only one who will put up with anything with endless, eternal patience, whether it’s Din going on and on about healthy food or the kids telling a meandering story. Din also greatly appreciates how good IG-11 is at tracking all the kids down when they don’t want to do bedtime/bathtime/etc. (Also, there has yet to be a diaper blowout that IG-11 can’t handle, because he can turn off his scent receptors at will.)

Din knows about traditional Mandalorian recipes, although he’s only actually cooked them a handful of times. He figures out a tiingilar recipe the kids can eat, as well as a meat-based version of uj’alayi. The kids love it.

The knowledge that he can cook gets around and Din is roped into the Sorgan PTA’s bake sale, because he has a ship and can drive them around. There is much sighing, but he does agree.

The second most awkward ship ride of Din’s life is carting around a bunch of PTA moms to the bake sale. (They try to make small talk. Din does not.) The first most awkward ship ride of his life is taking them back to the village, with the local Karen fuming behind him because everyone liked his uj’alayi cake better than her shitty-ass brownies.

After this there is a string of Sorgan PTA moms who come over and are very interested in whether Din is alone right now and whether he would like to come over to their conveniently empty houses sometime. Din, being Too Ace For This Shit, lets the kids drive them off. (Cara finally gets him to admit that her buying them Space Nerf Guns was a good idea.)

(I just fucking lose it every time I think of the big bad stoic introverted bounty hunter having to deal with Stereotypical Suburban Situations.)

OG Yodito develops a dramatic streak due to his insecurity over keeping a hold of his dad’s attention. He stubs his toe and he’s wailing and limping over like he’s broken his leg. Fortunately a few minutes of Dad Time usually solve the issue. Din absolutely knows he’s faking, but lets it slide because he knows how important special attention is to his eldest bean.

Anytime Din actually has to put his foot down and discipline OG Yodito, OG tends to dramatically sob and wail and run to the nearest flat surface and throw himself down and cry. Din feels so torn - he knows discipline is important and necessary, but it breaks his heart to see his little one so wounded by it, but also the tantrum is so overdramatic it’s straight-up hilarious. (It never lasts long anyway. The first few times it worked and made Din apologize and hold OG, but once Din stopped falling for it, it just became a token protest against the absolute horror of having his behavior corrected.)

Cara complains endlessly about having to spend sooooo much time on the kids, she doesn’t do the baby thing, etc. Almost as much time as she spends starting water gun fights, teaching them songs and chants her shocktrooper group used to use (because watching Din try to cover 101 kids’ ears at the same time while yelling at her is really funny), and all sorts of other cool stuff that Din would not let them do but if she does it just sighs.

They’re kids, so they don’t have a lot of discretion, but there is one thing the 101 have a silent pact on. Once Din took off his helmet and revealed his ridiculously small and out-of-proportion ears, oversized nose, the weird fuzzy hairs all over his face, his strange tiny eyes, and the fact that he wasn’t even green, the 101 all collectively decided that he is their dad and they love him anyway and will never, ever tell him that he is ugly as sin and just as weird-looking as all the other humans. He’s still the best dad ever....but now they know why he wears a helmet.

Ika’ika, the tiniest and last clone, was underdeveloped and weak while stuck in a plain box cradle at the lab, but completely blooms under Din’s care. Before you know it he’s crawling....and what do you know, the tiniest Yodito is also the best escape artist and the best hider. (Din frequently has to employ the older ones to track him down.) He also likes napping in any random thing he can find - Din’s helmet, a caf mug, any nook and cranny on the ship. Din found him sleeping in a speeder engine once and kept Ika’ika in a carrier on him for the next week.... until Ika’ika finally managed to escape that too.

The carrier is supposed to be mainly for the little ones who can’t walk well enough to really keep up with their older siblings or at all, but in practice everyone demands Carrier Rides while rubbing in their siblings’ faces that it’s THEIR turn to be carried by Dad.

Din: I need more arms Cara: Don’t you have a full blaster cabinet? Din: No not those arms the kids all want to be held and I only have two arms and 101 kids

#this au is 1% plot and 89% you know what would be funny/cute/interesting #and 10% The Reality of Childcare for 101 Children in Space #101 yoditos au #the mandalorian

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 79

This was another chapter that was soooo fun to write. Don’t worry, I’m not getting off the plot, swear. So, thank you @charlylimph-blog for helping me flesh these pranks out. Also, thanks to @satan-parisienne and @baelpenrose for beta-reading.

Disclaimer: Food mentions below the cut. I also want to clarify that I do not hate brussels sprouts. I did, for several decades, though, and added that to one character in this chapter.

Given my track record with handling ship-wide issues in a personal capacity, I made a point to set up an actual appointment with both Grey and Xiomara to discuss our concerns. Unfortunately, that meant it would be a few days before we all had time in our schedule. All I could do in the meantime was try to do my actual job and pay more attention to odd behaviors of people around me.

I would like to submit for the record that I wasn’t succeeding with focusing on work terribly well. And I wasn’t the only one.

“Seventeen,” Alistair greeted me as he arrived. For what could only be dramatic emphasis, he removed a scarf and flung it over the back of the chair across from me.

“Ark’s temperature controlled,” I pointed out, staring at the scarf. It actually looked soft.

“Seventeen different individuals,” he continued, ignoring my comment. “In a sum total of six groups, between three and eight people per group. Several were in more than one group.”

Wow. Go, Detective Worthington. “This was just on your way from your quarters to my office?”

“From the cantina on deck fourteen, actually.” He stalked over to the food console, returning with a plate of food and two beverages.

“So, one, that’s an even shorter walk than the one from your quarters.”

He nodded around a forkful of pasta before swallowing. “Which makes it even more concerning.”

“True.” Taking the tea he offered me, I gestured at his penne. Part of me was pleased to see it was one of my recipes from Before that I added to my profile once I learned how. “I thought you just ate?”

“I attempted to, certainly. However, there have been several issues with the consoles in the cantinas. I was given to believe they were resolved, but somehow I still ended up with brussels sprouts instead of capers.” He glared at me archly. “You are well aware of how I feel about those atrocities.”

“Even if you did like them, I can’t imagine substituting capers for brussels sprouts and still coming even remotely close to whatever you asked for.”

Already, he was standing to dispose of his empty dish. “I was sure that your console would be safe, but I selected a dish without capers, either way.”

“That’s fair.” Although I was mildly confused why he thought the console in my office would be ‘safe’ from the malfunction he just mentioned, but I also had no idea about the consoles in the cafeterias acting up, so he may have a point.

I was about to ask for details regarding the people he had seen. I really was. However, I was preempted by the actual trumpet from the Book of Revelation started screaming from the speaker in the ceiling of my office.

“BAYYYYY-BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE shark, do do do do do do!”

I screamed and jumped hard enough to fall out of my chair, while Alistair had flattened himself against the wall in an effort to escape the cacophony. Covering my ears, I begged Miys to disable the speaker. I was reasonably certain I was yelling it, but either way the noise cut off abruptly and I was able to get up off the floor.

“What the bloody hell - bloody hell!” Alistair jumped abruptly at the figure that was now standing in my office. I wasn’t surprised, either, when I looked.

Standing right by my now-closed door was a shorter-statured figure, wobbling on its feet. I couldn’t even really see the face, because my eyes would not look away from the top of their head. Specifically the earmuffs perched on there.

Five. Pairs. Of. Them. One pair was standard noise cancelling, but two were fuzzy - one neon green, another sparkly purple - and the other two, while not fuzzy, did have patterns in similarly bright colors: one set pink and green plaid, one fluorescent yellow and blue stripes. Yet another pair was dangling around the figure’s neck, along with what appeared to be two pairs of earplugs. I was getting the idea that the blaring music was something they were familiar with, against their will.

While puzzling at the noise-blocking hardware, I finally noticed the words across the figure’s hoodie. It very clearly said ‘Fuck this shit’, framed by delicate vines and flowers. “Charly?” I asked, completely confused, before realizing she likely couldn’t hear me. I gestured for her to remove the headphones, and once she did, I tried again. “Charly. What is going on?”

“I have not had a hot bath in two weeks. Every time I walk through a door, the room plays that awful song until I leave the room, and cold spaghetti squash should be illegal! Very, VERY illegal!” As she spoke, her voice choked up more and more, and by the time she finished she was crying in my office. Again. “I can barely eat, I can only sleep if I’m exhausted and practically pass out…” She trailed off.

I got her seated and rubbed her arms. Turning to Alistair, I spoke softly. “Can you please bring some of the stew from screen six in my file? And probably water for now.” To Charly, I reassured her. “It’s your beef stew recipe, the one you gave me. For whatever reason, my console here and the one at home never glitched out when the ones in the cafeterias did.”

She sniffed and nodded. My assistant quickly returned, gently setting down the stew and warm bread, along with some butter. He narrowed his eyes at me, sharply. “I took the liberty of also getting some butter for the bread, because clearly some of us are heathens who serve warm bread without butter.”

“Some of us like to spread cheese sometimes,” I defended myself. “Okay, hon. First, I need you to drink at least half of that water so you don’t dehydrate from crying.” A very tiny white lie. The real reason was an old trick I learned back Before - humans aren’t wired to be able to cry and swallow at the same time, so we stop crying if we are drinking something.

Once that kicked in, I let her dig into the stew. Keeping a careful eye to make sure she didn’t accidentally inhale anything in the literal sense while demonstrating the figurative sense, I tried to figure things out. “First and foremost, has anything else happened, anything that could have caused you injury?”

“Juss annoyig,” she told me around a bite of bread. Swallowing, she clarified. “Anytime I try to bathe, I only get cold showers. No hot water, even the sonic function gives me cold water. I’ve had to resort to letting a bucket of water sit out long enough to be room temp. Anytime I try to get any sort of food or drink other than water, all I get is cold, icky spaghetti squash. You saw what happens when I walk into a room.” She gestured at the speaker on the ceiling. “I’m not even sure how you stopped that.”

“I had Noah disable the speaker entirely,” I admitted. “So, all mid-range psychological torture? All irritants, nothing actually dangerous in and of itself?”

“Except the fact that I’m so jumpy I can’t sleep, I guess. This is the first thing I’ve eaten in two weeks that wasn’t something Coffey had to go get from a canteen, bring it back, and give it to me. And even that only works if it isn’t something I actually like.”

“But there are over a dozen full-time food vendors?” I was so confused.

She rolled her eyes. “You know I don’t trust other people’s cooking. Yours, yes. Tyche’s, yes. Mine, of course. But that’s it.”

“Miss Harper,” Alistair interrupted, gentle but horrified. “You said it’s been two weeks….”

She waved the concern away. “Two weeks of eating food I don’t like but don’t gag on is way better than cold, yucky spaghetti squash or food that may have… crawly things in it. You do know that some people cook with…. those things, right?” She eyed him suspiciously.

“Objection withdrawn,” he sighed. “However, I do believe that part of what you are experiencing may be part of the wider issues we’ve been having with the food consoles. All of the public ones have been malfunctioning recently, and every time they are reset, it happens again. I nearly ate brussels sprouts today, for heaven’s sake!”

“Okay, seriously Alistair? They aren’t that bad. Stop being dramatic,” I scolded. When I turned back to Charly, she was staring at her lap, very focused on the hem of her sweatshirt. Fear spiked through me like ice. “Charly? What is it? Did something else happen?”

“The consoles might be acting up because of what’s happening with me,” she admitted quietly. “Not the other way around.”

Huh? “What do you mean? You think the same person who is doing this to you is going to target everyone?” I could feel my panic levels rising. Suspicious people, maybe a cult, were increasing in numbers throughout the ship. Maybe they were sending a message? It was pretty well known that Charly was close with Tyche and myself -

“IthinkthisishappeningbecauseofaprankIpulledandsomeonegotmad.” Once she finished blurting out her statement, she screwed her eyes closed and seemed to be waiting for something bad to happen. When nothing happened - I don’t think Alistair even understood what she said, and I know I didn’t - she cracked one eye to peek at our faces.

“In English?” I asked, shaking my head.

“I think...I may have...broken? The food consoles? I might have played a prank? And someone didn’t like it?”

I fought the urge to go entirely limp as all the panic and dread I had been building up rapidly plummeted. “So, all of this… you broke the ship… it’s all a prank war?” She nodded, face scrunched up in embarrassed apology. I pinched my nose before running a hand down my face. “And you started it, you believe?”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” she cried. “It was a harmless prank, I freaking swear. I programmed the food consoles to give boba tea as every one hundredth beverage dispensed. That’s it. I even made sure to program it to be sugar free! Just matcha tea, lactose-free milk, sugar substitute, and the little boba pearls. At most, someone would get it, go ‘hey this isn’t what I asked for?’, try again, and get the right thing.”

“Except that’s not the worst thing that happened,” I prompted.

“No, it isn’t! After about…five days? Suddenly all thiiiiiiis,” she flailed expansively, “started happening! There is no way you can tell me that I deserve all this for erroneous boba tea here and there.” Charly stared at me, pointedly.

To be honest, it really did seem like overkill.

“Well,” I sighed. “The good news is, only a select few people have that level of access to the ship to do something so far reaching.” My fingers drummed on the table as I tried to think of ways to narrow our list of culprits further. “Obviously, they don’t mean you any actual harm, just a significant level of annoyance and inconvenience. And it would have to be someone who would take boba tea to be a grievous insult apparently…” Fuck.

My head snapped up as I leapt to my feet and bolted for the console. Once I had a boba tea, exactly the way Charly described, I took a huge pull from the straw. Chilled, clean flavor, no notable texture, not terribly sweet, no aftertaste…

And chewy boba pearls. Like little candies. Most importantly? They were squishy.

“Mother fuck….” Charly and Alistair both gave me questioning looks. “I will one-hundred percent admit that your prank had very innocent intentions. But before I tell you who did this, I want to be clear: absolutely no retribution, and no more dinking around in public resources. Deal?” She nodded so hard I thought her neck may break. “Someone with an enormous food aversion to anything ‘squishy’ ended up with one of your drinks.” I jiggled mine for emphasis. “And I am willing to bet they got a mouthful of tapioca before they realized it. They absolutely knew there was no error - they only drink water, and they are extremely sensitive to caffeine. Once they realized it was a deliberate error? There was no saving you, girl.”

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, and I could see everything falling into place. “Oh no. Nonononononono. I didn’t think Derek used the public consoles! I never would have done it if I knew that! Or exempted him, or something… Oh gosh, I have to go apologize. I feel awful!” With that, she bolted from the room, throwing a “thanks for the stew!” over her shoulder on the way out.

Alistair just shook his head. “She really pulled a prank on the one person we can’t keep out of anything on the ship, who we have to rely on his good intentions?”

“Obviously, not on purpose,” I pointed out.

“It still doesn’t explain the small cabbages that contaminated my lunch.”

Taking a long pull from my tea, I tilted my head side to side. “It really kind of does. Charly hates capers with a passion, based solely on what they look like.”

“Madam Councillor. Brussles. Sprouts. Surely there was a better option.”

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#the miys #humans are weird #science fiction #found family #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #original fiction #food #earth is space australia

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ghost-chance · 4 years

Text

Fanfiction Recommendation: “Fat. Beautiful. Tasty. Ravenous” by MoofyKitten

Title: Fat. Beautiful. Tasty. Ravenous Author: MoofyKitten on AO3/FFN/Wattpad Fandom: BNHA/My Hero Academia Rating: M/MA for a reason. (Detailed sex in over half the posted chapters. Perv away only if you’re of age!) Pairing(s): Fat Gum [Toyomitsu Taishirou] / OFC Found on: AO3

Deets Expect some light spoilers and a mini-rant.

I am an unrepentant fanfiction addict; this is no secret. There are fics I read to wind down after a rough day, fics I read to put myself to sleep in hopes of pleasant dreams, and fics I read to tear my hear into teeny tiny fragments then build it back again better than before. THEN there are fics that don’t fit the mold – the kind that I become so invested in that I physically cannot put off reading that update. THIS, my lovelies, is one of THOSE fics, and it’s earned that place from the early chapters. This story has almost everything I need from a fanfiction, and I have a feeling the rest is just around the corner.

Let’s get the basics out of the way.

The Spelling, grammar, and punctuation are all excellent – I have yet to notice a single error, so either the author and her betas are a force to be reckoned with or I’m just getting so sucked into the story an elephant could sit on me and I’d never notice. The formatting is effective and easy to follow, and the chapters have all been of a nice meaty length, perfect for plowing through in a single sitting only to realize you missed a meal and it’s time for bed and your brain is hopelessly lost in ship-land daydreaming about what’s up next. ...wait, that’s just me? My bad.

Syntax – This one requires an entire section of its own. The fact that I’m having to actually think about how well the author’s varying their syntax says they’re effing nailing it. If a story’s syntax is at all static or the sentence even the slightest bit predictable, it’s easy enough for me to recall it because I’m mentally rearranging the bits that irk or don’t impress me as I read. I can’t even get through a bleepin’ news article or an online recipe without itching to push what I’m reading up to the standards my professors held. It sounds harsh, I know, but please take my word for it when I say I’m not criticizing anyone. Suffice it to say, if my classes did anything, they made editing so instinctive I can’t turn it off. Confession: I have never found myself rearranging a single phrase in this masterpiece. Arguing with the characters? Encouraging the characters? Begging, pleading, and berating the characters for breaking my heart time and time again by stopping just short of the sugary fluff I can just smell right around the corner? Oh, Hell yes. I’ve done all of that and more, but I’ve never found myself with the urge to grab my red pen and strike out or scooch even a single word.

Something that strikes me about this story above others I’ve given the same rating (Spoiler: there are VERY FEW!) is the sheer variety of the scenes and environments. Sounds silly? Probably, but romances often develop a certain amount of location stagnation, and I know from personal experience how difficult it can be to bust through those patterns. (I mean, the majority of “A New Lease on Life” takes place in the Lair in some room, most commonly a bedroom, the lab, or the kitchen.) This story takes the couple off of familiar and ‘safe’ turf like homes and offices and drags them through countless other places without regard for their sense of comfort. Each scene feels real and multi-dimensional and directly or indirectly influences the characters’ behavior and reactions. It’s awesome. That’s a sign the author has done her people-watching!

Now, about that OC. I’ll readily admit, in the first chapter, I had my reservations. At first glance she seemed shallow, obsessed with appearances and her own view of the world, and – strange as it may sound – too skinny and too attractive. Yes, there’s some personal bias involved there, but the majority was practical rather than emotional. BUT! Because the writer of this story is the same who unleashed the beautiful Kacchako torment Hot-Headed upon me without a single breath of remorse, I gave Aiko a chance. Sure enough, my first impressions were entirely incorrect. The things that bothered me about Aiko? They all had explanation or purpose, and she’s turned out to be a pretty well-fleshed out character...pun intended. As the story progresses we’re seeing sides of her that I hoped for but didn’t expect and each chapter leaves me wondering what we’ll learn next.

Romantic connection. First word: “OOFTA.” The second word, I’d spell out, but it’s a shrill, wordless, begging whine that I cannot translate into English for the life of me. This pairing starts without any sort of romantic connection; it skips straight to the shenanigans and leaves hope that the snugglebunnies will follow eventually. Friends…if you’ve read any of my writing before, you’ll know that I. LIVE. For. The. FLUFF. The awkward mush, the sweaty palms, the am-I-gonna-barf-or-do-I-have-a-crush, the absolutely tooth-rotting sweetness capable of sending a reader headlong into diabetes with a dopey grin and heart eyes - they’re my crack and I love them. This story started with no fluff but it’s been slowly developing in the background. It’s an entirely new situation for me! I feel like I’ve gotten used to eating my dessert first then digging into an equally sweet dinner without a moment to cleanse my palate. This story? It’s like gorging on smoky, meaty St. Louie barbecue for weeks on end with literally just a smear of something sweet as an afterthought. Mind. Frackin’. BLOWN. It turns out I’m more masochistic as a reader than I ever suspected.

Another relationship I want to cover is the building friendship between Aiko and Fat Gum – because nope, she has not managed to mentally connect the half-starved Taishiro she’s climbing like a tree with the big-and-beautiful Fat Gum who owns the agency. Yep. She thinks she’s boning Fat’s beefy little brother. It’d be funny if my heart wasn’t whining for fluff. While frustrating to fluff-starved readers, Aiko not knowing the beefcake and the brother are one and the same provides an intriguing and natural way for her to build an actual relationship with him. This means none of the fetishistic bullarkey rampant in other stories pairing plus-sized male characters with OCs.

What sort of fetishistic bullarkey am I talking about? To name a handful: I love you so lose weight. I love you because you’re big. I’m fat too so it’s okay if we’re together. Blatant fat-fetish disguised as romance. Fat character’s life absolutely revolves around food and it’s gross/nvm it’s okay. Lastly, OC’s only chance at being loved by fat character is feeding them. Maybe to thin folks those don’t sound negative but to those of us who fit the description? NOPE. These don’t make healthy relationships. Using these can turn a well-meaning pairing toxic and frankly, it tends to piss off those of us who – GASP! - accept ourselves no matter our size. These...tropes, let’s call them, have made me hesitant to even try fiction involving plus sized male characters because I’ve been let down so many times. Finding plus sized female characters is easy, especially OCs, but appreciation for the chonky bois isn’t nearly as common. They need love too, dammit!

Ahem. Rant over.

As mentioned before, I ain’t seen any of that crap in this story. This author is treating Fat Gum like she would any other character instead of focusing on the fat. I wish with all my heart that more authors were capable of (and willing to) do the same with Fat Gum, and with other plus sized male characters. I can’t even put into words how much it means to me that she’s doing such a fantastic job portraying a character type that so many writers bungle without ever realizing it. I’ve needed this story my entire life and never realized it wasn’t there; I shudder to think of how long I might have been waiting for it if this author never found the inspiration to do so.

If I don’t shut up now, I fear I never will. I love this story that much. Moving on.

Warnings

Explicit sexual content – do NOT read this around your family unless you have a stronger will than I and can do so without creeping them out. (According to my husband, when I read smut I “look like a demented vulture staring down at a half-flattened ‘possum waiting for it to take its last breath,” complete with hunched shoulders and heavy breathing. Flattering, I know.) The smut scenes, while not my usual cuppa tea, wreck. My brain? Broke. Chapter four’s budding romance? It’s goin’ on my headstone ‘cuz I’m dead.

There are mentions of human trafficking and the future may include more about it. Slut-shaming comes up a few times because men are assholes and asshole exes are the ultimate assholes. Situational fat-shaming and lack of body confidence come up as Aiko comes to recognize Fat Gum for who he is instead of what he is; on the other end of the tag, Fat is also doing a lot of it to himself even when it isn’t spelled out. You can see it behind some of his reasoning in his POV chapters and since the writer is kickass at portraying thoughts and feelings without ever breaking out of restricted POV, you can also see hints in other chapters. That said, if the shaming was really bad without any redeeming purpose, I’d have noped my way right out’a that fic and never looked back. It has a purpose, and it’s not that bad. Give it a chance.

Recommendation level

This story lacks purple prose and excessive fluff, and I haven’t seen any signs of the pop culture, literary, and music references I love so dearly, but the rating remains the same:

Ten. Out. of. Farking. TEN!

YES! I’ve finally found another 10/10!!! A quick reminder for anyone who’s managed to not see my other reading recc posts, I don’t even need both hands to count off all the 10/10s I’ve read. Congratulations, Ms. MoofyKitten – your story rocks my world and I have an addiction I do not care to shake!

#fanfiction recommendation #BNHA #My Hero Academia #body postivity #Fat Gum #mature fanfiction #Plus size guys need love too #this story is KILLING ME #and I'm loving every minute of it because I'm weird like that #i stayed up for this

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thedupshadove · 5 years

Text

For as long as H.P. Lovecraft’s work has been appreciated by members of all those minorities he made no secret of despising, people have been thinking of ways to twist and subvert his creations and premises so as to refute his bigoted beliefs. And I think I’ve got mine. I may be playing with fire here, but I’ve spent too much time and mental energy mulling over this not to want to know what others will think of it.

I want you to picture a young man named Robert Olmstead, somewhere between his mid-20s and early 30s. He is a fairly average sort of man, perhaps leaning slightly towards the dreamy and artistic over the athletic. He might lean quite a bit harder if he hadn’t, for all his life, loved the water with a fierce and burning passion. As a small child, he used to fuss when his mother tried to take him out of the bath. One of his earliest vivid memories is of when he was six years old and his family, who lived in Tennessee, took their first vacation to the ocean in his lifetime. The journey had been long, the hotel room had been too hot, he had slept poorly, and by the time he and his parents had piled back into the car for the final leg of the trip to this “beach” thing he had been bound and determined not to enjoy it. But then they arrived. And he stepped out of the car. And he smelled something unlike anything he’d ever smelled before, and the smell seemed to call him forward, and he zipped ahead of his parents, heedless of his mother’s pleas to put on sunscreen, and he ran and he ran towards the smell and suddenly there it was, an endless endless expanse of beautiful, perfect water, the most amazing thing he’d ever seen, and he near to wept for joy and he needed to be in it, and he ran so fast his legs slipped out from under him twice but he just got up and kept running and finally, finally he was in it and it was the most beautiful feeling he’d ever felt in his life. It was six and a half hours before his parents could convince him to come out. And ever since then he has known that if he ever felt sad, or angry, or stressed, or lonely, or just a little empty inside, getting himself into water was what helped. Even a bath was something, although space to swim was better, and a natural body of water was also better. So a swimming pool and a creek were about the same, both better than a bath, and a good-sized pond or stream was better than that, a real lake or river better still. But nothing was ever quite as good as the ocean, when he could get to it.

He grows up, and becomes a writer, or a painter, or an architect, or something else that allows him to work from home and take most of his work with him if he moves. (That’s for plot reasons. You’ll see.) And one summer, he decides to take a month to do some traveling around the Northeastern coast. He’s on his way to what was going to be his second stop, when he’s hit with sudden car trouble. He nurses it to the nearest mechanic shop, in a little spit of a Massachusetts fishing town called Innsmouth. The good news, they know what the problem is, and it should be a fairly easy and affordable fix. The bad news, they just ran out of a vital part they need to replace. They’ve already sent off to their supplier for a fresh shipment, but being as out in the boonies as they are, it’ll be two weeks until said shipment gets there. Well, he won’t get to travel as much as he wanted on this holiday, but at least it’s happening towards the beginning rather than towards the end, eh? So, which way to the local Inn? Er...there isn’t one. Well...where is he supposed to stay? Especially with his now-limited mobility on account of his car just broke down? Not to fret, there’s an old lady in town, one Hannah Marsh, who has a big empty house with plenty of bedrooms to spare. They’re sure she’ll let him stay with her, it’s just up that road, then you make a left at the little ice-cream shop…

He arrives, knocks, explains his situation, and she immediately hurries him inside with assurances that of course he can stay, not to worry, and he shouldn’t fret about his car either, she knows the boys who run the mechanic shop and they’re first-rate, just the best, really if only he hadn’t had the bad luck to arrive just as they ran out of that one part he’d be back on the road by now. By time she’s finished imparting all of this, he finds that he’s sitting at her kitchen table with a fried fish sandwich and a glass of milk in front of him. He brings up the subject of the fee for two weeks room and she is shocked, shocked, that he would even suggest such a thing; “What does it cost me to let you sleep in my house, that I should turn around and charge you?” “But I’ll need to shower. What about the increased water bill?” “I’m on a fixed rate, it doesn’t matter how much I use, look at it one way you’ll be helping me get my money’s worth.” “Well if you intend to go on feeding me you might at least let me compensate you for the extra food.” “Hmm. Well, there are a few little home projects I’ve been meaning to get to, but keep putting off. Help me out with those, and we’ll call it square.”

So, after an afternoon spent settling into his room and helping her organize some boxes in the attic and a dinner of a lovely fish-and-potato casserole, Robert settles in for his first night in Innsmouth. In the middle of the night, he hears some movement in the house, and then the front door open and close. The next morning, he asks whether there was some kind of commotion that he had been negligent in not getting up for. “Oh, I just like to take a walk of a night to clear my head, nothing at all to worry about.”

And so, roughly, the next twelve days go. Robert helps Hannah with her little projects around the house, and when they’re not doing that, he often finds himself accompanying her in her daily goings-about. He stares longingly at the ocean once or twice, but it seems that he really likes this brisk little friendly yet bitingly witty old woman, and just keeps following her around. But as the days pass, the strangest feeling keeps creeping up on him, getting stronger each time it does. He’ll be walking through town, or get drawn into a chat with the greengrocer, stand by and listen while Hannah haggles over the price of a pound of fish, and all the while he’s noticing little differences, little things that the people in this town do that he’s never seen anywhere else, little differences in culture and an unfamiliar tilt to the architecture and what sound like religious oaths that he doesn’t recognize, but it feels...right. Feels good. Feels natural. Feels like home. Which is odd, because he’s certain he’s never been here before, and he certainly didn’t grow up in a town like this (Tennessee, remember?), so why does it seem that with every second he spends in this town, the rightness just keeps growing?

On the fourth day he wakes up to find a note from Hannah saying that she’ll be away most of the day, and so of course he shouldn’t be expected to do any of the projects on his own. First, he thinks he’ll take the opportunity to do some swimming, but as he’s walking down the shore he’s stopped by a local who hastily explains that unfortunately the ocean along the town can’t be swum in because...it will scare away the fishes. Yes, that’s it, so sorry to disappoint you, but with fishing being so vital to the local economy you can imagine how important it is to keep the fishes in the water, right? Right? Good, good.

Well, with that stymied, Robert gets another idea; Hannah’s been such a lovely hostess, and sure he’s been helping her around the house, but he’d like to do something else to show his appreciation. Why doesn’t he make dinner tonight? So he spends the day going around to the various little markets, picking up all the ingredients he’ll need (all the while shadowed by that same inexplicable yet undeniable feeling of rightness and belonging), then takes it all back to Hannah’s house and starts cooking. As he chops and measures and stirs and tastes, he finds himself half-singing half-humming an old song he remembers his grandfather used to sing. And at 6:30 in the evening, Hannah comes home to a pot of fish stew on the table. As she smells the product and takes her first bite, one could almost suspect that a startle passes over her, but there’s nary a tremor in her voice when she asks him where he got the recipe from. “Oh, it’s an old family one.” he replies. “Goes at least as far back as my mother’s father’s mother, if I remember correctly.” “Oh indeed? Well, it’s quite lovely.”

On the evening before the sixth day, Hannah tells Robert that she’ll be gone tomorrow until probably about 1:30-2:00 in the afternoon; she’s going to a religious service. Some inner drive Robert can’t explain compels him to ask if he can come along. Hannah hesitates, then says yes, but warns him that things might look strange, and cautions him against hasty judgment. The next morning he wakes up on the early side, dresses in the best outfit he brought with him, and follows her to a building near the center of town that looks even more unusual than most of the buildings. Inside, it seems that virtually the whole of the town has gathered. They take their seats (not really any sort of pew setup, just a whole bunch of chairs willy-nilly around the large main room) and at first Robert starts to maybe regret tagging along to the services of what appears to be a completely unfamiliar faith. It’s mostly a lot of singing and chanting in a language he doesn’t recognize, but there is a little talking in English too, and from what he can gather there’s a god of some kind called Dagon who, if he’s anywhere in particular, is probably at the bottom of the ocean, and something about a pact, and remembering the balance between lives. As said, at first it’s awkward for him, being the only person in the room who doesn’t understand what’s going on, but as the service continues that right feeling comes on him again, and he starts to find the atmosphere comforting, even if he isn’t sure of most of what’s being said.

After the service itself there’s a kind of reception/town gathering/informal lunch, and this is where that feeling really kicks into high gear. The food is hitting something in his soul that he hadn’t known he had, there’s strange yet hauntingly familiar music playing in one corner of the room, people are dancing, people are talking, people are laughing, and he nearly falls to his knees, buffeted by waves of right and yes and HomeHomeHome and You belong here, Robert Olmstead. But, he thinks, how can he feel that he belongs here? He knows he’s never been here, so much of this is new to him, yet it calls out to his soul. He wants, he wants...but how dare he, he suddenly realizes. Who is he, to waltz in here and start trying to insert himself? Trying to fit in, trying to be a part of this? No, no, this isn’t right. He has to stop this before he becomes no better than a common thief. And in a panic he runs out of the room and out of the building and then he does fall to his knees, on the ground outside, gasping for breath and trying desperately to calm his spinning head.

Hannah, who had noticed him starting to look a bit uncomfortable and certainly noticed him rush out, follows him outside and asks, a little sadly, if he’s alright. Oh yes, he responds, yes he’s perfectly fine, he just needed some air, that’s all. So nothing he heard...disturbed him, she asks? What? Oh no, no, not at all! He replies hastily. No, he’s just...not good with crowds sometimes. Please, she shouldn’t let him keep her. She looks a little dubious, but nods and goes back inside, leaving him sitting on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest and wishing he could go swimming. Maybe that would settle his troubled soul.

That night, not only does he hear the usual sounds of Hannah leaving the house, he’d swear he hears the sound of some large group, coming from the direction of the sea.

The next few days are a little awkward. On the surface, nothing’s changed—helping Hannah around the house and tagging along with her if she has to go somewhere, chatting all the while, but now the talk seems the littlest bit strained, and he keeps catching her stealing sad, slightly worried glances at him, and of course there’s the fact that now he’s trying to actively hold himself back from feeling too much at home. But by the ninth day, things have settled back down a little (partially because, if he’s being honest, his attempts to not feel comfortable here weren’t working very well, and he’s started slacking off on them.)

But with that slacking off on trying to hold back comes the return of those feelings of guilt for how happy he is being here. And as the happiness builds, so does the guilt, and he spends most of his time wrestling back and forth in his head, scolding himself for his presumptuousness, pleading with his superego to be allowed to just enjoy it while he can, shaking his head in disgust at his interest, which is obviously just a result of encountering something new and exotic, and couldn’t possibly be justified...right? Right, he mustn’t go on like this, after all no one likes a grabby tourist. He doesn’t really belong here (but what if he could…) All this passive enjoyment is very wrong of him (but it feels so right…) Anyway, in just a few more days he’ll be leaving (he doesn’t want to…) and then this foolishness will subside (but what if…) No!

This mental battle stresses him so much that, on the twelfth night, he can’t even get to sleep, and so decides to take a walk along the shore in the hope of clearing his head. As he comes down to the beach he once again begins to hear the sounds of a crowd. He worries that going down to join whatever’s happening would be counter-intuitive to his goal of not inserting himself into this place, but he can’t quite dismiss his curiosity, so he slowly inches closer until he finds a bush he can hide behind (and yes, he does feel a little silly) and peek out around to see what’s going on...and it floors him.

Perhaps it shouldn’t. It’s just a large group of people, swimming and frolicking in the water and hanging out on the beach. But the thing about these people is...they’re Fish People. Bipedal, but with big eyes and scaly bodies and fins coming off, come on, we’ve all seen movies. And maybe it should be terrifying, but as I said, they’re not doing anything...menacing or evil. They’re just hanging out. But as he looks closer at them...he doesn’t quite know how, but he can recognize some of them. There, that’s the greengrocer. And he thinks that one is one of the men who own the mechanic shop. And that one over there...that’s Hannah. Oh good grief, this is where she’s been going every night! And this must be the real reason why they didn’t want him swimming. And that commotion he heard on the night of the religious service—there had been something about balancing lives, after all. That must have been the other half of the service. Realizing this all at once, he’s unable to stifle a yelp of startled understanding, and then he passes out.

The next morning, he wakes up back in his bed in Hannah’s house. He shakes his head—was last night a dream?—but when he looks down at himself he sees that he’s covered in the scratches that must have come from fainting into a bush. He dresses slowly, cautiously makes his way downstairs, and finds Hannah in the kitchen standing over the stove. “So”, she asks tensely, “Did you sleep well?” “I don’t know”, he responds after a pause, “Did I?”

She turns around to face him. “Robert”, she asks, “have we hurt you? Have we imprisoned you? Have we done anything to make you fear us, or wish us harm?”

“No”, he replies, confused, “certainly not.”

“Then...can I have your word that after you leave here, you won’t tell a soul what I’m about to tell you?”

“...Alright.”

And so the truth, or at least a sketch of the truth, comes out. Long, long, long ago, so long ago that a lot of the specific details are lost to history, an ancient civilization (no one seems to remember exactly where it was, although one supposes that it must have been coastal) started interbreeding with an aquatic race called the Deep Ones, as well as adopting their religion of worshiping the sea god Dagon. This went on long enough for the hybrids to become a race unto themselves. They can shape-shift between more human and more aquatic forms but must spend at least one hour per day in water (and generally prefer much more), and they are quite long-lived, with an average lifespan of 500 years. And then, some period of time after the hybrid race stabilized...something happened. We’re not sure what it was. We think it involved a neighboring tribe getting worried that these strange fish people were coming to kill them all. Or maybe it was just a land dispute. One of those. But anyway, the only way for the hybrid race to survive was to flee, cutting themselves off from their Deep One brothers and scattering to the four winds. Groups of them traveled here, there, everywhere, staying together in communities when they could, and even occasionally finding new communities of Deep Ones, though not very often. They’ve tried to keep their culture alive, as well as keeping themselves alive, but the general practice now is to keep their true natures secret from “normal” humans, after what happened way back when. A few times, someone or a small group of someones has tried revealing the secret, sick of hiding and convinced that peaceful coexistence should be possible, but as a rule that...hasn’t ended well. And around the turn of the 20th century, one group came to Massachusetts, and founded Innsmouth. So can he see why they didn’t want him finding out—and why she still doesn’t want him telling anyone? Yes, he can, and she has his word that he won’t.

But the next day and a half is, if anything, more awkward still. Because he had thought that finding out this outlandish truth might make his wonderful, impossible at-home feeling diminish, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t at all. And now he only feels more guilty about it—oh, he feels kinship with these people? He dared to think he might have a place here? Among these people who have had nothing but bullshit thrown at them for thousands of years, who have to keep themselves secret and hidden away, and he wants to, what, join up? Because he likes the food? Robert Jonathan Olmstead, you are a heartless, greedy moron.

And then, just after noon on the fourteenth day, one of the mechanics stops by to tell him that his car is ready. And he has no choice but to thank him, and pay, and take his car back, and pack up his things, and thank Hannah for being such a lovely hostess (“Nonsense, nonsense, thank you for being such a help.”) and get behind the wheel, and, pushing down the ache in his heart with all his might, drive away from Innsmouth. He finds he just isn’t in the vacation mood anymore, opting to just go straight home.

For the next three months, he tries to settle back into life. He tries not to think about Innsmouth, and sometimes succeeds for as much as half an hour at a time (and no, sleep is no respite. Not a single night goes by that he doesn’t dream he’s back there.) But he finds himself incorporating elements of what he saw in Innsmouth into his own work, and has to hastily remove it. And he finds life increasingly...empty, which drives him into whatever water he can get to more and more often. And his eyes are starting to get dry more easily.

And then a local newspaper challenges its readers to trace their family history and find something interesting to write about, and what the hey, he could use a distraction. So he digs out all the family records he can find. It’s mostly pretty boring stuff, with everybody concentrated in the Chattanooga area for several generations back, except for his mother’s paternal grandfather. Who married a girl who seemed to bring none of her relatives with her into the family, but said she came from a small fishing town in Massachusetts. One Hannah Marsh.

Head spinning, he piles into his car first chance he can get and drives straight back to Innsmouth, barely stopping until he’s right outside Hannah’s house, and practically racing up her front step to breathlessly knock on her door. She seems pleased to see him, but surprised, had he forgotten something when he left and only just noticed it now?

“No, I...look, can I come in?”

“Alright.”

And so they sit down on the couch in her front parlor.

“Hannah, I...” even if there was a tactful way to say this, he’s too keyed-up to find it, “I’m your great-grandson.”

“Yes.”

“So you knew? The whole time I was with you?”

“No. Only after you made my soup.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“At first, explaining how would have meant giving up The Secret. And by time I had to do that anyway, I...was pretty sure you wouldn’t have been happy to hear it.”

“...What?”

“Well as the days went by you started to seem so nervous whenever we were around town. And you had to rush out of the temple because you just couldn’t stand it. So I figured we’d both be better off if I didn’t burden you with the knowledge that you were connected to the freaks on the shore, no?” She’s trying not to sound to hurt, and not succeeding particularly well.

“Is...is that what you thought? Yes, I can see how it must have been. But it wasn’t.” And out it all comes as he pours into her lap the story of his tangled emotions all those two weeks, of the stirring sense of home that he had fought to push down, of how it seemed that the very air of this place had called back memories of his grandfather that he’d buried for so long; of songs and stories and little snippets that seemed to come from nowhere but now it makes sense! They came from here! And when he’s done explaining it all, and watching the strangest set of expressions cross Hannah’s face, he musters his courage and asks the questions that really drove him here. His work is portable. He doesn’t really have that many roots where he lives currently. So could he...could he come back? Move up here and try to...to be a Deep One properly? To learn how it all goes and really do it?

Hannah closes her eyes and turns her head away from him. “No.”

His heart sinks. It feels like an ice-cube has been dropped down his spine. But...he’s come too far, dangit! He has to press on. To at least try to understand “Why not?”

“Robert, do you know why I married your great-grandfather? Because I was sick of it. Not of these people, nor even really of this place, but of being stuck in this place. Of having to huddle here because the wide world won’t accept us. And though I loved your great-grandfather—no, don’t look at me like that, I did! But keeping this secret from him, artificially aging myself until, as I always knew, deep down, that I would have to, I faked my death and came back here...it was insane. And the lengths we have to go to in order to have any interaction with the outside world. The secrecy, the hiding of something so fundamental to who we are...you don’t want to be a part of this, Robert.”

But I do! He thinks, but since that track has already failed, he instead tries “I’m not sure I have a choice. Ever since I left here, I think I’ve been...changing. I’m starting to need water more and more often. A couple of times it’s almost seemed like I could breathe underwater. So can I come back?”

“No. What you’re talking about happens sometimes. I’m not the first to mix with humans, not by a long shot. The results of such unions certainly have the potential to become full Deep One hybrids, but they also have every opportunity not to. What you need to do is start spending a lot less time in water, especially submerged. Take showers instead of baths. Avoid lakes and rivers. Breathe no salten air. The burgeoning transformation will subside, in time.”

I don’t want it to! He thinks desperately, and he can’t stop the escaping “But...”

Hannah sighs, “Go home, Robert.”

“I’m trying.”

Again she closes her eyes, sucks in a breath, and turns away, but this time she says, very quietly, “Ask me again.”

“Can I come back?”

Hannah opens her eyes, and they’re shining. A smile breaks over her face. “Yes,” she says softly, “Yes, yes, yes.”

“R...really? Just like that? What changed your mind?”

“Nothing. I had to try to talk you out of it. I’m sorry. We can talk about it.” She’s shaking with joy and, he realizes, so is he. “But I’m so glad you’re doing this. And I’ll be there with you, every step of the way.”

He can’t help it. He throws his arms around her, and they stay that way for some time, crying a little and hugging each other.

#lovecraft #h.p. lovecraft #the shadow over innsmouth #robert olmstead #deep ones #dagon #why yes this is what i projected my own experiences onto before hitting on Newton Pulsifer #why do you ask?

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theawkwardterrier · 5 years

Text

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 15

AO3 link here

Peggy is thinking about the unpleasant meeting she has later in the day. She is thinking about whether or not to institute a typing element to SHIELD training. She is thinking about Thanksgiving coming up next week and how long she has been in this country if she’s actually beginning to remember the holiday. She is thinking of the lovely weather outside, and about what Steve might be making for supper. She is thinking of calling ahead to request something particularly decadent for dessert, as she’ll certainly deserve it after her meeting.

She is thinking all of that, and then Agent Azad appears in the doorway, white-faced, saying the exact words that make her forget all the rest.

The windows are almost entirely dark by the time she arrives home, though she can see the glimmer of the few lamps that Steve has left lit to guide her inside. He sits up waiting for her sometimes, but she suspects he wasn't sure whether or not she would be home before morning. She had doubted too.

She has the feeling that he's still lying awake in their bed, regardless.

He had caught her in her office that afternoon, around 2. He rarely calls there although he knows that she will always answer for him.

"I had the radio on," he told her, and though the timbre of his voice was familiar, the bleakness there was not. "I was tuning past one of the soaps and they broke in. Are you alright? How are things there?"

"It's absolute chaos." Her office was usually on the quieter side, set slightly away from the more highly populated areas of headquarters, but it didn't seem to matter today. She shut her door anyway, turning her back against it as she pressed the receiver to her ear and held the telephone base at her hip. "I should have pushed about the open topped car."

He was quiet, refusing either to blame or to speculate. Her phone line was likely not monitored, but it felt risky anyway. "I'm going to pick up the kids at school," he said instead.

"Now? It's nearly time for them—" she protested automatically, although the care of the children had largely and traditionally been his domain.

"I'm going to get the kids," he said again. "I'm going to bring them home."

She remembered, almost against her will, the way his voice had been steady, so steady, nearly entirely steady, as they had talked about dancing at the Stork Club after the war was over. She could hear the underlying tremble more clearly these days.

"Yes," she said. "Alright. I'll see you later tonight...well, later sometime. Kiss them all for me."

"I will."

She isn't hungry, although she knows that there would be a covered plate or a neatly arranged container in the refrigerator if she looked. She hadn't eaten earlier either, even once she'd been called to the White House and the vice president—President Johnson, newly arrived back in Washington, had requested some food. He was taking easily to the position, perhaps because he had always thought it should have been his.

She'd had to wait until the general meeting had ended, until the rest of the intelligence heads had taken their opportunities to brief their new commander in chief. Her briefing had taken a while even once she had the chance to start. She could see the strain in him by the end, and not only because it was now morning and he probably just wanted to join Lady Bird at The Elms, not only because the things that she was discussing were about more than diplomatic affairs or an understanding of weaponry systems. She recalled that he'd had a heart attack while still in the senate which had nearly killed him, and had to bring out her poker face to avoid the thought of the country moving further down the line of succession.

"You should get some sleep, sir," she had told him as she finished, and he'd laughed.

"The last time I slept, Director, the world was an entirely different place," he said. "You know what that's like?"

The poker face again. "I think I have something of an idea."

She switches off the lower floor lights and walks up the stairs. She carries her shoes in her hand, and the sensation of the carpeting against her feet feels particularly luxurious.

Nate’s room is first, which is lucky. An echo of terror grips Peggy’s heart as she imagines what would have happened if she had started elsewhere and found an empty bed. The two of them are curled together, Nate against the wall, And—Drea, Drea now, she must remember—Drea pressed close against him. This isn’t the first time Steve or Peggy has found them like this, though they have been a part of the family for close to nine months now, but tonight she suspects that the need for closeness came from something more than habit or a general desire to be with the person who has always meant safety. She listens to their deep, matching breaths for a moment before she closes the door and returns the room to darkness.

Rose's room next. Peggy’s eldest lies amidst tangled blankets, her face halfway mashed into the pillow. She has always been an energetic sleeper, seeming in motion even while dead to the world. Peggy remembers coming home some days to find her passed out mid-tantrum in the middle of the living room while Steve tiptoed around her, thankful for the reprieve.

The bedroom floor is a considerable mess, clothing dropped at random, stacks of books, crumpled pages overflowing the wastepaper basket. She will tell Rose to take some time to clean over the weekend. No, how can it matter? No, that will be the best thing, returning to normalcy, not allowing the uncertain fear to fester and become overwhelming.

Her own room is nearly across the hall from Rosie’s but she passes by it. She skips Drea’s closed and empty one now and walks to the end instead, to where Emma sleeps. The tiny shine of her nightlight is visible in the crack beneath the door. Her youngest daughter is not afraid of falling asleep in the dark, but she is afraid of awaking in it, unable to process the world, something Peggy certainly respects. They’ve kept a light on for her since she was old enough to ask for it.

Peggy cracks the door and peers around it, taking in Emma’s space. Her eyes roam past the open closet with the neat row of dresses swinging over the rod, past the dollhouse Steve had built, to the bed where Emma lies watching her back.

Peggy holds a finger to her lips and grasps the doorknob, ready to slip back out, but Emma sits up instead. She turns on her bedside lamp, squinting adorably and blinking through the return to full brightness.

“We ate soup for dinner,” Emma signs. Peggy holds back a wince. Steve’s soup recipe is one of the few he has left from his mother. When he makes it, the occasion is either especially happy or quite dire. “You weren’t here.”

Peggy comes closer, resting herself very lightly at the foot of the bed. “I’m sorry,” she tells Emma. “I was working. We got very busy.”

“Because President Kennedy was shot?” Emma asks, and it turns Peggy’s stomach a bit to see her small fingers forming first those famous initials and then the shape of a gun. “Daddy says the president is dead. He heard it on the radio. Somebody killed him.”

Peggy nods. For a moment that is all she can do. She gazes down at her hands until she knows that they will not tremble, even with simple exhaustion, when she raises them. “Yes. The president was killed.”

The afternoon of his inauguration, she had given Jack Kennedy the same sort of briefing that she’d just given his successor. The next evening, returned home to New Jersey, she had sat at the kitchen table with Steve and pronounced herself unimpressed. Oh, the new president certainly seemed charmed and charming, and one couldn’t deny the energy he brought to the country, but did he have the sharpness and decisiveness and balance to truly do the job?

“This is the presidency, not a garden party, and certainly nothing his father can simply fix up for him if he makes a mistake,” she had said.

“Give him time,” Steve offered. “He’s young. Sometimes you need time to grow into these things, and I guess he has enough extra now.” In another world, Bucky Barnes, unknown and unknowing, would shoot this president only a few short years later. In this one, Bucky was getting married next month. Steve allowed a smile to come over his face. He covered her hand with his. “And besides, he has you to guide him.”

She’d tried her best, but every time they met simply reinforced her earlier impression. The president was bright enough, but too stubborn on certain issues and too passive on others. He allowed his brother to argue his part in meetings, opening himself up to charges not only of nepotism but weakness as well. It was not truly her domain, but she had once demanded of him the precise reason he was not doing more to support civil rights work in the south, to push for better legislation, pressing him until he burst out at her in that ridiculous accent, “Not that your agency has any role in it, Madam, but I am the president of an entire country, and some of the citizens of that country see things differently than you do.”

“And sometimes those citizens are wrong,” she had snapped back. “And as a leader, it is your responsibility to do the right thing regardless of what it makes people think of you.”

He had sat down behind the desk and picked up some brief, giving only a single cold glance up at her. “I assume you can see yourself out, Mrs. Carter.”

Pouring her tea that night, Steve said, “Of course he isn’t right. But in some ways, he isn’t wrong either. He’ll need congressional support if he wants to get civil rights legislation passed and he isn’t likely to get enough of it.” He sighed and passed a hand over his face. “It was something that was able to be pushed through out of national grief. So the nation doesn’t mourn that one thing, but it will keep mourning in a different way.”

“Well.” Peggy set her jaw. “If they were able to pass a law then, we will pass it now. And before that, I will have the man standing up and publicly showing support instead of waiting on the sidelines and hoping that history will forget his faults.”

“Nana called,” Emma says, and for one brief and strange moment, Peggy’s mind translates the sign for “grandmother” and brings up an image of her own Grandmother Carter, who had passed at home during the war. She blinks it away. “She was crying - Rose said.”

Winifred Barnes wouldn’t hear a word against the man. The descendant of Irish immigrants, a Catholic boy who had managed to become president. She had cried when they had buried the baby a few months back. Peggy wasn’t surprised that she had cried today. “She—” Peggy nearly signs the word “admired” but changes without fully realizing the choice. “Nana loved the president. Many people loved him.”

“So why? Why did somebody kill him?” Emma asks, the signs coming faster now even as confusion is gritted across her features. “Why did somebody want to hurt Mrs. Kennedy?”

“Mrs. Kennedy being hurt - it was an accident,” Peggy tells her. That is the speculation at this point, at least. She had seen the woman first at the air field, then more closely during her visit to the White House. It had felt as if she was offering condolences to a ghost, albeit one with a heavily bandaged arm. (Someone had finally convinced her to take off the blood-spattered suit, but it had done nothing for the look in her eyes.) One of the bullets presumably meant for her husband had gone wide and needed to be removed by Dr. Burkley. What happened, Peggy supposed, when instead of a specially trained sniper, there was only a man with neglected marksmanship skills and a troublesome weapon who had somehow still managed to become an assassin.

Emma curls her knees up against her chest. “But why did he hurt anybody?” she asks with the stubbornness which is a near universal family characteristic.

Peggy holds herself still. “I don’t know,” she finally admits, the words forming slowly between her hands, as if she is dreaming them. Her mind has been racing all day with other possibilities: something international, something supernatural, someone inspired by hatred for a man finally standing up for racial equality, Hydra returned with its ugly and many-headed menace that they thought they had buried. “I think the man - he had troubles. He was angry.” In the end it would probably come back to that: simply this man and his rage. She barely has the energy to reflect the emotion in her face, certainly none for the foolish exaggeration they sometimes use to make Emma laugh. Her daughter doesn’t seem to notice. She yawns, but still looks ponderous. Her fluffy curls tremble as she shakes her head.

“Even if he was angry - it is not okay to hurt people.”

Peggy stands, using the motion to keep her face clear. She kisses the top of Emma’s head, guiding her carefully back toward the pillows even as she does. Her daughter’s hair smells like Johnson’s No More Tears.

“You’re right - it is not okay.” She tries to keep the words slow on her fingers, her expression calm. “But sometimes people do things that are not okay.”

“Then you catch them? You fix it?” Emma yawns again. Her signing is growing muzzier around the edges, her hands dropping onto the blankets as soon as she’s finished the question.

Peggy swallows. There are certainly occasions when she has been untruthful with her children - when necessitated by her work, the little fibs or kind falsehoods that parenting sometimes requires - but this feels more visceral. It is not the first time there has been a misstep in the way she and Steve try to guide things along. It is not the first time she has agonized over the choices she’s made, the choices that might have made things worse. Only this time, the whole country knows what they have lost. This time her own children will wake up a little warier, believing a little less in the world as they had known it, because their parents had the hubris to think that they could anticipate everything, shape the world as they wanted it between their hands.

“Yes,” Peggy lies. “Then we fix it.” She kisses her daughter again and then she turns off the lamp and creeps quietly out the door, shutting it behind her, leaving the room in just about darkness.

More chapters here

#Steggy fic #Peggy Carter #Steve Rogers #things left behind fic #I legit almost didn't post a chapter today because I was so *uninterrupted groaning* about this one #doesn't that make you want to read it?!

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christophe-delorne · 5 years

Text

Good Dog

Chapter 10

Warnings: None

Pairings: Gregory x Christophe

AU: Adulthood

The house was what he'd describe as... homey. Not really an apt descriptor, but it fit and it was all Christophe could come up with at the moment. Like one of those cookie cutter American Dream homes, with a little porch out front fixed with a hanging swing. Picturesque. And everything about it rubbed Christophe the wrong way. It reminded him of his mother's home when he was a child, the way she strained so hard to make everything perfect on the outside when everything on the inside was crumbling within.

To make matters worse, Gregory had made him dress 'decently' as he put it. Chocolate brown slacks, silk hunter green button up top. He looked like a suburban husband with his hair combed and face clean shaven, everything that he was not. He'd been warned several times on their way here to behave, a lofty expectation coming from the likes of Christophe, especially considering who's home they were going in.

He didn't particularly blame Stan and Kyle for his death, but they hadn't really given a shit either. They were kids, Christophe should have known better than to even think about putting such a responsibility on them. He should've went alone, maybe then he wouldn't have died. The sole blame of his death was on the kid named Eric Cartman, the boy hadn't turned off the alarms, didn't have enough spine to overcome his fears and eventually had failed everyone. He supposed he could blame Kenny as well, being he'd been the source of fear in Eric, but the boy had enough shit on his plate and Kenny's sacrifice had brought Christophe back. So they were even.

As Christophe mulled through his thoughts, Gregory pressed the button on the doorbell to gain the attention of the residents inside. Christophe could hear the muffled talking, the tapping of feet on hardwood floors as someone neared the door. When the door opened, it revealed Wendy, she was dressed nicely, her hair styled casually. Her loose blouse was slightly feminine but never too out there, regardless, the way she held herself was something that probably had drawn Gregory in. The reminder was slightly annoying to Christophe and already he was yearning for a cigarette, but Gregory had taken them from him. No smoking on this night.

"Gregory, nice that you could stop by, come in, the dinner is almost ready." Polite as usual with Gregory, but the look Christophe received was just above scathing. The feeling was mutual.

"Of course, I can't pass up spending some time with some dear old friends." Gregory held up a bottle of wine, some expensive wine that Christophe hadn't paid attention to. Despite being French, Christophe didn't fall into the stereotype of liking wine. "I brought a little something to top it all off." Gregory smiled as he followed after Wendy, leaving Christophe to slink behind with his hands in his pockets.

As they entered the small dining area, Christophe spotted a man with black hair sitting at the table, he didn't look too keen on being in nice clothes either. When he noticed Gregory, he gave a small frown but kept himself in check. Still seemed he wasn't all too fond of Gregory being friends with Wendy, Christophe could relate with that at least. "Hey, Gregory. Long time no see." Probably had to be on his best behavior as well, considering the warning look Wendy had given Stan before entering the kitchen.

"Pleasure as well, Stan. Its good to see you're doing well." Gregory, ever the charmer as he pulled out a seat but didn't take it. Instead, blue eyes looked over to Christophe, indicating he should sit. Christophe scowled, eyes narrowing and causing the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes to become harsher. The man was toying with him. Pulling out his seat like they were on some date? Christophe took a moment to consider the situation. Maybe Gregory was thinking with his dick again and Christophe didn't like the idea of Gregory going back to his girl in London after all of this. If Christophe let Gregory get away with these sort of things, they would likely only escalate and leave Christophe in ruins. Again.

However, he didn't want to start a fight right now, even though it was tempting to lash out at everyone in the house at the moment. Gregory and indicated he needed Christophe there and Christophe couldn't say no to that. Despite everything, Christophe would always be loyal to the Brit. He sat down in the chair as Gregory pushed it in in the same motion. Formal and smooth as always. Gregory took the seat next to him, which left two empty chairs at the table. Christophe wasn't certain if it was just because they had guests over often or they were expecting one more, so he took to observing the house around him.

There were pictures on the wall, not a lot, just a few here and there between decorations. He didn't take Stan as the type to decorate, from the short time knowing him as kids. Stan had been realistic, but at the time he'd been focused on jealousy between Gregory and Wendy. Didn't seem like he grew out of that jealous streak either. Wendy, while political, did tend to enjoy some feminine things, finding some sort of strong balance with what she liked. So the decor was likely all her, simple yet fitting for the small house. As Christophe took stock of the interior, he noticed there were three people in most of the pictures. A red head he assumed was Kyle. He remembered Kyle fairly well, it was the last face he'd seen before he had died.

While it may seem like Kyle had been sympathetic, holding onto Christophe so he wouldn't die alone. They were strangers, he expected no tears from the other boy. Kyle was sympathetic but with a aggressive streak with the possibility to turn out more like his mom than he would've liked. Luckily, Christophe hadn't heard any news about a war breaking out in America, the violence there was the usual. So the empty chair might mean that Kyle could be coming over, which didn't bode well for Christophe. All the people he tried so hard to forget were popping up in his life again, all at once.

"I hear you're moving up in the construction business, Stan." Christophe zoned back to the conversation that was going on without him. Gregory had always been able to hold a conversation, putting all the attention on himself and letting Christophe relax in the background.

"Yeah, my company was ranked number one in Denver this year. MBP just signed us on to lead the construction of their new facility in Colorado Springs." Stan replied, gaining Christophe's attention. MBP was the same company that Mr. Hall said that had hired him to outsource drugs in Europe. Christophe slid his gaze to Gregory suspiciously, had he been getting close to Wendy because she had connections? Well, it certainly was something Testaburger would be interested in, the woman was a lawyer up front, but an activist in her free time. Maybe if he stuck with Gregory and Wendy on the ride to the hotel, he might have a little more information.

Before the conversation could continue on, Christophe heard the front door unlock and open, causing him to tense, ready to stand up. He hated being in another person's home, he had no real control here, didn't know the layout of the house, who would be able to come and go. The new guest rounded the corner to the dining room and Christophe recognized the face, slightly curly red hair, a bit of a mess, was a telling sign. It seemed Christophe was right to think Kyle would be joining them.

"Sorry I'm late, I got held up at the lab." Kyle smiled as he first took in Stan and Wendy, though it faltered when he noticed Gregory and Christophe. Apparently he hadn't been informed they were coming, though the 'why' was the part that interested Christophe. Certainly something like dinner guests would be alright to tell those who would also be joining. Though, those green eyes seemed to stick to Christophe, staring at him like he'd seen a ghost. Probably not far off from the truth either. Christophe hadn't told anyone he'd returned back to life, Gregory had only known because he'd gone searching for Christophe's body, the only one who had. Gregory had apparently told Wendy though, how much was beyond Christophe's knowledge though.

"Shit." Was all Kyle could say after a moment's pause, it seemed given that small amount of time, he'd been able to process how Christophe was here. Kyle had been there, had seen the result of the war but probably just hadn't thought that it had effected Christophe as well. Probably better off that way, the less people knew about him, the better. Though, coming back here was messing up that plan, luckily only four people really knew what the 'Mole' looked like, other than Gregory. Christophe was tempted to take that number down to zero, but that would throw a wrench into Gregory's plan.

"Kyle, you're just in time, dinner's ready." Wendy broke the tension as she brought out a couple of pre-made plates. "I tried a new recipe that was suggested to me from Bebe, so you guys are my guinea pigs for the night." She set down a plate in front of Stan and one in front of the empty chair that was for Kyle.

"What is it?" Stan looked a little confused by the plate, but didn't seem like he was complaining.

"Cider-braised Chicken-and-Fennel Panzanella." Wendy stated pleasantly, despite Stan's even more confused look. The man seemed to shrug as Wendy went back to retrieve more plates, but Kyle followed after her, planning to help out. With Kyle's assistance, the table was set up with plates, silverware, and wine glasses. Gregory took the liberty to pour the wine into the glasses, insisting Wendy and Kyle to set and let him at least handle this.

"This looks gorgeous, Wendy. Thank you for inviting us over, I simply couldn't pass up spending some time with dear old friends while I'm here in America." Gregory sat back down, this whole time he hadn't passed a single glance in Christophe's direction. The Frenchman was already poking at his food, fairly used to eating things he didn't really understand the names of. Well, by now he did know as Gregory enjoyed explaining things to him and no matter how much Christophe tried to ignore him, the information stuck. Technically, this dish was served during the autumn months and right now it was just hitting summer, the flavor of cider was supposed to make people feel... He didn't know the world for it but people traditionally did things in certain seasons to feel in the moment with that season.

Gregory likely knew this but chose not to mention it in favor of being polite, irritating Christophe that he could remember such useless knowledge. Why couldn't he replace it with something that would benefit him, like remembering his passport numbers. Once Gregory began to eat, Christophe followed after, a habit picked up when they were kids, when Gregory took their roles a bit more literally. 'The master eats before the dogs', the words still stuck with him to this day, most of the time he didn't notice it was so far ingrained into him. The food was decent enough, Christophe was never really picky unless he wanted to spite a certain someone. A free meal was a free meal.

"So, Kyle, Wendy has informed me that you require outside assistance on a certain matter?" Gregory finally broached a topic Christophe was more interested in than the drivel they had been conversing about during most of the dinner. Kyle looked over in surprise at Wendy, who merely shrugged and took a sip of her wine, she didn't seem apologetic.

"Well, yes, I wasn't really sure if I was serious about it or not." He gave a look at Wendy, a glare almost. "But I'm having moral issues with the company I work for."

"And what, pray tell, company would that be?" Gregory pressed as if he already didn't know the answer.

"MBP, I'm one of the researchers working there. My team and I... We only meant to create something that would help boost low immune systems, to help aid the cure of diseases. It wasn't a sure thing to cure, but it would greatly increase the chances of other medications and therapy working." Kyle looked down at his plate, pushing around bits of leftover food he hadn't finished eating. Maybe guilt was slowing his appetite. "With the boost in immunity, the side-effects were both good and bad. It made people feel on top of the world. A high almost. But it was also addicting and prolonged use caused severe hallucinations."

Gregory sat back in his chair, appearing as if Kyle was regaling a fanciful story, looking as noble as his blood would indicate. Kyle continued on when Gregory didn't ask anything, "We were planning to go back to the drawing board, addiction to medication is already bad enough as it is, so we wanted to see if we could at least lessen the side-effects a little. However, our CEO got wind of the drug and decided we should continue on with it. I don't agree with the decision, but I could easily be replaced at this point. So I decided to stay on board, it would be better to get information on what was going on."

"Which is why I'm here." Gregory concluded setting his empty wine glass down. "A wise choice on Wendy's part to contact me. You don't have the necessary skill to really take down an empire like MBP and when dealing with drugs, I can only assume the company would monitor their finest scientist. In case of any insurrections that may happen."

"How do you plan on stopping this?" Kyle seemed anxious but the determination to join in on the discussion was reaffirmed now that stopping MBP became an almost realistic outcome now.

"Ah, I can't let you in on the details, least someone in the company begins to suspect you. Wendy would be most upset with me if I let you in harm's way." There was an unspoken 'again' at the end of his sentence, Gregory had let Kyle and Stan go into a dangerous USO show, but Wendy hadn't been the only one who had someone they cared about go in to a brewing warzone. "For now, I simply need you to write down your daily routine, as much knowledge of the security in the building as you know and then hand it to me. Let me take care of the rest."

Kyle seemed dissatisfied with that, dropping his fork on the plate and pressing his hands on the table. "You can't expect me to sit on the sidelines, I'm as much of a part of this as anyone else! It was my mistake."

Stan reached over, placing a hand on Kyle's shoulder in attempts to calm him down, but Kyle brushed him off, his Jersey temper seemed to have flared and would take time to stifle back down. Gregory didn't seem too concerned, pouring himself another glass of wine before replying to Kyle.

"If you want this plan to work, then it is best you sit this one out. I, for one, am not going to make the mistake of trusting you or your friends would be capable of carrying out a mission again. Not after last time."

#gregstophe #gregory #christophe #south park #good dog #fanfic #fanfiction #gregory of yardale #the mole #ze mole #christophe delorne #au #alternate universe

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bhumikabct · 5 years

Text

Another Day, Another Data Set

Since we all spent yesterday finding a new data set to do with obesity/anorexia/diabetes, we started today off with sharing our data sets with each other. A few of us had found data for obesity, however, Rakavi then brought up the idea of doing food additives and/or genetically modified organism (GMO). I would say we were all sold on this idea for a hot minute so we started discussing possible ways to represent it through an object. Milo brought up the idea of having real food blended in with fake food, with the amount of fake food being correlated to the data, so that the audience would have to physically interact with it to be able to tell if it is real or fake, which we all really liked the idea of. However, we struggled to find solid data and rates to do with food additives and GMO so we decided to scratch that idea.

So, we went back to obesity and anorexia. We were struggling to decide which one to pick out of these two so we thought it would be better to decide what food we want to use and how we want to manipulate it and then go from there. Burgers was the first idea that was laid out on the table. I thought one way we could have manipulated a burger was by having it appear normal from the outside, however, cutting the individual vegetables and patties in a way that when you bite into it, the inside is hollow. This idea didn’t really go anywhere as it was just something random that I thought of and there wasn’t really a way that this could represent data. Rakavi on the other hand, had what I thought was a really good idea. She said we could make bite size burgers and have a pair of glasses that magnify so that when you look at the burger, it appears much bigger than it is (just as a person with anorexia might view food). We all thought this idea was very clever and interactive but after talking to Ben, he informed us that this would require multiple burgers and multiple pairs of glasses each with a certain percentage of magnification which is really out of our reach in creating, so this idea also went down the drain. There was then this moment of wait……do we really want to use burgers as our food? Turns out the answer was no, so the next option was cookies.

Milo had already prototyped with cookies and it went quite well so we are all sold on the idea; however, we weren’t sure how to go about it. The basic way was to make some cookies sweeter than others depending on the data but we want to get a reaction out of the audience so then we thought to add either salt or chilli into some of the cookies. We even played around with the idea of using cakes instead of cookies but that didn’t go very far before we went straight back to cookies. Then we realised, there’s seven of us. We don’t all need to be doing the same thing so why not go off into smaller groups, prototype with different recipes and see what comes back the best. In deciding this, we picked three data sets to do with obesity, broke into small groups of two or three people and sorted out what groups would be doing which data set and how each group would manipulate their cookies. Here are the groups.

Jordan, Callan and Nate This group will be focusing on the obesity rate throughout the global regions in 2014. Since there are three of them, they have decided to choose three of the global regions to focus on. These are Oceania, Asia and, instead of a third region, they have picked to do the average rate of the world. We decided Oceania should come into this because it helps the audience relate more to the data as they can see what is going on in the country with obesity rates for themselves. They will be manipulating their cookies using mass amounts of sugar. I like the idea of this, however, I feel as though it won’t be too noticeable and we won’t really be able to get a reaction out of the audience as they might have a sweet cookie but think it is just normal so not really say anything. Daniel and Rakavi This group will be focusing on the obesity rate change over time in New Zealand. The years they have picked are 1976, 1996, and 2016 (20 years apart). This group will be manipulating their cookies using chocolate chips. I think you would be able to tell the difference as you would know if you got more or less chocolate chips, however, once again I don’t think it would create a reaction out of the audience. Milo and I We will be focusing on the statistic that 1 in 3 adults (aged 15 and over) were labelled as obese in New Zealand in 2017/18. We will be manipulating the cookies by adding chilli to a third of the whole batch so that 1 in 3 cookies will be spicy. I really liked this idea because there will be a noticeable difference in the cookies and it will also cause a reaction out of the audience. However, one thing that I mentioned to the group is that you may be able to tell which cookies have chilli in them through their physical appearance, but I guess that’s what prototyping is for so we’ll see.

We’ve decided as a group to make the cookies bite sized so that there is no complication when we all come together. I think splitting off into smaller groups was a good idea because this allows us to explore more than one option in a short amount of time and also lets us actually see what the outcomes are of our ideas and if they are any good. I would say overall that today was a productive day because we managed to narrow down our data set as well as choose a data object and build on it.

As for tomorrow, we are planning to leave during studio and spend the day buying ingredients and baking our cookies so by Thursday we all have prototypes to share with the rest of the group. Hopefully by Friday, we’ll have set in stone what exactly we are going to do.

#ctec501

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welcometothepenumbra · 5 years

Text

BONUS: THE RITA MINUTE 2 – THE RITA DETECTIVE AGENCY

RITA: No way, boss! You are not comin’ in to the office today, and that’s final!

JUNO (FROM COMMS): (CONGESTED) I am not taking a day off, Rita. Crime doesn’t take a day off, and you better—

RITA: Well, that sounds like crime’s problem, boss.

JUNO: Don’t try to change the subject, Rita. I swear to God, if you don’t unlock—

RITA: Oh boy, Mista Steel, you sure sound sleepy! I think I’m gonna hang up now and let you take a little nappy.

JUNO: Wait, hang on! Don’t hang up, god dammit! I need you to—

RITA: G’night, Mista Steel!

JUNO: Rita, unlock my door! Rita!

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

RITA: Whew! Good thing I talked Mista Steel into those digital locks last year. If I couldn’t lock him into his apartment, he’d work himself until he was in real trou— (GASPS) Oh, I better lock the windows, too.

SOUND: KEYBOARD CLICKING.

It sure is hard work to care so much. I think I earned a little snack or ten. Or maybe just five big snacks. Or maybe seven medium-sized ones. Or—

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

(GROWLS) Mista Steel! If he ain’t in bed, I swear, I’m gonna—!

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

Boss? Just whadda you think you’re doin’?

VOICE (FROM COMMS): Boss! Oh, I’m so sorry, this must be the wrong number, I’m just in such a state and I—

RITA: Is that… (GASPS) Patricia Marlowe, stream star, and game show host, and philanthropist?!

VOICE (MARLOWE): Oh, is that you, Rita? You flatter me, darling, but there’s really no need…

RITA: And entrepreneur and pet psychologist and social commentator and food critic and pet psychiatrist and—

MARLOWE: Rita!

RITA: (SQUEAKS)

MARLOWE: It is a delight to talk to you, darling, you know it is, but this is rather urgent! I need to speak with Juno this instant, Rita, do not delay a single moment, this is a matter of life and death!

Hello? Rita?

RITA: Patricia Maaaaaaaaarlooooooooowe.

MARLOWE: Rita! Where is Juno?

RITA: Mista Steel! Sorry, Ms. Marlowe, but he’s outta the office today. Got a bad case of the… the… whatever ya call it when your throat’s all red and swollen?

MARLOWE: A tumor?

RITA: Yeah, that’s it. He’s got a bad case’a the throat tumors and the doctor gave him some pills but they ain’t gonna work unless he gets lots of rest. You should call back tomorrow, though.

MARLOWE: This cannot wait until tomorrow! I’m sorry, darling, but I’ll have to call him at his apartment. This is entirely too dangerous to—

RITA: No! Stop! Wait!

MARLOWE: Quickly, Rita, I’ve not a second to lose!

RITA: (QUIETLY) This is your big moment, Rita. Mista Steel is countin’ on you. Lives are at stake. And also: if Patricia Marlowe calls the boss, you won’t get to hear her dreamy voice anymore.

MARLOWE: What was that?

RITA: You gotta take control, Rita. You gotta show Mista Steel you got what it takes to protect him. You gotta show the world that you can be a… a private eye.

MARLOWE: Yes, hello, hello? Could you speak up, dear?

RITA: I said, I’m gonna help you, doll-face! This is Rita, private eye, reportin’ for duty!

MARLOWE: Are you certain you could help?

RITA: The boss left me in charge!

MARLOWE: Did he really?

RITA: When you’re a private eye like me, you learn that it’s what people don’t say that’s really important. What seems t’be the problem?

MARLOWE: Well, there’s a package, you see. It arrived at my doorstep this morning, and—

RITA: Have you ordered any packages lately?

MARLOWE: Well, of course, but not th—

RITA: Case closed! That was easy.

MARLOWE: But not this one, and my God, it’s ticking! I’m just so worried, you don’t think it’s a bomb, do you?

RITA: Please, Ms. Marlowe, leave the detecting to the detectives. What have you done so far?

MARLOWE: Only called you, but… perhaps that’s it! Perhaps I should have called the HCPD! They must have a bomb squad of some sort, they could send someone right over and—

RITA: Hold it right there!

MARLOWE: Why? You don’t think… (GASPS) A conspiracy! The HCPD sent the bomb!

RITA: Nah, I don’t think so. I used to work there and we got all kinds of bomb threats all the time and that turned out to be nothin'. It was real annoying.

MARLOWE: But what do I do?

RITA: Well, you’re afraid of this package, ain’t you?

MARLOWE: …I believe I’ve made that clear, yes.

RITA: But you don’t even know what’s in it, right?

MARLOWE: Yes, but—

RITA: I don’t think it makes any sense t’be afraid of somethin’ you don’t even know anything about. And a good private eye needs clues! And all the clues are right inside the package!

MARLOWE: …You can’t be serious.

RITA: So open it, open it! I wanna know what’s inside!

MARLOWE: Really? You’re certain about this?

RITA: ‘Course I’m sure. I’m Rita, private eye! Now open the box please please please please PLEEEEEEEAAAASE!

MARLOWE: Well… alright…

RITA: So? What is it? What is it?

MARLOWE: It’s… well, it appears to be a…

RITA: Tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me—!

MARLOWE: Oh no.

RITA: Oop, nevermind. Hold on a second. I got a call on the other line.

MARLOWE: (SCREAMING)

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

JUNO (FROM COMMS): Rita, you’ve got to unlock these doors!

RITA: You again! Mista Steel, I told you I got everything under control here!

JUNO: This isn’t about that anymore! Rita, I think there’s something in my apartment!

RITA: Oh, really.

JUNO: Yes, really! I keep hearing them banging around the walls! If you just unlock the door I can make a break for it—

SOUND: CRASH.

Damn it, they broke through!

RITA: Nice try, Mista Steel, but you can’t kid a kidder. I faked healthy all the time when I was just a little Rita and I never bought it then, either. So, you get back in bed and sleep, boss. Now.

JUNO: Assassin drones! Dozens of them! Unlock the door, Rita, you’re gonna get me killed, you—

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

RITA: So, toots, how did it go?

MARLOWE (FROM COMMS): A bomb! It’s a bomb, a bomb, a bomb!

RITA: A twist, huh. Well. I guess no good case goes by without a good twist. I usually like it when they come later, though, like in the last five seconds of the movie and then you get a big DUN-DUN BWEEEEOOWWWWWW and then it all goes black and you get in a fight with Mista Steel on the way home about what it all meant and—

MARLOWE: Rita! There is currently a bomb in my home, and it’s ticking much more quickly than I feel comfortable with! Assist me, now!

RITA: Alright, alright, you don’t have to get so rude about it. Any brands or logos or anything on it? BlastForce, maybe? The Kaboom Room? T an’ T an’ You?

MARLOWE: It doesn’t say! I think it might be homemade!

RITA: Aw, that’s sweet. Ain’t nothin’ like a homemade bomb. I kept my Ma’s old recipe but they just ain’t the same when they don’t come outta her oven.

MARLOWE: Is this part of the investigation?

RITA: Just send me a picture’a the bomb and I’ll figure it out. Sheesh.

MARLOWE: Alright…

SOUND: ELECTRONIC BEEPS.

So, what do I do? What do I do?!

RITA: To do what?

MARLOWE: The bomb is going to explode!

RITA: It is a bomb, Ms. Marlowe.

MARLOWE: (SHRIEKS) No! No no no no no! You must fix this, Rita! You must fix it immediately!

RITA: Again? I think I’m startin’ to see why Mista Steel’s always so tired. This is exhausting! Just bring it here, willya? I can just defuse it when it’s here.

MARLOWE: But—!

RITA: No buts! I’ve had enough buts for one day, and let me tell you, I don’t like buts even on the best of days– well that ain’t exactly true but you know what I—

Oop, got another call, seeya soon!

MARLOWE: RITA!

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

RITA: Mista Steel, if this is you again—

JUNO (FROM COMMS): No time, Rita! I got out of the apartment through the window but now I need your help!

RITA: Boss, how dare you! I locked that window!

JUNO: Yeah, well, I broke it. Might’ve broken something else, too, that’s nearly a thirty-foot fall.

RITA: Well if you broke that window so easy you can march right back up and unbreak it, you—!

JUNO: There were more drones than I thought, Rita, I’ve got nearly fifty of the things chasing me down the street and I need help. I’m headed for the office right now, so get a blaster ready!

RITA: To the office?! Oh… no, boss, you can’t come to the office, you gotta turn around right away.

JUNO: Rita…

RITA: No! It’s- it’s- it’s… it’s on fire, Mista Steel; um, it ain’t decent, uh, you can’t come, you gotta wait until next week, maybe or a month, or two, that’s it—

JUNO: Rita, what did you do?

RITA: (QUIETLY) I tried to solve a case while you were out I’m sorry.

JUNO: You—! We’ll figure this out after we deal with the drones.

RITA: No can do, boss! It’s Patricia Marlowe, boss, and she’s got a bomb and I kinda told her to bring it to the office ‘cause I thought I’d have time—

JUNO: A bomb! That’s it!

MARLOWE: (DISTANT) Juno? Is that you?

JUNO: Patty! Throw me the bomb!

MARLOWE: Gladly!

JUNO: Alright, you stupid bugs. Eat shrapnel! (GRUNTS)

SOUND: EXPLOSION.

RITA: …Boss?

Boss, is everything—

JUNO: Rita.

RITA: Yeah, boss?

JUNO: (SNIFFS) I’m feeling a little under the weather. I think I’m gonna take the day off.

RITA: You do that, boss.

JUNO: Just… just don’t take any more calls. Please.

RITA: Okay, Mista Steel. Have a nice sleep, and be sure t’drink plenty of—

JUNO: Rita?

RITA: …Yeah?

JUNO: Don’t.

RITA: Okay, boss.

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

Bein’ a P.I. ain’t easy, it turns out. Maybe I oughtta retire. Spend a little more time with the family, like Frannie and Mista Steel. Take up a hobby, or—

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

Nope, nope. I ain’t gonna answer it.

I… ain’t… gonna…

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

Hello, this is Detective Rita, private eye, of Detective Rita Private Eye’s Detective Agency! We accept all forms of payment, but especially gift creds for that nice bakery down the street. Now, what crime can I stop for you today?

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

The second Rita Minute starred Kate Jones as Rita, with Joshua Ilon as Juno Steel, and Sophie Kaner as Patricia Marlowe. It was written by Kevin Vibert, and directed and sound designed by Sophie Kaner. The Penumbra is created and produced by Sophie Kaner and Kevin Vibert.

#juno steel #bonus

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