#This is… somethin. A thing to keep me looking forward to things. It’ll keep raining for 2 hours. So. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

smuggsy · 4 years ago

Note

heyo! If you feel like a prompt, I'll offer up one for the flyboys? How about, “Am I going to die?" pls <3

Thank you! I always feel like writing for these two! Two prompts in a day, wow, this is unheard of. I would feel accomplished except I should've been working on an essay for my medieval history class so I only feel guilty lmao.

Anyway. Here, have some pining idiots. Bit of angst sprinkled in but really this is just Collins biting off more than he can chew. You know I love putting him in these situations #sorrynotsorry.

Collins has always been the heavier drinker. He's more easy-going, always accepting pints from the younger lads and beating them at cards and joining in on their bets when dark clouds loom close to the ground and they're allowed to leave for the day.

It's usually Farrier keeping him in check, walking him back to base late at night and watching carefully from behind, giving him space but close enough to grab in case he trips over his feet after a good amount of beer has numbed his reflexes.

Collins naively assumes Farrier isn't a booze lover. Isn't that into alcohol in general; he never has more than two pints, not even when Collins refuses to indulge in it does Farrier let himself get too comfortable at the bar or at a table.

Never when Collins is with him, anyway. This is a thought that has just recently taken form, as in, about ten minutes ago when Collins caught up with the group at the local pub after returning from his daily rounds.

Today he walks into the crowded place brimming with pilots as a thunderstorm announces itself outside, and when he takes a seat next to his wingmate on the far-off corner from the door he finds Farrier doesn't look up to meet his gaze.

"Evening," Collins greets, but he's not sure he's heard him over the music and incessant chatting of their peers.

Even if he does, Farrier pays him no mind.

To say that Collins is instantly bugged by it is an understatement. Farrier stares down at something in his lap, he's hunched down and sports a permanent frown and the overall sight of him just looks wrong.

"Ey, alright?"

He realises, but only once Farrier snaps his head up, that his eyes are a bit too glassy, his breath smelling a bit too strong when he sighs in Collins' direction.

"What? Oh, hey."

Collins only sees the paper in a flash, before Farrier tucks it back into the inner pocket of his jacket. The quick motion clearly meant to keep it away from prying eyes is the only reason Collins doesn't ask. Yet.

"Having fun?" he says instead with a smile, trying to brush away the sudden heaviness of a conversation that hasn't even started, and he leans back on his own seat and surveys the table in front. He counts at least five empty pints close enough to Farrier's side.

"Fun," Farrier scoffs with a shake of his head.

Collins finds the irony dripping from the word so strong and uncharacteristic that he leans over and takes a chug or two of his own beer.

"Let them have fun," his mate continues, gesturing vaguely towards the youngest recruits fooling about on the dancefloor, "they don't know what's fucking coming."

At that, Collins can't help but stare.

He gently places his pint back on the table and doesn't tear his eyes away from Farrier, now stumbling out of his chair looking much drunker than he did just a second ago.

"M'gonna head back," he says, trying to walk past Collins who only manages to move his chair back once Farrier's already on the other side.

"It'll be pouring outside!"

Just then, a thunder rumbles low and menacing under the sweet voice of The Andrews Sisters coming off the gramophone. Farrier stops dead in his tracks for a moment and just when Collins thinks he's going to turn around and sit back down, he shrugs and walks away.

"Ah, s'only a bit of rain, innit..."

He only stops by the bar to pay for his round of drinks, pushing through one or two excited couples dancing away the night and apologizing to one of the gals for almost stepping on her foot.

Collins watches the whole exchange from his spot, a bit taken aback by Farrier so easily brushing him off.

He gives himself a few moments to feel hurt and then he stands up and pays for his own unfinished pint, only catching up to him as he rounds the corner and the first droplets of rain start announcing a hell of a storm.

"Yer gonna be wet straight through if ya walk back now!"

"Yeah," Farrier says over his shoulder, lighting a cigarette and sending a sour smile Collins' way, "I am."

His gaze seems only a bit clearer as he stares Collins down, giving him a once over and taking in the sight with an approving nod. It makes something in Collins' stomach turn.

In a good way.

"You go back though, get yourself a nice bird to dance with. Put in all that effort to walk me back like I'm your granny?"

With the dragging of his words and the cigarette he keeps firmly placed in between his lips, Collins almost doesn't understand him.

He lets out an emotionless laugh and starts walking again when Farrier does.

"What effort? I always look like this."

Farrier blows away the smoke and nods again.

"You do."

"Something happen?"

There it is. He asks.

Farrier almost halts, just almost. He looks like he's about to answer but then the cigarette is back in his mouth and he openly ignores his question for a whole minute. Collins gets the cue but he still doesn't turn back. He figures he can play chaperone tonight, like Farrier's done with him so many times before.

Except, he's always ranting on after his round of pints and his wingmate's not much of a talker. No way to fill in the awkward silence. Collins can't help himself.

"You got mail," he tries again, a statement, just a simple comment that doesn't mean any harm and it definitely doesn't mean to make Farrier turn around like that - like he's properly annoyed at him for asking. For caring.

"Just go back," Farrier bites out, harshly, "you just got 'ere. Go on, don't lemme spoil your night."

"You're not."

"Collins..."

"I'll go if you really want me to."

That makes Farrier look at him again, truly look at him like the words have taken a bit of the alcohol off his blood and sobered him up. He stares for a long moment and then starts walking again without a word. Failing to answer again but answering nonetheless.

The lamp-posts they walk past light up the heavier drops of rain as if warning them of what's to come. Collins' hair is still wet from the shower so he doesn't feel much of a difference.

"You're a good kid, Jackie," Farrier says after a while, hands in the pockets of his trousers and looking up to the moonless sky. When he does, he seems to lose a bit of balance that he quickly regains before Collins can actually grab his arm to steady him.

He reckons it's better he didn't get to, judging by Farrier's general snappiness tonight. Can't be completely sure his help would be welcomed.

"What did you just call me?" he teases with a grin.

He sees a smile tug at Farrier's lips.

"A good kid."

Jackie.

"I'm twenty-fuckin'-five, thank you very much!"

At last, Farrier lets out a laugh. Collins feels like a heavy weight's been lifted off his shoulders.

"You're a fuckin' tease, s'what you are."

It's just as well that mother nature stops him as he intends to give an answer, because the words get stuck in his throat at the implication of that sentence.

The sky goes white for a split second, lightning flaring up above their heads before the cracking of thunder seems to switch on the merciless pouring rain once and for all. They're already far enough that they'd still end up drenched from head to toe even if they walked back to the pub.

"Shit, come on!"

Farrier starts running forward, where there's a couple of leafy pines by the road before the clearing starts the path back to the airbase: a very long and tree-deserted runway and training field.

In short, they're fucked.

Farrier beats him to the cover of the canopy and Collins thinks that perhaps he wasn't that drunk after all.

"Quicker in the air than on the ground, eh lad?"

"Want to race me, old man?"

"Nah, wouldn't want that spotless suit wrecked with mud."

Collins turns to answer and finds Farrier grinning at him playfully, looking him up and down again for the second time in twenty minutes - the spark in his eyes doesn't go unnoticed because he's never caught him staring so openly before. It makes his pulse quicken and turns his filter off.

"You really like me in my suit, dontcha?"

Farrier's next words sound fuelled by beer, as does that almost imperceptible lick of his lips.

"Why, of course I do."

He looks away to the curtain of falling rain in front of them, pooling down on the grass, and he shakes his head and talks so low that Collins almost doesn't hear him again.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"I'm drunk."

"Yeah, I know. Ye keep lookin' at me like ye want to eat me or somethin'."

Farrier snaps his head back to look at him, mouth half-open like a fish out of the water - like he can't quite believe what he's just heard, and Collins panics, thinks he's misread the situation completely (thinks that even if he didn't, he really shouldn't have called Farrier on it because, as his wingmate so bluntly put it, he is drunk). Thinks that's a very reckless and stupid thing to say and that he hasn't even downed half a pint of beer so he can't even use that as an excuse.

Collins stares back, for a moment he considers stepping away, jumping over that poodle increasing in size and running away in whichever opposite direction Farrier means to walk.

Try and pretend he didn't fuck this up royally.

"Well, would you want me to?" Farrier blurts out all of a sudden, openly staring at Collins' lips and neck and cheeks and hair now.

"What?"

"I said, would you want me to."

Another lightning. Farrier's face is so close that Collins can count the scattered freckles on his nose and cheeks where stray drops of rain slide down on his skin. He has very long eyelashes.

"Eat you or something."

The thunder following the light drowns out that pitiful noise that escapes Collins' throat. He feels drowsy like he's the one who spent hours sitting down at that table in the wet sweet air of the pub gulping down pint after pint.

Farrier is very, very drunk even if he doesn't look like it anymore.

He must be.

Collins wonders: if he answers truthfully, will Farrier remember it tomorrow?

"Yeah," his wingmate snickers, and after what feels like ages he takes the slightest step back and smiles that sour smile from before, fishing another cigarette out of his pack and putting it between his lips, "thought so. Pretty boy like you."

Pretty boy like– what the fuck's that supposed to mean?

"Answer me this, Collins. Am I going to die?"

And just like that, the conversation steers away from longing looks and unspoken words. Farrier's back to smoking that ciggy that's already wet and his hands return to his pockets and Collins feels he's just lost an opportunity that isn't going to arise again any time soon.

"What?" he repeats, like a broken record, refusing to let his own eyes derail from Farrier's face, refusing to look away to the falling of rain, the runway, the clearing, the town far away like Farrier himself is doing. Refusing to let the moment go.

"What are my chances? What are our chances?"

Collins shakes his head in frustration.

"Surviving this shit. Let me tell you: they're very thin. So it's better this way. I mean, it's me but– well it's just not worth it, is it? Forget it."

"Forget. Forget what? Tom, the fuck are you on about? Is this about that letter?"

"Fuck that letter."

He tosses the cigarette to the ground.

There's no remorse in the words, no hatred despite Farrier turning back to him and suddenly standing up straight, shoulders broad, gaze unwavering and challenging. Collins is still a bit taller but that doesn't mean he feels taller.

"I– sorry I– didn't mean to–"

"My fiancée," Farrier cuts him off, cocking his head and studying Collins' reaction for a moment before continuing, "got killed. A bombing over Portsmouth."

He drags the paper out and almost shoves it in Collins' face, who just stands there at a loss for words, again. Stammering like a broken record, again.

"I–," didn't know you were engaged, "–sorry, I'm sorry that happened."

He wants to kick himself for his lack of eloquence but it's the least of his concerns because he was just flirting with Farrier a moment ago, and Farrier was leading him on for some fucking reason – a fiancée?

That tends to mean one's attracted to women.

A dead fiancée.

"Sorry, Tom."

"Don't be."

Another lightning, another thunder, more heavy rain and Collins is already starting to feel the cold reach through his layers of clothes.

"I'm not. Fuck, I'm relieved!"

Farrier runs a hand over his face.

"I'm– fuck."

"It's okay," Collins offers uselessly.

"She's dead and I'm relieved I don' have to marry her. How fucked up is that?"

Collins thinks he hears a cry, and when Farrier tries to look away again he knows he heard a cry, and he doesn't let him turn around and steps forward to hold him in a tight embrace instead. Farrier wraps his arms around him tightly like he'd been waiting for Collins to hug him.

"I'm fucking horrible," he says, words muffled in the fabric of Collins' suit and sniffing through a runny nose. Jack keeps a hand rubbing at Farrier's back in what he hopes is an empathetic touch.

"No you're not, you're not."

They stay like that, holding onto one another against the trunk of a tree that's doing a really poor job of sheltering them from the rain at this point, but is better than nothing. Farrier doesn't really cry, stubborn as he is even in this state of inebriation, and after a while Collins feels his stubbly chin brushing against the side of his neck and smells the scent of alcohol again.

"I like it when you use my name," Farrier mumbles, words still muffled and burrowing his nose in Collins' shirt like it belongs there.

Collins' only thought at that moment, frozen and unable to say anything back, is that Drunk Farrier is a real piece of work. He thinks he understands, now, why he doesn't drink.

#this got a bit out of hand as i was sayin'#i know it was supposed to be angsty but uh you know #it didn't get that angsty for once #i hope you still enjoyed it though #also i only proof-read it once so apologies for any shitty grammar or cohesion #farrier #collins #collins x farrier #farrier x collins #dunkirk #dunkirk 2017 #dunkirk fanfic #mine #answered

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gratefulbet · 4 years ago

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VOICELINES.

Hello: The name’s Felix Walken, handyman. Hahaha, I’m joking! Since we’ll be working together, you can just call me Claire.

Chat - Work: Just leave it to me; I never leave a job unfinished.

Chat - Rest: There’s no harm in restin’ for a bit if you’ve got me around! ... Of course, I am gonna get a little bored if we just stand around like this.

Chat - Destruction: Really, there’s no better way to make sure the job’s well done than leaving no trace of the problem.

When It Rains: During showers like this, it’s pretty easy to get rid of any evidence of what you’ve been doing. Huh? What do I mean by that? ... Well, I guess it’s best you don’t know.

When It Snows: That’s really somethin’, isn’t it! When I was a kid, it snowed all the time... ‘Course, that was before we left Snezhnaya.

When The Sun Is Out: What a perfect day. I like to think of that as a sign that something’s gonna go terribly wrong. For someone else, of course.

When Thunder Strikes: Weather like this is just the best. With any luck, it’ll carry on all day!

Good Morning: I usually go to sleep around this time, but I decided to make an exception for our travels today.

Good Afternoon: Tired already? Haha, I’m just getting warmed up. With any luck, something exciting will happen later.

Good Evening: I usually get up around this time, so I’m used to the hustle and bustle dying down. It’s more convenient to do your work at night when no one’s around to bother you, right?

Good Night: Hahaha, goin’ to bed already? You should stay up with me on one ‘a my jobs someday!

About Claire - Vino: Why do people call me Vino? To tell you the truth, I’ve really got no idea. I didn’t come up with it myself, you know.

About Us - Partners In Crime: Looks like you’re stuck with me for now! Not that I mind, of course. We make a pretty good team.

About Us - Loyalty: Even if someone has it out for you, I promise I won’t go after you. Since we’re friends, and everything. But, if my family wants you gone... That’d be a way different story, so try not to cross them, alright?

About Us - Strength: You’re not bad, but you could never, ever be stronger than me. It’s just impossible, but it’s nice that you’re trying!

About the Vision: I’m surprised you even knew I had a vision! To tell you the truth, I don’t like usin’ it to fight. I’d rather use the strength I worked for, not some powers that were given to me for doin’ something anyone could do. Of course, I can’t exactly get rid of it, so I keep it on me.

Something to Share: The railroad in Fontaine is probably one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen. I’m a conductor, so you should visit me on the job sometime! ...You’re concerned about the Rail Tracer? Hahaha, you don’t have anything to worry about when it comes to that.

Interesting Things: The myth about the Rail Tracer goes like this: If you speak about it on a train at night, it will appear to devour all the passengers one by one, leaving an empty train to arrive at the station after the sun rises. The only way to stop it is to believe in it wholeheartedly, but most people don’t know about that part of the story. That’s probably why they’re so scared even though they fully believe in it.

About Luck: If you happen to meet Luck, tell him I said hi! Since both of us travel a lot, I don’t see him as often as I’d like to. I like to think I get on the best with him out of my brothers. Hahaha, what’s that look for? Rest assured, he’s nothing at all like me.

About Berga: Berga might look strong, but he’s never won in a fight against me. You should probably still avoid his wrath, though. After all, it’s impossible to win in a fight against me, so saying something like that doesn’t really mean anything.

About Keith: You don’t wanna get on his bad side more than anyone’s. He’s definitely the scariest of the Gandors. Even I don’t even think about going against what he says. Fortunately for you, all three of ‘em are pretty forgiving, and you don’t have bad intentions, so I’m sure you’ll be just fine.

About Tick: Are you creeped out by those scissors? Well, that’s just natural. But Tick’s a pretty nice guy when he’s not on the job, although you won’t catch him alone, since he’s always with Luck or Maria.

About Maria: If she tries to stab you, take it as a compliment and fight her with all you have! She can’t beat me, but she’s pretty strong, so fighting her will be good training for you. Or you’ll die, if you’re too weak. Either way, I look forward to seeing you match up against her sometime.

About Poe: You might run into a detective if you hang around Fontaine too much... It’d probably be best for you to steer clear of him, if you can. He doesn’t operate under the normal laws. Well, I don’t either, but there’s no guarantee that detective is going to be on your side.

About the Fatui: Recently, some of the guys they’ve got stationed in Fontaine have been bothering the Gandors. For the first time in a while, my brothers called me to help ‘em out, so I made an example of those Fatui soldiers. All in all, I wouldn’t have an issue with ‘em if they didn’t stick their nose into the Gandor family. Now I can’t help but give ‘em extra trouble when I’ve got the time.

About the Archons: I don’t care how powerful they are.. To me, the Archons might as well be nothing.

More About Claire - I: Am I human? Haha, that’s a pretty good question! I don’t know about that myself, so I’ll have to give you an answer when I’ve got one.

More About Claire - II: I’ll tell you the truth. I created the myth of the Rail Tracer myself, and I told it to some of my passengers. It spread like wildfire, and I’m sure people think it’s some creature from the Abyss, but the Rail Tracer has always been me. Or, at least, it’s been me since I decided to become it.

More About Claire - III: The railroad line losing business is because of an incident that happened a couple months ago. Most people think the Rail Tracer killed all those innocent passengers, but in reality, it was the innocent and the lucky who got left alive.

More About Claire - IV: If you’re scared of me because I killed all those people, don’t be. I don’t want to kill you. Since you’re working to save my world, it’s only natural that I’d like it if you didn’t die!

More About Claire - V: Everything in this world is a lie. You, the Archons, the Fatui... Even my brothers. None of them are real, because I’m dreaming. Every single thing in this world is part of my dream, and when I wake up I’ll be the only one left. Because of that, I’m the strongest person in the world, and if I want something to happen, it will.

Claire’s Hobbies: Before I was a conductor, I was an acrobat! I still like to swing around where I can. Even someone like me has to stay in shape.

Claire’s Troubles: Since I can’t always be there with my family, I’m a little concerned something might happen to ‘em while I’m gone. But then again, I believe in them, so they won’t fail.

Favorite Food: The restaurant down the street from the Coraggioso serves the best pasta there is. Well, I guess I shouldn’t say that--it was much better when Berga made it.

Least Favorite Food: I’m really not picky about that kinda thing. I’ll eat just about anything you put in front of me.

Feelings About Ascension - Intro: if you work hard, and you want to get stronger, then you’ll get stronger. That’s just how it is.

Feelings About Ascension - Building Up: It’s thanks to the jobs you’ve brought me on that I’m able to keep growing in strength. I guess I should be thanking you!

Feelings About Ascension - Climax: The truth is, I will always be the strongest person in the world. But even for me, there’s always room for improvement.

Feelings About Ascension - Conclusion: Every single bit of strength you have comes from you, and if people try to attribute that to some kind of luck or inherent skill, you should put ‘em in their place.

#i have become the rail tracer. / IC.#i think to myself ( i’m so good i must be dreaming ) / MUSINGS.

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beinfriends-a · 4 years ago

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word count: 1799 characters: Pork Trooper / Eoforwine extra notes: n/a. no sadness. just kibby

He’s heard scratching around his house for a few days now. His first assumption was mice and rats, which he had plenty of trouble with to the point that he’s starting to give up on continuing the war against them getting into his home. Isn’t like he has much to offer them aside from dry shelter-- or not even that when the roof leaks if it rains especially hard. But hey, it’s better than not having shelter at all. For how shoddily built Eoforwine’s home is, it’s still home, at least.

After a while, For was confident that a particularly large rat was now trying to make home here in his shack based on the sound. He’s only caught the vague, dark shape of it out of the corner of his eye a couple times. He doesn’t stay inside most of the day; nothing to do inside, and he can’t possibly make it out in the dark with the dark fur it has and no lights. It didn’t even seem to be there all the time. Some days, he didn’t hear from the rat at all.

For isn’t wigged out by the thought of rats so long as they stay the hell away from him and stay out of his food-- which they had, for now. However, even he has to admit to feeling unsettled when he wakes up one morning and feels something furry shoot off the bed at the first sign of his own stirring. After checking over his body and finding no bites, he finally clambers off of his bed. He didn’t see where it ran off to after that, not that it has many places to hide.

But his first instinct is to leave his front door open in case it wants to get the hell out, which he, of course, would highly prefer at this point. The moment he turns his back he hears scuttling behind him and For turns just fast enough to see the back end of not a rat, but a cat flying out the open door and dashing off into the high grasses of the field beyond his small garden and trimmed down yard. For’s eyes go wide in surprise, but he’s absolutely not fast enough to chase after it.

Maybe he should have realized that it was a stray sooner; this isn’t the first, and likely won’t be the last. Nowhere seems to have quite the problem with stray dogs in particular. For’s entertained the thought of trying to take one in. He could do for some company out here. While he may be in contact with a few people now at least, he’d still like some more interaction on a day-to-day basis, so a pet would be helpful. But every attempt to keep a pet has ended in failure. No matter his patience, they wind up running off and he doesn’t see them again.

For a moment, he considers leaving some food out for the cat in case it returns, but he’s afraid of drawing bugs or, God forbid, cattlesnakes and other chimeras he definitely doesn’t want around, so he simply winds up leaving out a small bowl of water by the door, just in case it gets thirsty. Then, it winds up vanishing from his mind for most of the day afterwards as he goes about his day as normal. Only when he returns to his house at dusk and sees the cat trying to squeeze through the cracks in the shutters of his window that he remembers his attempt.

But his heavy steps and feet crushing the crunchy yellow grass beneath him alert it to his presence, but it stays frozen, hung on the window, eyes widened. For stops where he stands and they stay stuck, standing and staring at each other in silence. And after that, the little black cat dislodges itself from the window and dashes off again. For curses under his breath, but continues on. It’s hard to tell if it took any of the water, but he hopes it did. He leaves it there in case it returns and, when he goes to sleep later that evening, leaves one of the windows open in case it wants to climb in again.

When he awakes, he sees movement by the window, but as soon as his eyes adjust to the early light, he realizes a cattlesnake has dipped its long neck and head through the window, exploring the area around the window curiously. For groans and climbs out of bed and, without fear of being bitten, picks the damned thing’s neck up and pushes it outside. “Get the fuck outta here, would’ja?” he grumbles, then slams the shutters shut.

Turning back towards the bed, he spots movement underneath the bed. For squats to see the cat backing away, hiding underneath the mattress, yellow eyes wide as saucers, just like yesterday. He returns to standing height and sighs, wandering over to the kitchen. There’s no way it can get out as far as he knows, so... maybe he can try and get it to trust him now. He should feed it. It’s probably hungry. Too bad he has no fish... he’ll have to catch some later for it-- assuming it sticks around, of course.

The best he has is some fresh vegetables sitting around, already partially nibbled on by his houseguest, if he has to guess. For chops up the half-consumed carrot and other assorted veggies and sets it on a plate. Then, he sets it near the bed and steps back to the kitchen in hopes of drawing it out. He tries his best to keep out of sight, and eventually, after what feels like an eternity, For hears the small sound of crunching and he smiles. Yes, it worked. As tempted as he is to check on the thing, he leaves it be, letting it eat in peace.

When the sound of crunching dies down, For still stays where he stands in his tiny kitchen until he notices the cat slowly peeking around the wall to look for him. For exhales a soft laugh and slowly squats again and holds out a loosely curled fist for it to sniff. Surprisingly, it slowly creeps forward to For before it bumps its head against his hand. He can’t help but emit a gasp of surprise and joy. Slowly, he pets its tiny head and runs his hand along its spine, feeling how soft its fur is underneath his hand.

It still seems nervous, but not as nervous as it has been. “Was feedin’ you all I needed to get you to like me?” For asks it in a soft, but amused voice. “Jeez. Didn’t know it’d be that easy.” The cat spends its time wandering about his kitchen while For shifts to sit on the floorboards, watching it explore. “You know, if you stick around, I’ll get you some fish. Cats like fish, right?” The cat turns and stares, but indicates no understanding. If only he was one of those psychics that could talk to animals. That’d make this easier.

Still, he’s pleased with how things have turned out here. He can’t complain at all, nor would does he want to. For a moment, For wonders if the cat belongs to someone, but finally seeing the cat up close allows him to note how skinny and small it is. It’s definitely been living on its own, so guess it’s up for grabs; well, assuming the cat would like to stick around. Based on how it’s acting, For certainly hopes it’ll stay. It seems to like him well enough.

Over the next few days, the cat comes and goes as he (as For soon discovered it was a male cat) pleases, but he remained relatively warm to For, so long as he didn’t spook him too much with his loud walking or anything like that. He’s even begun to start following For around while he works outside. It’s probably because For has been sneaking him little treats the entire time, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. He’s just glad to have the company for once.

Finally, he finds the time to go fishing in the river nearby. The cat sits on a nearby rock, watching the water and the fish swim by with his full attention. When For finally catches one, he unhooks it and lets it settle on the ground nearby. The cat draws near to it cautiously, yet keeps his distance, and For gestures to the fish. “Hey, man, I caught this for you. I ain’t eatin’ it, so go for it.”

The cat stares at him, then the fish, then back to him, before finally settling on walking over to start feeding upon the catch. The cat tears through the fish easily, even for as small as he is. For can’t make heads nor tails of whether he’s still a kitten or not, but regardless, he is tiny. Hopefully he’d grow up and gain some weight now that he had it. It seems like the cat wants to stay. That’s a first out of all the animals he’s encountered over the past few years. Maybe with any luck, he could catch more animals later. He always wanted a dog...

But first, he had to deal with his cat, and he hadn’t even named the thing yet. Didn’t want to get attached if he ran away and For didn’t see him again, but now he felt confident enough to try. The cat was pitch black aside from his bright eyes, but he didn’t want to be unoriginal and name it something stupid or unoriginal. For could swear that it reminded him, though, of something or someone he must have known before, but he just couldn’t place who or what. But what he could place, however, was a name that kept coming back to the forefront of his mind.

“Wonred’s a pretty good name, right?” For wonders aloud. The cat looks up and stops his feeding temporarily, then resumes after a pause of silence. “I mean, it’s pretty original. Nobody would forget a name like that. Like, you deserve a name better than Midnight or somethin’ else that’s unoriginal. Can’t remember what it means, but it’s a good name. You like it?” Wonred stares again. “Well, I like it. So Wonred it is.”

That night is the first night Wonred feels comfortable enough to get up in the bed with For again like he had before they’d really met. At first, Wonred hesitates, but after For’s been lying there for a few minutes, he creeps up onto the bed and makes his place of rest For’s chest. And For refuses to move after that, letting it sleep on top of him until the morning.

#Boar's Friend [PT]#A Flash of Memory [DRABBLES]#( me: fuck it. For gets a cat )#( i thought abt it a while but he's just Getting Wonred now he deserves it )#( lonely ass in love w/ a shitty man he needs some actual good companionship VBHJSD )#( so bam. there. he gets a kibster )

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okayohay · 5 years ago

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I Just Wanted To Be Edgy Too (Chapter Three)

Here is Chapter 3 of my fic. Hope you enjoy and it gives you something to do while you scroll through tumblr. Cheers

I Just Wanted To Be Edgy Too

Chapter Three

Van

I kept my sunglasses on as we drove through the rainiest parts of America and stared out the window of the bus. The tea in my hands grew cold an hour ago, but I was too tired to get up and heat it back up. Tea in the microwave never tasted the same to me anyways.

I tapped my finger on the side of the mug as Larry sat down in the bench seat across from me. I offered him a lazy half smile and brought the cup to my lips, pretending not to notice its lack of warmth.

"No sleep again?" Larry kept his voice low, but I could still hear him over the hum of the television a few feet away. Benji was sucked into a show on Netflix and Bob seemed just as interested.

I nodded and looked back out the window. Sleep and I were in a war with each other, and for the last six months I'd been losing. Some nights were easy, and I'd drink myself into a fog and have no problem surrendering to it, but I'd wake up rotten, full of aches and regrets. Most of the time, I'd nod off for a few hours here or there and wake up restless. No amount of writing or attempting to write new material could stifle the urge I had for sleep.

Larry knocked his knuckles against the glass and traced the droplets off rain with his index finger. We shared an ability to speak in silence, Larry and me. He'd been my best mate since we were kids, and even though he couldn't play a song to save his life, I couldn't imagine my band without him. He was a great tech, and someone who loved whatever job I'd appoint him to do. I could read his mind as he stared out the window, looking much older than the boy I used to laugh with in my parent's basement until dawn.

"I miss home, too." I said softly as I took another sip of cold tea.

Larry nodded on a shrug. "Steve said he messaged everyone about the itinerary for the holidays. Looks like we won't be going home until February."

I nodded. I used to feel personally attacked when someone wanted to go home and couldn't because of our schedule. I used to let it eat at me until I'd explode, but I'd learned to channel it into words and not take things so personal. I drove the band into this, it was my responsibility, but not one of us could have expected the success we were given. I warned them years ago that it would come with a cost. No one cared then, but that was before we all lost things that were important to us.

"Maybe we'll have some time off when we get there. Time to ourselves, it can be like old times."

Larry half smiled. "Will it ever be like old times again?"

I turned to look at him leaving my glasses on so I could keep my eyes hidden. I didn't want him to see the truth in them. I didn't want him to see the exhaustion, the worry, the fear. "It'll always be like old times."

Lie. I already told you, never trust a writer. By all means, I was a writer. But if I could pacify my best friend with a bit of a white lie to ease the tension at the table, then I would.

Larry nodded and smiled again, hope furrowing his brows. I wished it could be like it old times. I wished that more than ever. All of it happened so quick, and when we did catch fire, we kind of scorched everything. I burnt a lot of bridges I didn't mean to, and we all started to feel differently than we did years ago. It was heavier on our shoulders now though. A bigger chip. It didn't help that I hadn't been able to write new material in months.

"What was the deal with you and Barns at soundcheck last night?"

I was thankful he changed the subject, I'd had just enough of the heavy. I laughed a bit and leaned into the back of the bench seat. "He's awful inn't he?" I let out a long sigh and shook my head. "He reminded me not to let onto his girlfriend that he's been shagging other girls."

Larry shifted nervously in his seat. He knew I didn't like to talk about cheating, he knew I didn't like to bring up faithfulness in relationships. I had made mistakes too many times in the past for things I'd never forgive myself for. It was my crutch. "What brought that conversation on?"

I shrugged. "She was at soundcheck writing in a notebook and she had a camera. I assumed she was an interviewer and I was on one, so I kinda let her have it for a minute."

Larry leaned forward, a smug look on his face. "You ever seen an interviewer carry a notebook and hand write anything?"

I thought over his question and reached across the table and ruffled his hair. "I said I was proper on one, don't give me that."

"Alright, alright, mate. So, is that what worked up good ol' Barnsy then?"

"I couldn't say. Maybe. I'm not sure how much of it he heard. He was more worried about me slipping up to her I think. I'll be glad when this tours done. If I had any say innit I'd have him gone now. Call up someone else to finish the next leg."

Larry nodded his silent agreement to me. "You're not going to tell her...are you?"

I turned back to the window, glancing out at the endless highway and dull green landscape that rolled alongside of the bus. "I don't even know her, Larry."

"That's not the answer to the question I asked."

I waved my hand through the air. "I don't even know her so I why would I go out of my way to meddle?"

Larry stuck his lower lip out and nodded a few times before responding. "Because you hate Barns."

I laughed.

"I'm not being funny."

"I know. But I'm not getting in their business. That's on them."

"It's just not like you to not say somethin', especially somethin' about things like that."

"Well, I'm not. I don't care."

And that wasn't a lie. I didn't.

Bondy woke me up around nine thirty, when the bus came to a stop outside of a hotel in Nashville.

"You don't want to crash here for the night, mate. They got us rooms. C'mon, up you go."

"How long was I out?" I scrambled for my notebook, hoping I was able to get something down before I dozed off, but the pages were nearly just as blank as they had been when I started. The only words I had written down were "edgy" and "I don't know what to say". I didn't have any idea where I had been going with either of them. I tossed the book into my bunk and rubbed my eyes.

"Maybe forty minutes."

"Feels like I slept for days."

"You need to sleep for days, it'd probably fix you up."

I grabbed my bag and followed him off the bus and into the lobby where Steve stood with keys for us. The hotel was all marble tile and glossy counter tops. A chandelier hung from the center of the room and reflected onto the floor. The place looked a little too fancy for any of us. We all stood in dark jeans and leather jackets that were unnecessary for the warmth outside. We didn't fit in here, clearly. The manager of the hotel stood at the desk, a thin line of sweat coating his forehead. Luckily for him, it wasn't us he had to worry about. We weren't the rowdy ones...typically.

"Be down here by noon tomorrow, Van." Steve spoke sternly as he handed me my room key. He was still pissed about us playing Overlap and not telling him. I could hear it in his voice.

"I'll be here."

"You've got two interviews before soundcheck."

I raised up my hands and nodded. "Then let me get to my room so I can sleep."

I brushed past him and ducked into the elevator with Benji. Bob and Bondy were still talking to Steve and nodded their farewells to us as the elevator doors closed showing our reflections in their bronze walls. We both let out long sighs.

"Calling it an early night, Blakes?"

"I'm not as young as I used to be. And I can't stop thinking about that show we were watching. I'm going to soak in a few more episodes."

The doors opened on a ping and he stepped out, but paused for a moment and held his hand against the open door.

"Unless you want to do something." His statement sounded more like a question, and judging by the look on his face, it was a question he feared the answer to.

I shook my head. "I'm alright, probably gonna try to get some more sleep. Maybe I'll have some more luck like on the bus."

"Alright V. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Noon." I said in my best Steve voice. He laughed as the doors closed.

I rode the next three floors in silence staring at the ceiling the whole time. When the doors opened to my floor, I stepped out into the foyer and turned the corner to find my room. Just a few doors down from me stood Barns, fumbling with a key, Ellie at his side. I looked away quickly, down at my own key and pulled my bag over my shoulder tighter.

"Hey Hey!" Barns yelled out. I glanced up and half smiled, more so at Ellie than him. I owed her an apology, but now wasn't the time. I needed to do it when he wasn't around, because it needed to be sincere and I didn't want to slip up and say something about Barns.

"Hope we don't keep you up, McCann." Barns laughed loudly, flashing me his perfect teeth and tilting his head back. I glanced at Ellie, who blushed and pushed her way past him into the room. They disappeared behind their door just as mine opened. A fire burned in me that I didn't understand. Maybe it was just low tolerance for Barns and how vile he was. Maybe I was just jonesing for a drink.

I tossed my bag on the bed and glanced around the empty room for a few minutes before deciding I couldn't be in it. It was too hollow, too empty and quiet, and my mind was being loud and needy. I didn't want to sit in here alone and try to find sleep when I knew it wouldn't come. I pulled my phone from my pocket and typed in Benji's number.

I'm going down to the hotel bar. Turns out I need to do something else. You can meet me if you're up for it.

I shrugged my coat off and rolled the sleeves of my shirt up before sticking my key into my pocket and opening the door. I paused for a moment before making sense of who was looking back at me.

Ellie.

#Catfish and the Bottlemen #vanfic #van mccann #benji blakeway #Bob Hall #johnny bond #barns courtney #fan fiction #writer #I write fanfics not tragedies #catb #catbblogs

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 6 years ago

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JKR

Joker x reader

Summary:You’re an assassin from out of town that ends up in the middle of the nonsense that is the Joker’s reign of terror during The Dark Knight. Where do you go from here?

Word Count: 2570

“Does it ever stop raining in this fucking city?” Y/N muttered to herself as the thunder shook the building for what had to have been the millionth time.

“‘Fraid not, my dear!” a chipper-sounding voice answered from the cell next to hers. “Most of the locals know that, though, so let me guess. You’re new in town?”

Her eyes drifted over to look at the speaker and was surprised by what she saw: a man in a surprisingly vibrant green vest with worn-looking clown makeup and green hair that looked downright dingy compared to the vest. “You could say that. And who are you supposed to be?”

A wicked smirk tugged at his red-coated lips. “Oh, no one really. Just the foil to the bit Bat.”

“Who?”

“You really are from out of town!” he cackled. “What’s a beautiful adventurer like you doin’ in a place like big, bad, Gotham?”

“Business,” was her vague answer.

“Must be some interesting business if they have you locked in here with little ol’ me.”

Her attention was stolen by the telltale clanging sounds of approaching guards. “You could say that.” It was her turn to smirk.

“Do you happen to have the time?” he asked abruptly.

The upward quirk of her lip immediately fell in confusion, but she looked around for a clock nonetheless. From her cell, she could just make out the reflection of red numbers in the glass opposite her. “It’s 8:43. Why?”

“Too soon, then,” he muttered, seemingly to himself. His dark eyes seemed to light up when he looked back up at her. “Ooh, are they coming for you?”

Her jaw clenched. “If they are, they’re gonna regret it.”

“Got somethin’ special planned for ‘em?”

She chuckled as she untied her boot to allow her fingers enough room to reach the pocket hidden within. Then she promptly withdrew a small knife. “You could say that.”

“Now how did you get that past the scanner?” He sounded a little impressed despite the little faux pout on his face.

“Ceramic. No metal in it to be spotted on their scanner.”

“Oh, you are a curious one,” he mused, clapping with glee. “Might I ask the name of such a femme fatale before she makes her daring escape?”

“Y/N.”

And then everything turned to chaos.

The guards burst in wearing full riot gear and immediately swarmed Y/N’s cell. The next few minutes saw her doing everything from slashing throats to using guards as meat shields against their teammates’ shots. All this while her neighbor clapped and laughed in unfiltered joy. By the end, she was left standing alone amongst a sea of dead and dying guards.

“Well, that’s my cue to leave,” she announced as she armed herself with a handful of stolen weapons. “Have fun with … whatever it is you’ve got planned.”

“Oh, I will. See you around, Y/N.” His voice shifted lower, became husky as he said her name, drawing a little chill down her spine.

The next several hours were a clusterfuck to say the least. Y/N had been hired by some Italian mobster to take out one Harvey Dent. That was why she was in the city in the first place. She’d gotten arrested during the old Commissioner’s funeral because they’d heightened security due to some threat, and she was caught in the guards’ paranoia. Rightfully so considering her intentions, but it still annoyed her to be waiting around in jail for a chance to escape while her plan just fell to pieces before her. Then she found out Dent was already kidnapped and half-blown-up in an explosion.

So basically, she was pissed that her straightforward plan to assassinate some DA was becoming more and more difficult by the hour. Changing her plans for a bout the fiftieth time since entering the godforsaken city, she found out what hospital her target was being treated at, and resolvedd to pose as a nurse and drug him. If all went well, it would look like incompetence of a real nurse and that would be the end of that.

Only to run smack into another nurse right outside the door. “Excuse me,” she muttered, keeping her head down. “His doctor told me to prep him for–What the he–” She cut herself off as she recognized the eyes above the surgical-mask-wearing-person that’d just dragged her into an empty room.

“Now, I really doubt that, doll,” he teased, removing his mask. “Ain’t I a lucky one to run into you in such a convenient manner?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question, Missy.” As he spoke he pushed her slowly until her back met the wall, effectively trapping her.

As soon as her back hit the cold surface, she raised a knife to his neck. “I am trying to do the job I was hired to do, and I’m starting to get the sneaking suspicion that you’re the one that keeps fucking up my plans.”

“Ooh, let me guess, you’ve killed people for less?” He started cackling again, seemingly excited by the thought.

She smirked. “You could say that.”

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t let you kill poor Mr. Dent. I need him for a little game I’m playing with the Batman.” He traced a finger along the blade of the knife just lightly enough that he didn’t cut himself.

“See the problem with that,” she dug the knife in a little deeper, drawing a thin line of blood along the side of his neck, “is if I don’t get this job done, I’m going to have Gotham’s infamous mob after me.”

“And what if I told you that I had that, uh, mob under my thumb?”

“I’d say that when I get paid for a job, I fucking do it.”

He leaned forward until their noses were brushing, inadvertently making the cut deeper. Not that he seemed to care. “Loyalty. I like that.”

She scoffed. “I’m not loyal to those assholes. I just keep my word.”

“Then how about you just … delay his execution for a bit? Let the boy enjoy a little revenge before you kill him?”

Y/N let her eyes roam around his face while she thought about it. He was an interesting one, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious about what he had planned. “That, I can do. You keep shitting all over my plans anyway. Which reminds me, it was your guys that shot at the mayor, right?”

“In a manner of, uh, speaking.”

Her eyes lit up as she realized what he was implying. “So you’re the guy I didn’t recognize! I had info on everyone that had checked in to be in that line, and then you showed up instead of the last one.”

“Right you are, dollface, but I’m afraid we’re gonna have to continue this later. I’ve got chaos to spread.” He leaned forward enough just enough that their lips grazed together in the ghost of a kiss.

Y/N was surprised, but not mad at the development, so she allowed the hand holding the knife to fall to her side. “For the record,” she cleared her throat in a poor attempt to hide the fact that she enjoyed that little touch, “the suit looked way better than the nurse getup.”

Again, he cackled, this time backing away a little. “I like you. You should make a quick getaway, sweetheart; things are about to get hot around here.” And then he donned the mask once more and danced out of the room.

The next couple of days went by in a strange blur for Y/N. She mostly spent the time following Harvey around right up until Batman shoved him down a hole in a fatal fall that was significantly aided by the tiny poison dart she shot into his neck once he landed. After that, she mostly lamented the fact that the one interesting person in the city, the Joker she’d since learned, had been captured the night the whole city was threatened.

Never one to do anything she wasn’t getting paid for, Y/N wouldn’t be breaking her amusement out of Arkham, but she did keep her ears open for information about the man. Instead, she tripped over the realization that one Bruce Wayne was Batman when she talked–interrogated–to the man that almost spilled his secret identity on the news.

Be that as it may, she didn’t expect to return to her apartment from buying groceries to find Wayne himself lounging on her couch. “Apparently I need to call pest control,” she muttered automatically, “someone’s let vermin in.” She slammed her bags down on her kitchen counter in irritation before returning to the living room to stare at her unwelcome guest expectantly.

“I trust I don’t have to tell you to keep your … new knowledge to yourself,” he responded casually. “And you can put that knife away, I’m not here to fight.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” she said despite the fact that she returned the purple-handled pocket knife to her waistband. She’d been amused when she saw it at the store, and bought it on a whim. “I know what you did to my employer. Cost me a paycheck.”

“On the contrary, I’m here to thank you. You helped us save Harvey’s reputation by killing him”

“And made him a fucking martyr. Lovely.”

“And made quite the name for yourself here while you were at it: Red Queen, Killer of Gotham’s White Knight,” he proclaimed. This was immediately followed by a shrug. “At least that’s what the paper said.” His eyes narrowed. “They left out the whole ‘friend of Joker’ part at my request.”

“And yet the name is still derivative. Interesting,” she deadpanned. “Wonder how long it’ll take someone to connect the dots. That being said, I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. All I know is that the news said Mr. Dent died from a fall.”

Another shrug. “They found a dart later, and his system was full of morphine. Enough to kill several men.”

“First I’ve heard of it,” came her cool reply. “And besides, if that’s true how can you possibly be sure that that assassin was connected to the Joker. Let alone that it’s me.”

“If it’s so absurd, how about you explain this,” Wayne prompted, slapping a tablet onto the coffee table between them.

Against her better judgement, Y/N caved to her curiosity and picked up the device. Displayed there in full technicolor was a crystal-clear image of the barely-kiss between the Joker and herself.”

“Now I’m no expert,” his voice was almost mocking now, “but that’s you, and that doesn’t look like you don’t know him.”

“Your point?” Annoyed, she threw the tablet back at him like a frisbee, which he caught much to her displeasure.

“We’re at an impasse on the police front. You know who I am, and I know where you are. The commissioner isn’t looking for you because he’s busy with everything else that’s happening.”

“I don’t tell; you don’t tell. I’m not an idiot, Mr. Wayne.”

“Then as long as you stay away from the Joker we can keep it that way.”

“I don’t appreciate being threatened in my own home, Mr. Wayne,” this time his name was said through gritted teeth.

“And I don’t like assassins coming into my city and shacking up with people like the goddamn Joker. Stay away from him.” With that, he stood and straightened his obviously-expensive suit. “I hope we don’t meet anytime soon, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Fuck off.”

No less than five minutes after the bat-obsessed vigilante left, Y/N heard the front door open again from her place in the kitchen. Cautiously, she retrieved the loaded sawed-off shotgun from its place under the counter. “What’s the matter, Mr. Wayne?” she taunted as she crept from the kitchen to the living room. “Forget something?”

“Replace me already?” a different, familiar voice mocked right back.

Gun still aimed at approximately chest-high, Y/N rounded the corner. She relaxed somewhat upon recognizing the intruder. “Joker?”

“A shotgun?” He used one finger to push the barrel away, grin beaming all the while. “Woman after my own heart.”

She rolled her eyes but relaxed her grip on the gun so that it hung limply by her side. “I’m not even gonna ask how you found me.”

“But it was so interesting,” he whined playfully. A smirk pulled at his lips.

“Joker,” her voice was warning.

“Oh alright, but you have to tell me about what good ol’ Mr. Wayne wanted. I had to wait out in the cold for him to leave. For hours, Y/N.”

“It’s 70 degrees out.”

“Oh, come on, dollface. What’s with the attitude? I thought we had something special.”

“You damn well why Wayne was here,” she snapped. “First, I make a fucking martyr because I listened to you, and now I’ve got a billionaire breaking into my place threatening to stay away from you! Special or not, I’m in the middle of a Gotham City Shitstorm because of you, and I never even got paid for it!”

“I’m not that blind, sweetheart.” His tongue darted out to lick at his bottom lip. “You love the chaos. You live for it. I’ve seen your record. You only take jobs that you think will be interesting, because you thrive under the pressure.” As he spoke, he stalked closer, forcing her to step back, until he had her pressed against a wall just like last time. “Am. I. Wrong?” Those last words were muttered right beside her ear, breath causing goosebumps to form along her skin.

By that point, Y/N had quietly drawn that knife back out with her free hand and had the tip of the blade pressed lightly against his groin.

“I’d ask if you’ve got a knife to my balls or if you’re happy to see me, but I know you’re happy to see me,” he stated casually.

To that, she rolled her eyes.

“You haven’t answered me yet, sweetheart,” he taunted. He turned his head so those scarred lips brushed against the bare skin of her neck. “You crave the adrenaline from jobs like this, don’t you?”

She shivered. “You could say that,” she smirked as she repeated her answer from the first time they met.

The Joker used surprisingly gentle fingers to pry the shotgun out of her hand before setting it on a shelf beside them. “So join me. Just,” sharp inhale as her now-free hand slid up to grasp at the front of his vest, “imagine how much fun we could have playing both sides of ol’ Batsy.”

In a flash, she used that free hand to reach up while he was distracted to grab his hair and yank his head back so she could look him in the eye. Granted, she didn’t expect the quiet moan and ensuing giggle from him. Arousing as that was, Y/N chose to ignore it. For now. “And what do you get out of it?”

He practically purred at the question. “You.”

A laugh escaped her at the simplicity of the answer. Impulsively, she started leaving open-mouthed kisses along his exposed throat. “I think I can live with that.”

From there, he positively howled with insane cackling. “Ol’ Gotham won’t know what hit ‘em!”

#joker x reader #the joker x reader #heath ledger joker x reader #joker imagine #the joker imagine #dark knight imagine #reader insert

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ivisite · 6 years ago

Photo

First thing I need to address is that, wow, cats and cat like creatures are so hard to draw? please excuse my attempt at a Khajiit and a smol version of said race. Also bearded men? I’m used to drawing pretty korean boys

kind of a timeline ( ?? ) but also some family doodles even though Saoirse hasn’t claimed to have one of those in years (but what protagonist has parents these days, amirite-) A Poorly Paced and Terribly Written Origin Story by Me, an actual Potato When wee lass Saoirse was about 11, her father, an “Ex-Foresworn”, took her aside one day and told her they were going on an adventure and not to tell her mother or sister. A few days later, they ended up in the Reach atop some cliff and it is from this pivotal moment that Saoirse’s Daddy Issues™ started. He grabbed her by the arm, threw her down to the ground and yelled nonsense about the Old Gods and Hircine. Plot Twist, he was still a crazed Foresworn and wanted to appease Hircine by offering Saoirse up to be “BleSsEd” with the werewolf business. Before her very eyes, her father warped and twisted into a terrible beast and set his eyes on her.

Not about that, Saoirse tried to run off and pretty well got away from him but did sustain a nasty couple of scratches to the back in the escape. From there, she ran through the hills and cliffs for hours until coming across a Khajiit Caravan camping for the night. Bleeding and probably ugly crying, she scampered off into the camp and begged for help and the oldest member, the Matriarch named “Qu’Ra”, took pity on her and agreed to let her stay with them and their other little orphan, the aptly named “Snaggle”.

Not one for the whole “sweet motherly love” thing, Qu’Ra was more on the tough love side of things. Saoirse got to travel with the caravan but also had to learn to barter and trade so she was at least useful (or would be when she was older.)

Once she got older, probably 14 or so, the Caravan started sending Saoirse into the towns that the Khajiit themselves weren’t allowed into to sell their wares. Naturally gifted with a quick wit and light on her feet, she had no trouble at all selling and sneaking around to avoid concerned Guards.

After leaving Skyrim for a bit, the Caravan finally returned to the frost coated land and put Saoirse to work selling their wares inside cities. The first stop was uneventful, but the second stop in Riften is where all the fun stories Saoirse likes to tell Lucia about red headed men come from. Upon entering the city she came across the market area and heard a familiar type of accent and tracked down the source. “Is that your real accent, or just the one you use to sell your snake oils?” Saoirse said with a coy smile to the red headed vender settled happily in the stall she leaned against.

“It’s 100% real, just like my Draugr tonic.” he replied with an equally suave smile of his own, catching sight of a potential customer nearing the stall. “It’ll keep you alive and kicking for years.” he continued as the curious onlooker walked closer.

He gave the curious man a charming smile and leaned forward a bit to continue his sales pitch, all the while Saoirse watching with an amused expression. “Why would I buy this? Draugrs look horrid from what I’ve heard.” the man asked, brow raised in suspicion.

“Oh aye, but you have heard of them, then? Somethin’ has to keep the beasties skulking around all day, ya ken?” Saoirse retorted, stepping into the stall next to the fellow con-artist. “I took time out of my day, risked my own life to search several draugr infested tombs just to find the secret to their liveliness and bottled it up just for the likes of you.” the red headed man added.

Between the two of them, the poor man seemed to have fallen into the well worded trap, nodding thoughtfully to the red headed man as he spoke and mumbling to himself whenever Saoirse threw in her own septim or two. “Draugrs do skulk around all day, something must keep them up and about, huh? ....I’ll take one.” the man said after a few more moments of banter and coaxing.

After paying a hefty price of 200 septim for what could have literally been sewer water with flowers tossed in for good measure, the man walked off happily clutching his bottle and muttering to himself about it all.

“Good at making coin, aren’t you lass?” The red headed man asked, dusting his clothes off a bit and giving Saoirse what she could only imagine to be his most practiced, handsome smile.

He was a crafty one, for sure, but she couldn’t help but poke at the fire, if only out of her own curiosity. “Practiced that smile for weeks, didn’t you lad?” She cooed playfully back. The gesture was met with a chuckle from the man.

“What say you to sticking around the stall the rest of the day?” he asked, a cheeky smile parading onto his lips. It was the first genuine thing she’d seen off him thus far and it was perhaps more charming than his more practiced one. “Maybe, but I do charge a small helpers fee, of course.” She cooed.

and BOOM a terrible partnership of con-artistry began in which she would get to sell her wares from the caravan at his stall so to avoid paying business taxes and he would get a small cut and help selling his own “wares”. Did she know better? Of course. Did she talk herself into thinking she was smart enough to avoid getting hurt? Of course. Did she get her heart broken into pieces after bonding and romancing this man only to find out a few months into it that he’d been “borrowing” some of her wares, making her come up short when returning to Qu’Ra and profiting off them for himself all the while? You bet your sweet roll she did.

So naturally, as anyone might do, she crept down to his guild quarters, buttered him up and tuckered him out for the evening before running off into the night with 5000 of his personal money and several thousands worth of job related trinkets and jewelries he’d hoarded to give to the clients in question the next day.

And what did she do next, you might ask? Well, naturally she marched around the entirety of Skyrim and hand delivered all the stolen goods back to their owners in spite of him and then fled the country because she low key owed a powerful guild hella money and ain’t no one got time for that.

The next few years of her early twenties would be spent traveling literally anywhere but Skyrim doing odd jobs. Need someone to take out some bandits at your mine? Saoirse was all about it. Some questionable magic guy need help getting into a crypt to get a weird book? Sure, why not. Some rich person need help getting an heirloom that somehow ended up deep in the bowels of a falmer infested, centurion guarded Dwemer ruin? Sure but like double the payment because Centurions are scary.

It was a simple life and she ended up traveling all over the continent before returning to Skyrim in hopes of making it to Windhelm unnoticed by anyone that might be looking for her so she could hop a ride to Solstheim.

Of course that didn’t work out and instead she ended up getting caught up in an imperial raid on a stormcloak post while she was trying to trade herbs and potions for their sick in exchange for arrows and such.

On a moral ambiguity scale of black to white, she’s like a solid light grey for the majority of her life, like she would for sure talk you into giving her your shirt and then talk you into buying it back from her for double you paid for it, but also buys a room for the local orphan kid to sleep in for the night because it’s raining. not the best person but also not the worst, like a solid C+ human (∪ ◡ ∪)

the whole Helgen thing makes her start to rethink her life choices and thus starts the grueling journey of character development (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ and it all starts with her deciding to pick the warrior stone instead of the thief stone while Ralof rambled on about draugrs and stormcloaks in the background

#saoirse : oc #my oc #digital art #doodles #skyrim #tes oc #this turned out more rambly than i meant it to #skyrim oc #female dragonborn #sorry for rambling i'm tired and it's 2am #half of me wants to write out her story and the other half just wants to nap #whoops i like writing too

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thelastspeecher · 6 years ago

Text

Recoil - Chapter 3: Collateral Damage

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 AO3

Whoops, this went up a little late. I was busy eating too much food for Thanksgiving and then traveling yesterday; I didn’t get a chance to post it. But here it is! And here, I’m beginning to unravel a few of the plot threads I spun up. Hopefully this chapter answers a few questions and raises a few more.

(Again, this fic was inspired by “1 Step Forward, 20 Years Back” by @infriga)

Collateral damage (noun): damage that is unintended or incidental to the intended outcome

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The kitchen was filled with a surge of hyperactive energy so strong that Stan could feel his own fingers and toes buzzing from merely being in the room. The source of the energy was Ford, who couldn’t seem to decide what exactly he was doing. He manically rocketed from the table to the counter to the stove to the fridge. Stan managed to grab Ford during one of the short sprints.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” he said firmly. “You’re at twenty. I’m gonna need you to dial it back to about three.” Ford wriggled in his arms.

“But Fiddleford is-”

“I get that you’re excited your friend’s coming over, but you’ve gotta calm down. I swear, I’m gonna trip over you if you keep this up.”

“But-”

“The best way to rein in an out of control child ain’t exactly calm discussion,” a voice said. Ford froze. Fiddleford appeared in the entryway to the kitchen. “A sit’ation like this is resolved by threatenin’ to withhold the thing the kidlet’s excited ‘bout.” Fiddleford fixed an analytical gaze on Ford. “Of course, my experience comes from dealin’ with actual children, not scientists what landed themselves in hot water.”

“Uh, hey, Fiddlesticks,” Stan said.

“Fiddleford,” Ford and Fiddleford corrected.

“Yeah. That.”

“Hope ya don’t mind that I let m’self in. Still had my old key.”

“Your old-” Stan frowned. “Did you live here with Ford?”

“Fer a while, sure,” Fiddleford said vaguely.

“You guys really need to fill me in on your history,” Stan said. He looked down at Ford. “I’m gonna let you go now, but if you try to tackle Fiddle…ford, I swear, I’ll lock you in your room.” Ford pouted. “Don’t make that face at me. Are you gonna be calm now?”

“…Yes,” Ford mumbled.

“Good.” Stan released Ford, who, after a split second of standing completely still, bolted out of the room. “Son of a- he better not break anything.” Stan looked at Fiddleford. “I think once he runs off some of that energy, he’ll be ready to talk.” Fiddleford merely nodded silently. “Last week, he caught something that put him in bed for days. I forgot how wild kids get once they bounce back from being sick.”

“Mm-hmm.” Fiddleford looked in the direction Ford had rushed off. “Say, has he been actin’ like a kid a lot?”

“Uh, depends. Some days, he seems more like a kid than others. Like today, he-” Ford ran into the kitchen again and skidded to a halt in front of Fiddleford, papers in his arms. Fiddleford looked at Stan meaningfully.

“We’ll have this conversation later,” he said. Stan nodded. Ford looked back and forth between Stan and Fiddleford.

“What conversation?”

“Sharing parenting tips,” Stan said, playfully ruffling Ford’s hair. Ford shoved his hands away.

“Fiddleford told you about his son already? Did he show you the pictures he keeps in his wallet?” Ford asked. Stan frowned.

“What?” He looked at Fiddleford. “You’ve got a kid.”

“…Yes,” Fiddleford said quietly. He cleared his throat. “Tate’s in California with his mom right now.”

“Oh.” Stan looked at Ford again. “What you got there?”

“Data!” Ford said cheerfully, holding up the papers in his arms. “I thought that once we convinced Fiddleford to help, he could go over the data with me and we could work on coming up with a cure.” Fiddleford raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well, the first step there is convincin’ me to help. So we best start with that step, ‘cause I ain’t leanin’ in yer favor quite yet.” Ford grinned.

“Right.” He gestured at the kitchen table. “Please, Fiddleford, take a seat. Stanley and I will make our case.”

Despite – or maybe because of – Fiddleford’s protests that he still might not help, Stan didn’t believe it for a second. Fiddleford kept watching Ford with a fondness that Stan guessed came from having a son of his own. Every now and then, Fiddleford’s expression sharpened, like he’d remembered who Ford was, but overall, Fiddleford seemed much softer than he’d been in the library when he’d cursed Ford’s name.

“So, like I said, Stanley has done a remarkably good job at assisting me in general care, but he lacks the scientific expertise to assist in the discovery of both the cause of my regression and the potential cure,” Ford finished. Fiddleford sat back in his seat, feigning a thoughtful demeanor that Stan could see right through.

“I see,” Fiddleford said slowly. He took a breath. “Well, I ain’t exactly the kind of person who would turn down such an eloquent request from a child.” He looked at Stan. “Though I’d like to hear yer perspective on this, Stanley.” Stan blinked, surprised.

“Uh, basically, just what Ford said. I can reach things for him and take him places, but I can’t do anything in the lab.”

“Hmm.” Fiddleford steepled his fingers. He let out a small sigh. “I’ll help.” Ford jumped up in his chair. “I ain’t goin’ near that portal, though. I’ll look over the data you’ve collected, see if there’s somethin’ Stanford missed.” Ford beamed.

“Excellent!” His stomach rumbled. “…Oh.” Ford looked at Stan. “Stanley, would you-”

“I can see about doin’ something for dinner,” Stan said. “Why don’t you and Fiddlewhatever start going over some of that data of yours while I whip up some spaghetti and meatballs, huh?” Ford beamed again. Out of the corner of his eye, Stan could see Fiddleford’s look shift to contemplative.

“Will do.” Ford gathered the papers he’d brought into the kitchen. “Fiddleford, we can talk in the living room.” He shot a glare at Stan. “Stanley claims he needs silence to cook well.”

“I can’t help it. Gotta be able to focus,” Stan said airily. Ford rolled his eyes and hopped off his chair.

“If you say so. By the way, his name is Fiddleford. Say it correctly.” Ford marched into the living room. Fiddleford glanced at Stan as he followed Ford out. Their eyes met. Stan felt a shiver run down his spine at Fiddleford’s expression. He shook the feeling away and began gathering what he needed for dinner.

That bag of skin and bones is damn perceptive, isn’t he? He won’t be as easy to fool as Ford.

-----

Most engineers had the reputation of being better with machines than people. Fiddleford considered himself an exception. Sure, there were days that he felt more comfortable with nuts and bolts and scrap metal, but he’d never been one to struggle to understand people. Growing up with five siblings and more cousins than you could shake a stick at would do that. So he knew from the second he walked into the eerily clean house that something odd was going on.

Luckily, after bein’ in Gravity Falls fer so long, I’m experienced in oddities. Fiddleford sat silently at the kitchen table while he watched Stan attempt to get Ford into bed. A process that began with verbal commands, then progressed quickly to Stan physically picking Ford up and taking him somewhere else. Fiddleford pursed his lips. Stanford’s never particularly enjoyed sleep, but I haven’t seen his protests be so immature before. He looked down at the data spread out on the table. That fits with what I’m seein’ here. At some point during his visit, it had begun to rain. The distinct drumming of raindrops soothed his frazzled, frantic mind. This data tells me what happened, but not how. How did the portal malfunction in this way?

“Sorry about that,” Stan said, walking into the kitchen again. “Ford hates that I make him go to bed at 8:30, but if he doesn’t, he turns into a gremlin the next day.” Fiddleford waved a hand.

“That ain’t no problem. Children need their sleep. Even if they’re really in their late twenties.”

“Heh. Yeah.” Stan sat down across from Fiddleford. “You want something to drink? Ford had a years’ supply of coffee when I showed up. Or if you want something stronger, I’m pretty sure there’s some liquor around here somewhere.” Fiddleford shook his head.

“No need fer drinks. I’m a bit surprised ya haven’t just tossed the coffee out, though. Stanford’s addicted to it somethin’ fierce, and it ain’t good fer children. It’ll stunt their growth.”

“Well, I tried hiding it at first,” Stan said, “but then he found it and made some while I was out. For some reason, though, he didn’t have more than a sip. He said it tasted terrible.” Stan shrugged. “I tried some. It wasn’t the best coffee I’d ever had, but it definitely wasn’t the worst.” Fiddleford nodded, not surprised by this. Again, it seemed in line with the readouts from the portal that Ford had showed him.

Immature tastes to match an immature body.

“I have to say, Stanley, I’m impressed,” Fiddleford said. He clasped his hands together and tried to ignore how his fingers were far too thin. Stan eyed him suspiciously.

“Really?” Stan’s tone was doubtful, bordering on incredulous.

Almost like he don’t believe someone would be impressed with him. Fiddleford chewed on that thought for a moment. That’s somethin’ to pursue later.

“Yes. You seem to have taken to this like a fish to water,” Fiddleford replied calmly. Stan blew out an impatient breath.

“With what? The weird shit here?”

“Well, yes, though that wasn’t what I was referrin’ to.” Fiddleford met Stan’s eyes. Stan stared determinedly back. “I was referrin’ to fatherhood.” He’d expected Stan to either brush off the compliment or soak in it – that was how Ford tended to respond, after all. Stan did neither. Fury clouded his eyes. Stan shot up, the force of his movement tossing the chair he’d been sitting in. It slammed against the wall.

“Listen, Fiddledork,” Stan snarled.

“Fiddleford-”

“Ford’s not my son. He’s my brother.”

“I know. I wasn’t tryin’ to imply otherwise.”

“Then what the hell were you implying?”

“It’s just…” Fiddleford trailed off. He glanced down at his worn and stained clothes. “I mentioned my son, Tate. He’s ten now.” Fiddleford looked up again. Stan locked his gaze with Fiddleford’s once more. “I know from experience how difficult it is to be in charge of a young boy. Sure, the circumstances here are dif’rent. Stanford’s technically an adult, after all. But just judgin’ by the few things I saw earlier and the information you’ve given me, I get the feelin’ it’s not quite as dif’rent as one would expect.” Stan reddened. His gaze immediately dropped to the table.

“…Fine.” Stan rubbed his face. “It- it feels like I’m taking care of a kid more and more. Ford refuses to take baths, won’t eat vegetables, and fights with me when I try to get him to go to bed. At first, he did those things without arguing. He knew that he needed to in order to stay healthy. Kids can’t run on fumes all the time like Ford had been before I showed up. And he knew that.” Stan grabbed his chair, brought it back to the table, and sat down. “But lately, it’s like he’s forgotten all of that.”

“He hasn’t forgotten. He’s just slippin’ into a more childlike mindset. It’s more difficult fer him to think rationally and logically right now.”

“Why?” Stan demanded. “He was fine at first. What-” Stan’s breath caught in his throat. “Is it my fault that he’s becoming more of a kid?”

“No! No, not at all,” Fiddleford said quickly. “It has to do with the source of his regression.” Stan straightened.

“You figured out what caused it, then? Already?”

“Yes and no.” Fiddleford clasped his hands. “Luckily, Stanford has been runnin’ some tests on himself from day one, usin’ equipment I designed myself. He wasn’t able to interpret the data, but I could.” Fiddleford began to shuffle through the papers on the table. “The output from the portal on the day this whole thing started indicates that the energy you saw hit Ford was from another dimension.”

“Another dimension?”

“Another reality,” Fiddleford said. “Multiverse theory holds that there’s an infinite number of universes, some similar to ours, some drastically different, all of ‘em theoretically accessible if one punches a hole in the fabric of the space-time continuum.” Stan furrowed his brow.

“That’s what the machine in the basement does?” he asked. “It rips the fabric of the universe?”

“Essentially, yes.” Fiddleford cocked his head. “Have ya heard of multiverse theory before?”

“Uh, no, not exactly.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “I read a lot of comic books when I was a kid, though, and this sounds like some of the stuff that happened in my favorite titles.” Stan let out a small, dry laugh. “Of course my brother would be making the stuff from comic books real.” Fiddleford smiled slightly. “How do you know the lightning I saw was from a different dimension?”

“The sensors in the basement recognized it as havin’ a dif’rent energy signature than things in this universe.”

“What do you mean by energy signature?” Stan asked slowly. Fiddleford hummed.

“How familiar are ya with quarks and wave-particle duality?”

“…I don’t know what either of those things are.” Stan looked away. “I dunno if Ford told you anything about me when you two were nerding out earlier, but I didn’t even graduate high school. I’m not a genius like Ford. I’m not smart at all.”

“I highly doubt that,” Fiddleford said. Stan snorted. “There are dif’rent forms that intelligence takes. Fer example, my pa, he didn’t graduate high school, either. But he knows how to run a farm and manage a fam’ly. Two things that Stanford, fer all his brains, would have no idea to do. I have the philosophy that everyone is smart in some way. It’s just that all ways of bein’ smart don’t get recognized as such.” Stan was silent. The sound of rain hitting the roof filled the room. Fiddleford cleared his throat. “…Anyways, if yer not familiar with the concepts I mentioned, ya prob’ly won’t get much out of my explanation.”

“Probably,” Stan mumbled.

“Just know that the energy what hit Ford wasn’t from this universe.” Stan nodded. “And right now, Ford isn’t from this universe, either.” Stan’s eyes widened. He whipped his head back around to stare at Fiddleford.

“What?!” he yelped. Fiddleford held up his hands.

“Maybe I should’ve phrased that more delicately. The lil boy sleepin’ right now is still the Stanford we both know.” Stan relaxed. “But at the same time, he’s not.” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not in the mood for riddles,” Stan said, exasperated.

“Okay.” Fiddleford took a breath. “He’s currently givin’ off the same energy signature as the electricity ya saw. Every part of him is. I’ll see ‘bout runnin’ some tests tomorrow to confirm this, but it seems to me like every cell was rewritten to match the Stanford of the dimension that energy came from.” Fiddleford drummed his fingers on the table. “That would account fer the behavioral and mental changes both you and Stanford have told me about.”

“How?”

“He’s essentially a child again. Just with the memories of bein’ an adult. A lot of skills can only be developed once yer brain finishes properly developin’. An eight-year-old don’t have a well-developed brain, so Stanford doesn’t have access to those skills he used to know. Skills like logical reasoning or emotional regulation.”

“That might explain why he’s been acting like a kid, but why has it been getting worse?” Stan asked.

“I don’t have a definitive answer, but I think it’s ‘cause he’s beginning to adjust. Initially, I’m assumin’ he struggled against his new body’s limits, and that new body also fought against him a bit, too. But as he’s gotten used to this, his mind is adjusting to fit his body.” Fiddleford shrugged. “That’s my theory, of course. Could be completely wrong. I ain’t a psychologist or a biologist by any means.”

“Does that mean the longer it takes to fix Ford, the more difficult it’ll be?” Stan asked hoarsely. “The longer he stays a kid, the less likely he’ll be able to act like an adult when he’s back to normal?”

“I doubt it. Once we figure out a way to turn Ford back into the Ford from this reality, his mind should follow suit. The mind is more malleable than ya think.” Fiddleford pursed his lips. “The bad news here, though, is that I don’t have the foggiest idea of how to fix this. My, uh, my mind ain’t quite what it used to be.”

“Why?” Stan asked. Fiddleford tensed. “Does it have to do with why you and Ford are on the rocks?”

“I’d rather not get into it,” Fiddleford mumbled. “It ain’t relevant to this.”

“You just said that it’ll make it difficult for you to fix Ford. Sounds relevant to me.”

“I can handle it. Especially with Ford to help here and there.” Fiddleford eyed Stan. “While we’re alone, I have to ask ya somethin’.”

“Shoot.”

“Stanford never told me he had a twin brother. Why’s that?”

“I-” Stan tensed, just like Fiddleford had moments ago. “It’s a long story. And one I’m not gonna tell if you don’t tell me about your history with Ford.” He smirked slightly, like he’d won some sort of argument.

“Fair,” Fiddleford said. Stan seemed a bit disappointed that Fiddleford hadn’t fought back further. He cleared his throat.

“We know how Ford got turned into a kid. But why? Why did the portal do this to him?”

“Honestly?” Fiddleford looked out the window. He could see a few gnomes scampering at the edge of the woods, despite the rain. “I have no idea.”

-----

Over breakfast, Fiddleford told Ford what he had discovered. Ford pushed his plate of toast away angrily.

“Hey, it took me forever to figure out how to turn the toaster off of the ‘possessed’ setting,” Stan protested. Ford glared at him.

“You spoke about important matters while I was sleeping. Sleeping, might I remind you, because of your inane rules that I currently lack the physical capability to circumvent,” Ford spat. Stan picked up one of Ford’s slices of toast and took a bite.

“Now I get why you’re not hungry. You ate a dictionary for breakfast.”

“I-” Ford crossed his arms. He turned to Fiddleford. “F, are you sure of your conclusions?”

“‘Bout as sure as I can be,” Fiddleford said gently. He’d left the previous night after talking to Stan and returned in the morning. Stan assumed he had gone to his own home, but wasn’t completely sure, since Fiddleford was dressed in the same rumpled clothes as the day before. Despite that, he had clearly showered or bathed, judging by his damp hair, something Stan was relieved by.

I had to literally drop Ford fully clothed in the tub two days ago. Stan took another bite of the toast he’d made for Ford. He doesn’t need to get any ideas about not bathing. For what seemed like the millionth time, Stan felt the irony of the current situation beating at him. Of all the people in the world, I’m the last one who should be telling someone else to shower or eat or sleep.

“Effectively, the portal used the Stanford Pines of this alternate reality as a blueprint,” Ford said slowly. Stan shook away his thoughts and focused on what Ford was saying. “And for materials, used me.”

“Yessir.”

“It also used that blueprint to remake my clothes, using what I was wearing at the moment,” Ford said with a small sigh. He rubbed the fabric of his pants – the same pair the portal had created weeks ago – absentmindedly. “I have to admit, I’m rather relieved by that. Dealing with being a child again is bad enough. It would have been even worse if I had been left without clothes that fit me properly.”

“Or without your glasses,” Stan said. Ford grimaced.

“Yes, it would be remarkably difficult to find the appropriate eyewear for me, had the portal not provided it. I dare say that even you would have difficulty stealing glasses with my prescription without knowing what the proper prescription was.”

“Hmm.” Stan frowned thoughtfully. “I’ll have to think about that one.” Fiddleford raised his eyebrows.

“I certainly hope yer not plannin’ a heist, Stanley. After all, Stanford’s perfectly fine with the glasses he’s got now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan said dismissively, still trying to work out how he would handle stealing glasses for Ford. Fiddleford sighed. He looked at Ford.

“Do ya have any questions fer me?” Fiddleford asked. Ford shook his head.

“I understand everything you’ve told me. I- I’m still struggling to understand how you interpreted the data, but I don’t need to in order to understand the results.” Ford slouched forward in his seat, resting his arms on the table. “I’m not looking forward to the gradual loss of my adult behaviors and skills that this seems to entail. I wonder if I’ll even notice when it begins.” Stan silently raised an eyebrow at Ford. Ford’s eyes widened. “Has- has it already started?”

“Yep,” Stan said. Ford swallowed.

“How do you know?” he asked, his voice small.

“Remember two days ago? When you wouldn’t take a bath?” Stan asked. Ford’s eyes widened further. “Or last night when you refused to eat a single vegetable?”

“The- the taste is-” Ford started. “And- and bathing isn’t- current research suggests washing your skin every day is harmful to-”

“Yeah, that was your third day in a row without taking a bath or a shower,” Stan said. “And you know that eating vegetables is important when you’re a kid. Even if it tastes bad, it’s good for you.”

“I- yes, I know that, I just-” Ford fell silent. His head fell to the table. “My immature urges are getting the better of my logical mind,” he said, his voice slightly muffled. Fiddleford gently rested a hand on Ford’s back. Ford’s head shot up. “Son of a bitch, that’s why I thought the coffee tasted horrible!” he gasped.

“Language,” Fiddleford said immediately. Ford glared at him. “That was on instinct, okay? I didn’t think ‘fore I said it.” Fiddleford removed his hand from Ford’s back. “But it wouldn’t hurt ya none to clean yer vocabulary up a bit,” he muttered. Ford let out a loud groan. His head hit the table again.

“Even if I purchased coffee from a high-end establishment, I wouldn’t like it. Children have a higher sensitivity to bitterness than adults.” His words turned into a whine near the end of the sentence. “And I like coffee!” Stan rolled his eyes and began to gather the plates from breakfast. Fiddleford got up to help. They met at the sink.

“Is he goin’ to be all right?” Fiddleford whispered to Stan. Stan glanced back at Ford, who hadn’t moved.

“Probably. Why? Do you think he’s not?”

“I mean…” Fiddleford chewed on his lip. “He seems genuinely distraught.”

“He’s just being a drama queen,” Stan insisted. “Kids do that. He’s not even crying. If he was crying, I’d be concerned. But he’s not.”

“He might be forcin’ himself not to, to prove he’s mature,” Fiddleford pointed out. “I’ve seen my son do that ‘fore.” Stan rested his hands on the counter, thinking about what Fiddleford had said. “He’s been given some rather distressin’ news. Not only will he continue to act more childlike, but the process started without his knowledge.”

“That’s a fair point,” Stan mumbled. He sighed. “Fine. You’re the one who’s actually a dad. You know kids. If you say he’s upset, I- I-” Stan grimaced. His mouth was coated in a sour film, his stomach churning, like when he’d drunk spoiled milk on a dare in high school. “I’ll trust you.”

“Thank you, Stanley.” Fiddleford’s soft, gentle tone took Stan by surprise. He resisted the urge to look at Fiddleford. “I ‘ppreciate it.”

“…Whatever.” Stan took a breath. “So, kid expert, what should we do to cheer Ford up? I don’t want him to be upset for ages.” Stan thought back to Ford’s sensitivity to stress when they were children, which he grew out of by the time they were teenagers. “He’ll get a stomachache.”

“Well…” Fiddleford pursed his lips. “If it were Tate, I’d take him to the park. Tate likes nature. He’s a Boy Scout, actually.”

“Good for Tate,” Stan said under his breath. He ignored Fiddleford’s frown. “Ford likes going in the woods and seeing the spooky weird shit in there. Maybe we take him on a hike?”

“It ain’t safe fer a child to go in the woods ‘round here,” Fiddleford hissed.

“Yeah, which is why I haven’t let him go look for fairies or whatever,” Stan shot back. “But if we’re there with him-”

“I ain’t exactly bodyguard material.”

“Good thing I am.” Stan flashed a cocky grin at Fiddleford. “Don’t act like you haven’t noticed my arms yet.” To his disappointment, Stan had lost some of the fitness he’d had in high school, when he was boxing almost every day. But one thing he’d been determined to maintain was his right hook, so when other forms of exercise had fallen to the wayside, Stan still found time to go a few rounds with whatever he could use as a punching bag.

Fiddleford rolled his eyes.

“And like I said, I haven’t let him go in the woods. Honestly, that’s the thing that would cheer him up the most.” After a moment, Fiddleford nodded. Stan turned around to face Ford. “Hey, Sixer.”

“What?” Ford asked, lifting his head. Stan felt a slight twinge in his chest. Like Fiddleford had said, Ford was evidently more upset than he was attempting to let on. Unshed tears shone in his eyes.

“Wanna go for a hike in the forest?” Stan asked. Ford looked down at the table.

“You’re trying to placate me,” he mumbled.

“Well, I was plannin’ on bringin’ some equipment, tryin’ to see if anything gave off energy similar to the kind you are,” Fiddleford said. He inspected his raggedy nails idly. “Thought that it might be nice to look fer a natural cure, since I ain’t settin’ foot near that portal any time soon. But if ya don’t want to come with ‘cause yer sure we’re only doin’ this fer you…”

“No, I want to come!” Ford blurted out. Fiddleford shot Stan a sly grin. Stan raised an eyebrow silently in response.

He really does know kids well. Another reason he’ll be good to have around.

-----

Ford might have been eight, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew that Stan and Fiddleford were talking about him when they stood at the sink for an awkwardly long time. And he knew that Fiddleford’s reasoning behind the hike was thin at best. But as he tromped eagerly through the forest, hot on Stan’s heels, he was willing to let it slide.

Few things agitated him as much as being confined unwillingly. Yes, on his own, he’d been known to hole up “like a mouse”, as his mother used to say. Those instances, however, were of his own volition. He’d wanted to hide away for hours on end.

Stanley forcing me to stay cooped up with him in the house is almost as bad as being a child again. Being outside is wonderful. The fresh, cold air being brought into his lungs was revitalizing. Every step landed on the snow-scattered ground with a satisfying crunch. Ford beamed at the sound.

“So, uh, how long do you guys usually go on research hikes or whatever?” Stan asked. Ford shrugged.

“For however long until we make a discovery.”

“Great,” Stan muttered. Fiddleford cleared his throat. “I mean, um…that’s…neat.” Ford looked up at Stan. Stan’s face was contorted in a wince at his own subpar phrasing. Ford let out a small giggle, amused. Stan looked back at him and smiled before returning his attention to the trees. “Ford, can you identify any of these trees?” Stan asked in a light tone.

“Some of them, yes. The deciduous trees, however, are more difficult to identify, as they’ve lost their leaves.”

“If you were a botanist, you’d know,” Stan said. Ford punched his leg playfully. Stan’s grin widened. A faint beeping sounded in the mostly still forest. Stan came to a stop. “What the hell is that? It sounds like a bomb.”

“It’s not,” Fiddleford said. Ford and Stan turned around to see Fiddleford take something out of his pocket. Fiddleford looked down at the object, bemused. It resembled a brick made of some kind of dark blue metal, with a few lightbulbs attached to one end. The largest lightbulb was flashing a green light.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Stan said, crossing his arms. Fiddleford tapped the brick a few times. The lightbulb flickered but remained lit.

“This is the equipment I was referrin’ to,” Fiddleford replied. “It can detect energy abnormalities due to interdimensional interference.”

“And in English, that means?”

“It can locate pockets of energy leaking from other dimensions,” Ford said eagerly. Fiddleford nodded. “I knew that the oddities of Gravity Falls were due to interdimensional leakage, but I never brought a device into the forest to measure it.” Ford hit himself in the forehead. “Why did I never do that?”

“You, uh, you built that pretty fast,” Stan said. Fiddleford shook his head.

“I built this ‘fore Stanford and I…parted ways. All’s I had to do to adjust it fer this trip was to install an interference shield to keep it from pickin’ up on Stanford’s current energy signature.”

“Okay. What do we do with this, then?” Stan asked.

“Locate whatever is being registered, of course!” Ford said, exasperated. He grabbed the device out of Fiddleford’s hands and rushed off into the forest.

“Ford!” Stan shouted after him. Ford ignored him, instead watching intently as the green light grew brighter and the beeping louder. He could hear Stan and Fiddleford crashing through the undergrowth after him but didn’t care. After what felt like ages but was probably just a few seconds, he arrived in a clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a single plant, green despite the surrounding snow and glowing faintly. Ford came to a stop.

“Stanford, ya can’t run off like that,” Fiddleford said as he and Stan caught up. “This forest ain’t safe! You know that better than anyone.” Fiddleford caught sight of the plant in the clearing. His eyes widened. “That’s an odd lil plant.”

“Yeah, it’s glowing and not dead, even though it’s winter,” Stan said shortly. He put a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Ford, give Fiddleford back the thing, we’re gonna head back home.”

“Not without gathering that plant,” Ford said firmly.

“Hell, no. I don’t trust it.”

“It should be fine,” Fiddleford said reluctantly.

“It’s glowing.”

“A lot of things glow,” Fiddleford said. “As plants in Gravity Falls go, this one seems harmless.” Ignoring the bickering, Ford handed the device to Fiddleford, shook Stan’s hand off his shoulder, and strode forward determinedly.

“Stanford,” Fiddleford sighed. Stan also let out a long sigh.

“Fine, you can get the plant, then we’re heading back.” As Ford approached the odd plant, he could faintly hear Stan and Fiddleford talking. “So what’s the deal with this plant?”

“If I can observe something that has a lot of dimensional energy in it, particularly interdimensional energy, I’ll learn more ‘bout how it affects living things and can try to reverse-engineer a cure.”

“How?”

“I haven’t figured that part out yet,” Fiddleford said quietly. Ford carefully plucked the plant from the snowy ground. “Stanford?”

“It smells amazing,” Ford whispered.

“Sometimes plants do that,” Stan said. “C’mon, we gotta go back.” Ford plucked a single leaf from the plant. He brought the leaf to his nose and inhaled deeply.

“It smells like cinnamon donuts,” Ford whispered. Crunching sounded behind him. Stan crouched by his side.

“That’s nice, but we’re gonna go now,” Stan said firmly. Ford looked up at Stan. “What?”

“It smells exactly like the donuts we used to have on snow days,” Ford said, his voice still soft. “When Mom would take us to the kosher bakery down the block and we had our pick of the first batch they made.” Stan’s eyes softened.

“I remember that. Okay, lemme smell.” Ford held out the leaf. Stan took a cautious whiff, then recoiled. “Ugh, that doesn’t smell good at all. Your nose must be screwed up from the cold or somethin’.” Ford shook his head. Holding this plant, he felt calm, but at the same time, a slight fizzing sensation spread across his skin. He looked down at the leaf again and brought it up to his mouth, unsure of why he was doing it, just knowing that it was the right thing to do. Stan’s expression broke into panic. “Ford, don’t eat that!”

“It smells good,” Ford said. Stan attempted to take the leaf from him, but before he could, Ford popped it into his mouth. It tasted just as good as it smelled. Ford was transported back to the first time his mother had taken him and his brothers to the bakery, when he was too small to have formed any coherent memories. He only remembered warmth, safety, and the sweet taste of cinnamon. Ford swallowed.

“Stanford, you little shit, you don’t just eat random plants you find in the woods!” Stan scolded, shaking him. “Especially if they’re glowing!” Ford merely smiled at Stan, feeling content for the first time in weeks.

There was a flash of light. The fizzing sensation now permeated through his body. The last thing he heard before darkness overtook him was more crunching of the snow, a sucked in gasp, and a southern voice.

“Oh, Lord above, we’re in big trouble now.”

#Gravity Falls #fanfiction #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #Fiddleford McGucket #deaging #Recoil AU #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

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wilhelmjfink · 6 years ago

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Weather The Storm - Pt. 1

A/N: THIS SHIT TURNED OUT TO BE REALLLLLLY LONG!! So it’s 2 parts now :-) Sorry guys but I hope this warrants everyone that reads it to follow me in anticipation for the next part! Also this part is mildly shmutty (rated m for mature if you will because I REALLY try to be classy with this shit you guys) and took me forever to write becauseeee I literally just can’t write erotica unless I’m good and drunk??? But then it gets gooooood so I hope you guys enjoy this because it stressed me out for like a week :,) You guys know I’m 110% for angry and sad Daryl because I love suffering but I tried to go for a little bit of a relaxed, positive vibe on this one... part 2 is going to be hot mother fuckers so stay tuned!!!!

@samlott2202 requested a young reader so I hope that this satisfies! hehe xoxo

“It’s getting real dark over there,” you told Daryl from the second floor balcony of the suburban home you both occupied. Gated communities were always a task considering you never knew whether or not they would be full of walkers from the people who fled there before it got bad in hopes of some security. This one, unfortunately, had been quite populated — however the haul you would return with that night would be worth every walker you’d killed to get there.

Daryl appeared behind you, his boots shuffling tiredly against the concrete until he reached your side and leaned his arms on the iron rail and allowed himself to stretch out and relax as he exhaled smoke from the cigarette he’d lit. “Reckon it’s gonna storm bad tonight.”

You glanced at him beside you, fighting a smirk and looking back away toward the distance where the dark, angry clouds rolled in over the horizon and the crashing water further out beneath it. “Wow. Daryl Dixon, on the spot,” you giggled to yourself. “And now over to Tom for sports.”

“Shuddup,” he nudged you playfully with his shoulder, smiling just the slightest bit but enough to have your stomach flip at the sight.

Stop, stop, stop. It was becoming increasingly difficult for you to stifle the feelings that had developed ever since Daryl had swooped in and saved you from the trio of strangers that cornered you on a run several weeks ago. Two men and a woman that had quite literally appeared out of thin air, knife to to your throat, knees forced down in the dirt as they began to rifle through your bag in search of any goods you’d worked for that day.

But an arrow through the skull of the man that had his weapon held to the flesh of your neck had frozen the other two in shock and while they then spun around furiously in search of the perpetrator, you’d managed to grab the shotgun from behind you and slice the other woman as she receded back toward you threateningly, luring you into a struggle with her. And, a split second later, Daryl and then Rick had appeared, the second hauling the woman off of you while the other pounded on the man like a tiger and landed punch after punch until he was positive he wouldn’t come back as even a walker; and you’d never seen him so angry.

Rick had managed to simmer him down but he still went to you, eyes wild as he interrogated you about what they’d done, if they’d hurt you, if they’d done worse in the moments he’d been gone. But you could only stare stupidly at him, shaking your head before the dwindling adrenaline finally allowed you to step forward and wrap your arms around him at the realization that this man has just saved you from all of those potentially deadly and horrific things. And the anger and worry that laced his words had your heart fluttering because he cared.

But after that, nothing had changed — at least on his end. You still had the same, comfortable interactions, the same friendly demeanor about them. And that was all it was — friendly. And you knew you needed to smother your schoolgirl crush before you did something outlandish that you’d regret, knowing it would scare him off and you’d lose him as merely a friend and shoot down any potential of there ever maybe being something in the possible future.

It was a struggle with your easy-going and flirtatious nature but you couldn’t help but swoon at the way he blushed at your comments, always averting his gaze and hiding his small smile, the tips of ears turning light pink.

But you guessed that, like most things life held for you nowadays, it too would pass.

There was a low rumble of thunder that echoed from far off, growing louder as it neared you and confirmed your suspicions of a bad oncoming storm. If you had to guess you would say it was late April, early May; showers were common lately and thunderstorms were no different, though this one held a little bit of a heavier weight it seemed.

“See how the leaves ‘er flipped upside down?” Daryl asked, motioning toward a towering oak tree in the back yard of the luxurious home you sought shelter in when a light rain had started to sprinkle down only to stop shortly thereafter. You followed his gesture and noticed the greening leaves were indeed turned over, the lighter side upright as they rustled in the wind. “Almost always means a storm’s comin’.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “And you see how dark it is there — where that bolt of lightning just flashed?” Daryl then nodded in response, awaiting your answer curiously. “That usually means that it’s lightning somewhere.”

Another playfully harsh shove had you stumbling over yourself as you laughed at your own sarcasm, not missing the way he exhaled a genuine but breathy laugh that had butterflies coming to life in your stomach. “Man, you’re just full’a shit today, aren’t ya? Ya high or somethin’?”

High on you. Even you rolled your eyes at your subconscious. “No, just in a good mood, I guess.”

“Why’s that?”

You shrugged, holding your hand out flat to test if it was in fact a rain drop that had fallen on your head. “I dunno. I don’t question it anymore. Just take advantage of it when it happens.”

Daryl flicked the cigarette butt over the ledge. “Smart thing t’do, I spose.”

Another rumble of thunder caught his attention and you watched him curiously as he observed the distance, his eyes narrowing in thought.

“Think we should get back?” You asked, but he shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“Nah, it’s rollin’ in quick. Either means it’ll hit here hard n’ pass by... or it could be a real bad one, too.”

“What do you mean ‘real bad’?”

You asked him, pushing the sliding glass door open the remainder of its frame to allow him in beside before you pulled it back shut. “Should we wait until it passes?”

“Look down there,” Daryl pointed to a patch of sky to the east of the oncoming storm where the giant wall of clouds seemed to break enough to reveal some sky. It seemed to be dark itself, though, the hue turning greenish yellow as the patch stretched in its direction. “S’not a good sign.”

You tucked yourself back inside the master bedroom around the corner, backing away from the glass doors and windows. “Is it gonna tornado? Because I don’t do tornados.”

Daryl threw a glance at you over his shoulder, quirking up an eyebrow at your confession. “You afraid of storms?”

“No, not storms,” you corrected. “Tornados.”

“Same thing.”

“Uh, no — not really!” He smiled at the way your voice inflected as your apprehension became more and more noticeable. “Thunderstorms I can handle. A fuckin’ freight train whirling through town and sucking up everything in its path? That’s a little different. I’m not down with that — I’m not built to withstand that shit.”

Daryl chuckled at what you knew was a relatively silly fear to have, but at the same time, was justifiable considering the circumstances. No more weather warnings, no more emergency shelters and emergency responders when they were needed. No assurance that the house you were in was sturdy and had been kept up with in terms of construction so that the roof over your head wouldn’t blow the fuck off. You could feel your heart beginning to race and you forced yourself to keep a level head which became more difficult as the rain began to pick up, rapping loudly against the ceiling above you.

“It’ll be fine, alright? I promise.”

If you told him that his reassurance offered you absolutely no comfort, you would’ve been lying through your teeth. The way he approached you, strong and confident, his bright blue eyes boring into yours in a way that had you feeling like you were staring at an open, blue sky basking in sunlight. You couldn’t even find your voice at that moment, your mouth going dry and unable to respond verbally in any way despite your desire to thank him for simply being there. So you nodded and gazed back at him, unable and unwilling to tear your eyes away from him as he stared at you with his own thoughts whirling through his head before he broke it and made his way out of the master bedroom.

“C’mon. Let’s go find some flashlights or candles or somethin’. Might as well get comfy.”

Trotting after him, you peered out the windows as you followed his footsteps down the winding staircase, flinching at the proximity of the lightning as it grew nearer. “How long do you think we’ll be here?”

“Why?” He asked you, rifling through a closet at the foot of the steps. “You gotta date or somethin’?”

When you heard him respond you knew that he was consciously making an effort to put your fraying nerves at ease, light-heartedly teasing you and steering the conversation away from the oncoming storm. You couldn’t help but laugh, dry as it was, and roll your eyes.

“Don’t be a dick,” you replied, joining him in his search through the first section of the large home.

“Oh, like ya weatherman comment was so flatterin’.”

“I thought they were funny,” you mumbled to yourself, reaching into the cupboards above the refrigerator on your tiptoes. Your fingers brushed against glass and you fumbled for a grip on it until you managed to wrap your fist around the neck of a bottle you pulled down to eyesight. “Will this help?”

Daryl careened his neck around the doorframe to see what you were talking about and you could tell he was as pleased at the sight as you were. “If tha’s your poison. Crack ‘er open.”

You eyed the bottle in your hands, watching the clear liquid slosh around against the glass. Bacardi 151. “I’ve never really drank before,” you admitted.

Daryl turned and eyed you incredulously. “Huh?”

“Well, I was only sixteen before all this.”

With a low whistle, Daryl shut the door of the closet he was digging through, his arms full of some odds and ends that would be useful as the storm raged on outside, picking up with each passing moment. “Never woulda guessed you was just a kid back then.”

You merely shrugged. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Well, got that a lot. I think that would make me about twenty now, right?”

He grunted in response and you found that you were slightly upset at his lack of response.

“I’ve told you that before,” you added to break the silence. He shrugged, staring down at his hands.

“Guess I forgot,” he muttered.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?”

When he didn’t answer that time you turned to face him, your cheeks flushing instantly under his stare as he seemed to be holding some internal dialogue with himself; you could see the wheels turning behind his eyes and you looked away almost instantly before he caught himself and cleared his throat.“Uh — yeah, no, it don’t bother me none.” He was fidgeting with the lantern in his hands until it flickered and the dusty bulb inside came to life. He shoved it in his backpack in the countertop, trying to distract himself as he stuffed it with cans of food and batteries and anything useful he could get his hands on. Anything useful he could grab to avoid looking at you; still he spoke up: “You’re more mature than lotsa other people your age.”

Sifting through the cabinets in search of glasses, you smiled at him. “Had to be. Can this stuff be drank straight? Well, never mind, I guess it has to be. Not like we have a chaser or anything...”

Daryl snorted: “chaser? Thought ya said ya didn’t drink?”

“I said I didn’t drink much,” you sat a glass down on the dusty granite island in the center of the kitchen, catching his attention enough to bring him over, hopping on the barstool across from where you stood. He watched you carefully pour the drinks, flinching when a crackle of thunder broke suddenly through the silence.

“Ya sure ya ain’t afraid of storms?” He smirked.

“Fine,” you sighed in defeat. “Maybe I am a little afraid of storms.”

“Ain’t got nothin’ to be afraid of,” Daryl replied after kicking back his drink and wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “I told ya, I ain’t gonna let anything happen to ya.”

It was a small phrase, hardly mentioned in passing and otherwise quotidian. But when he said it to you, it had your pulse racing, the blood rushing to your cheeks. And he noticed, too; he hadn’t meant for it to be laced with an underlying affection but it came out that way naturally and the short silence that followed it was thick and heavy but sweet like molasses.

You decided to take a taste of your own drink and brought it to your lips, shuddering when it stung your tongue and burned down your throat. Of course Daryl laughed at your reaction, the sound a beautiful antonym against the rolling thunder and harsh winds that blew outside that would’ve left you terrified if he wasn’t there with you.

“Ya don’t sip it,” he told you, reaching for the bottle to pour another for himself. “C’mon, kid.”

Determined to rid yourself of the ‘kid’ tag he’d categorized you in you tipped the glass back, downing the liquid in one gulp before slamming the glass back down against the granite and exhaling deeply, fighting the unappetizing burn it gave you as Daryl continued to sit by and enjoy watching you do so.

“At’ta girl,” he said lowly before kicking back another. Innocently enough, you presumed, but the heat that had just ran down your throat and into your stomach pooled even farther down and you felt your face flush in an instant, your pulse racing. Inside your head your brain was reeling, trying to figure out the next thing to say or do, whether or not to read too much into it, what to do to make the situation carry on like normal.

But he’d gotten distracted, leaning over to peer around your head to the bay window behind you. You followed his gaze and relaxed at the sight of stillness, noticing then the rain had stopped and left you both in a comfortable silence.

Daryl pushed himself up from the island and walked toward the window and you followed, shadowing him timidly, fiddling with your hands awkwardly against your chest while you waited for him to inform you of what he was so interested in.

However, when he did speak, you wished he hadn’t: “I don’t think s’over with yet.”

You cocked your head curiously, standing on your toes to look over his shoulder. “It sure looks like it.”

“Nah,” he took a step behind you, his hands moving to your side as he gently guided you to where he’d been standing before he leaned in so close to you his breath against your skin it rose goosebumps over every inch of your body. “Ya see over there? Funnel cloud’s formin’.”

It was incredibly hard to focus on where he was pointing with his proximity demanded all of your attention; the scruff feeling against your skin, the scent of cigarettes and Bacardi, it had you faint. You swallowed hard, knowing you had to answer or he would notice how incredibly turned on you were: “Yeah, lots of clouds.”

He shot you a look that had you instantly red before he slowly smirked; and you saw the unmistakable telltale signs that he was just as flustered as you were. And the way you faced each other held your lips mere inches apart and you both held your breath; while his eyes were trained on your lips yours darted between both his and his eyes. Watching. Waiting. Both of you — waiting a cue from the other, some form of confirmation...It was silent. Too silent, actually. Still.

Then, in an instant it seemed, the rain had started back up, pattering in the rooftop and drastically increased over the course of several seconds until it became obnoxiously loud.

“Hail,” Daryl said suddenly, leaning back from with such a shift in demeanor you knew he was genuinely worried. Throwing his arm further around you, he ushered you out of the kitchen. His free arm did stick out and swipe up backpack on the counter and you threw open the heavy wooden door, and Daryl slammed it shut behind you.

He’d already explored the basement while you got topside: it was a nice, luxurious space that matched the rest of the comfortable home. Finished with carpeted floors, a full bar with decorative track lighting and furniture, the works. Daryl locked the door shut after assuring it was completely closed.

“What do we do?” You asked him quietly, anxiety rising at the sight of him even the slightest bit uptight. You were noticeably shaken and you trailed after Daryl as he flicked on the lantern, setting it on the coffee table to shed at least a little light on you both.

“Why are ya whisperin’?” He asked, his own voice mockingly quiet. “The storm can’t hear ya.”

You were upset for half of a second after being mimicked, but it immediately dissipated at the sight of his slight smile and you knew he was teasing you to get your mind off of your worries because that was the only way he knew how.

“Stop making fun of me,” you giggled, falling back onto the plush sectional couch behind you. Stretching your legs out, you admired the lavish furniture. “So if you’re not worried, I shouldn’t be worried, right?”

Daryl rounded the corner to the bar and snatched a bottle off of the shelf before he joined you, dropping his bag at his feet. “Just gotta stay down here, lay low. If it gets bad...well, we’ll know, I s’pose.”

“And what do we do if it does get bad?”

“We’ll be fine down here,” he reassured you, turning so his boots were propped up onto the couch and popping the cork off of the bottle in his hands. “I wouldn’t lie to ya, alright? Told ya I’m gonna keep ya safe.”

“You always do,” you felt yourself relax at his confidence and leaned back into the cushions behind you. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He passed the bottle to you and you sheepishly took it.

“For always making me feel safe.” Drink and pass it back. You’re getting comfortable. You knew there was a chance the comment could make him slightly uncomfortable but you swore he smiled the slightest bit before he answered quietly and took the bottle from your outstretched hand.

“‘m glad ya feel safe with me.”

It was both comically and ironically demonstrated when the thunder crackled so violently the walls around you physically shook, and you instinctively jumped up from the couch with a terrified yelp and Daryl reactively reached for you as if he could’ve stopped you from running away.

“Thought I made ya feel safe,” he joked as you caught your breath. You brought your hand to your heart, too, sure that the sound might have actually stopped your heart.

“You do!” You smiled despite being winded and shaken. “But the things you make me feel can’t stop the loud ass thunder from scaring me half to death.”

He caught it before you did, the liquid courage heightening his sensitivity to the vibes you gave off the loser it made you. “Things? What the hell else do I make ya feel?”

You felt called out and shifted uncomfortably as you tried to think of a response to being called out. “Uhm, good things — happy. You make me... really happy.”

It was a genuine response but Daryl looked away, snorting in derision and unable to accept the compliment. “It’s true, Daryl!”

He was twisting the glass bottleneck in between his fingers sheepishly and the sight made your heart flutter familiarly once again and you stopped, the idea crossing your mind but ultimately burying itself away.

“Ya make me happy, too,” he told you shyly, his voice low and hoarse and the tone unusually musical to your senses.

At that, your heart stopped beating in your chest. “Do I really?” You asked curiously, not catching yourself as you leaned in closer to him unconsciously. He watched you intently, nodding in response. You smiled, mouth dry as you tried to formulate your next few sentences. Nervous. Fuzzy. Horny. What don’t you make me?

Thunder roared again and the house shook all around you. You subconsciously scooted yourself closer to Daryl, your brain seizing the opportunity and timing, and not missing the way he stiffened when your bodies touched lightly touched. He held his breath. His eyes watched yours, intrigued, awaiting your next move. And you knew that you had to make it, because he never would. So you leaned in slowly, hovering before him, you’d lips inches apart just as they’d been upstairs prior that drove you insane. It was painful; the distance desperate to be closed by an unseen force that had your heart and mind racing. His hair fell in front of his eyes but you could still see them, flickering between your eyes and down to your lips hesitantly, debating. You knew you could and probably would stay there forever and never close the gap between you two — so you did it yourself.The rain and winds raging audibly on outside only seemed to encourage you, your own storm inside of you brewing the second your lips touched his. You know well enough to gauge his reaction, too, and would pull back from him just far enough to see his face and try to read his expression. But, if you knew Daryl like you thought you knew Daryl, you anticipated him being very hard to read if he wasn’t outright appalled at what you’d done in the first place.

But as you retracted, he went with you; an unseen bond pushing him forward into you as you leaned back, both fueled with a combination of adrenaline, alcohol and a mutual attraction. It surprised you at first, the fortitude of his reaction as it was so unlike him. But it was a good sign and an even better reassurance that whatever it was you had been doing, you needed to keep doing it.

Deep down, you knew the faux confidence he was exuding was due to the Bacardi, but you were also positive that he wasn’t drunk enough to do something like this if he didn’t really want to. Drunk words are sober thoughts.

So you began to sit up, not breaking the heated kiss between you with tongues brushing against each other and teeth grazing lips, your hands moving from the cushion they supported you on to his chest where they gently coerced him to lay back on the couch. It allowed you to crawl forward, your bodies meshing together as you moved naturally, you overtop of him and him comfortably beneath you as if you were one whole being instead of two separate people.

When you pulled away breathlessly Daryl looked up to you, his expression soft but unreadable behind the strands of shaggy hair that fell in front of his eyes. You gazed back down at him, infatuated entirely already, your heart pounding relentlessly at the sight and the feeling of him beneath you, and the lack thereof on your lips if even for just a minute for you both to catch your breath. During the silence, his rough hands caressed up your arms painfully slowly, blanketing you in chills as he observed you above him like you were something entirely new and enticing, just as excited but just as nervous, if not more, as you were.

Though you were over the moon and thrilled that you’d made the jump in the first place, sure that it wouldn’t have happened otherwise, you found yourself burning beneath his gaze and you looked away, biting your lip nervously to distract yourself from the fact that his gentle touch already had you giddy.

“Ya alright?” He asked quietly, his words obviously driven from concern and what you assumed was skepticism. And you knew that if you apologized and climbed off of where you hovered over him from his lap he wouldn’t argue or hold any resentment toward you and the thought alone was meant to comfort you but all it did was drive you further down the rabbit hole you were falling into.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice hardly a whisper. “Are you?”

You worried when he hesitated a moment, afraid that this newer and confident Daryl might have withered away and left him full of regret and embarrassment, but after awhile he nodded and responded in such a way that had you wondering if you could read this thoughts.

“‘m great.”

You couldn’t stop yourself then from falling back forward and reconnecting yourselves with a hungry kiss, your lips crashing into his so eagerly that it elicited a low growl from somewhere inside of him, lighting your own flame inside of you that quickly spread through every nerve ending over your body — some more than others.

You descended down his jaw line, planting soft kisses before lowering yourself down to his neck where you allowed your innate desires to take over and kiss and bite at his sensitive skin and you felt his soft grip tighten into a desperate clinging, his nails dragging down to your hips and around your back as he encouraged you on, also fueled by the natural feelings that you were giving him as if you’d done it all before a hundred times. When you felt his calloused fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt you held your breath and he noticed, halting his movements immediately.

“Is this okay?” He asked you, genuinely unsure of himself which only had you even more convinced that it was much more than just okay.

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly, lowering yourself back down toward his broad chest. If the whole thing was going to be filled with doubtful questions and the need for reassuring consent, that was fine with you. The next words that came out of your mouth surprised even yourself: “Please.”

That was the only word he needed to hear in order to continue, his hands then moving up to your breasts quicker than they’d hesitantly started out. He became greedy then, not that you minded, pulling your shirt off over your head and tossing it carelessly aside. Even in something as simple and unobtrusive as the black sports bra you were wearing, he eyed you lustfully like you were prey, eager to taste like you were his last meal on death row. Shortly after, in the midst of heated kissing and moans you both failed to stifle, his hands went to the waist of your jeans and fumbled with the button for hardly a second before he managed to unfasten it with ease. And once again you hesitated for just a second where, caught up in the moments prior, you’d managed to block out your inexperience and let both Daryl and your body do all the work so that your brain could just follow, barely keeping up with the hands moving up and down and all over you. But the lower his hands drifted and the deeper your need for something more grew, the more obvious it became to him.

“Ya want me to stop?” He asked curiously, halting all his moments in fear of making you uncomfortable.

“No,” your brain immediately responded without even consciously allowing you to think of a different answer. “No, I just... I’ve never really gone much farther than this before.” You’d looked away shamefully, afraid of how he might react although you knew confidently that he would never get angry or upset, but you didn’t expect a slow smile to creep on to his face; and the sight of him beneath you with his gentle expression that still somehow held bad intentions behind it had you swooning.

Leisurely he sat upright, pushing you down this time so that you slowly lay back onto the cushions behind you, allowing him carry out whatever plans he was formulating. “Well, we can take it real slow...”

You about melted into couch beneath you; the mixture of his words and the chivalry they held laced with desire were enough to have you squirming beneath him but combined with the way his voice growled the words lowly in your ear almost had you erupting in flames right there.

With a newly discovered confidence you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you while all fears and worries of the storm outside left you entirely. You had the notion that he was slightly hesitant as you were considering how careful he was with his movements even after you’d nearly begged him to continue, pulling your jeans off of your hips so slow it was almost painful. But when you kicked them off your ankles and discarding them to the floor. Again you found yourself slightly self-conscious in your choice of plain grey panties, but Daryl didn’t seem to mind at all as his hands went back to your abdomen and trailed lower, unhurriedly as he took his time, knowing that he would have you writhing beneath him. And he was absolutely fucking right.

LIKE & REBLOG & MAYBE I’LL POST THE 2ND PART!! ;-)

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cgmayra · 6 years ago

Note

Surprised no one asked you for an amnesia prompt yet! Since Rememory had Amy without her memories of Sonic, how about Sonic's turn to lose his memories? Whether it's like Rememory where he'd only forget about Amy or just a full-blown amnesia is up to you.

(x) Special thank you to @thatange for allowing her art to be featured with this prompt! If you or a friend would like their art featured on this blog’s prompts, please message me! I would be very grateful for your permission :)b

Rememory Fanfiction: FF.Net (x) AO3 (x) DA (x) Wattpad (x)

Prompt:

“It’s just… This feels familiar, this situation… somehow.” Sonic talked to himself out loud, holding the Iblis flame lightly flapping in a floating lamp of sorts.

He placed his finger to his lips in thought, remembering Blaze crying and the flame suddenly appearing as an entity wanting to destroy the fabric of space and time. Blaze claimed to not have known about it but felt she was responsible for it in some way.

…But then…

“Amy…” Sonic turned around, seeing her standing behind him.

“What’s wrong?” She tilted her head, waiting.

He felt a bit guilty and finally told her the truth. His eyes arched back, “I just can’t… help but feel like this is gonna end badly somehow. Like… If I blow this flame out, I won’t remember certain things.” he wondered how such a tiny flame could cause so much mass havoc.

“You mean…” she cutely walked up by his side, leaning to see the flame floating on its lamp above his hand. “You’re familiar with this flame?”

“…I’m not sure.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, turning away from her. “But I gotta blow it out. It’s the only way to reverse time back. How far back.. I’m not sure.”

“…But…” Amy stepped forward, “You won’t forget us, will you, Sonic?” She hopped a little more in front as he scratched the side of his head, showing he wasn’t sure if he could answer that honestly. “You… You can’t risk losing us!” She bundled her fists together, an odd step forward on her pigeon-toed feet.

“If you do… if you do… how could you even consider it!” her sorrow dragged in her voice, before picking up to betrayal and anger. “I won’t let you! I’ll blow it out!” She stumbled as she reached for the flame, Sonic lifting it high above her and catching her before she tumbled.

“Amy..!” Sonic held her by the waist, making sure if she squirmed–which she did struggle–that regardless, she wouldn’t be able to get the flame. “This is…. this is the only way to set everything back! The world’s covered in magma and ashes, Amy! You can’t choose us over them.”

“Yes I can!” Amy tried to get out of his hold, but his lock on her body was secure. She was able to get her feet under her and pull at his arm, “No,..! No, no, no!” she finally gave up and reached for the flame, wobbling on her tippy-toes. “Why do you have to do it!? Why can’t I…” her tears began as she watched the flicker of the flame, the slow dance it made as Sonic held it up high out of her reach, a torch that could possibly extinguish the memory of her only true love.

“If I had to choose between the world… and you…” she slowly dropped her arm, turning to a new desperate attempt at stopping him.

She hesitated, turning around and looking into his eyes, highlighted by the deadly flames glow.

“I would choose-!” she jumped at him, kissing him off-guard as the flame… slipped…

As Sonic stabilized himself, leaning back and eyes widened at her gesture– which she hadn’t stepped back from, even now, by the way…– he saw the flame began to slowly fade away as it fell through the empty space between time.

He quickly acted, moving more into Amy’s kiss and grabbed the flame falling behind her, it singed his glove as he spun to keep her away from it.

the spin… had the flame extinguish… and the world go dark… as their lips never parted.

——-

Amy cheerfully was enjoying the sunny, spring day. Picking flowers was a necessity in May, no exceptions!

She bobbed her head as she dipped down to pluck some flowers before a gust of wind threw her off her usual cheeriness.

“…Sonic!” her eyes grew wide.

She remembered instantly, it didn’t even take a half-second for her body to instinctually start racing after the wind.

She remembered, everything up until Blaze crying.

“H-” She was at a loss, “How could I forget Sonic?!” she felt afraid for a moment then, stunned and worried how she sent days not thinking about him, not wondering what crazy adventure he had gotten himself into lately.

She bolted. The drive in her heart like a gas tank that revved up her breathing and kept her legs full of fuel. A fine-tuned car that started for none other than the one she loved.

“Sonic!” she called out, desperate for his attention and absolutely frantic at having forgotten about him.

‘It’s impossible, I couldn’t have forgotten him!’ she told herself as she continued to run. ‘Sonic would have slowed by now, why isn’t he stopping?’

She came to a halt when her body finally couldn’t take in enough oxygen and keep pursuing. Though the heart was willing, her body was starting to lose its adrenaline rush.

She clutched her knees as her shoulders moved up and down in rhythm to her rushed breaths.

‘Why didn’t he… why didn’t he stop for me?’ she questioned.

Her ears flicked around, showing not only confusion but also trying to hear which direction he may have taken.

His blue blur was far out of sight now. There was no way to tell by sight alone where he could have gone.

It would take another 3 weeks to track him down, all torturous, all longingly hopeless as she bared the harsh nature of her world to find him.

At last… she found a figure lying on a roof, blue and perfect as her memory seemed to fail her again. ‘Was he always this laid back? I feel like he was… why… why is it so hard to remember?’ she was growing frustrated with herself, but that emotion came out strong in her voice, causing a bad reception on the other end…

She threw her arms down by her sides, “Sonic The Hedgehog!” she cried out, “Why didn’t you stop and say hello to me when I kept calling you?!”

A face turned to look at her, his eyes half-way closed and his expression mostly indifferent. “Hmm?”

“Ah! How rude!” she puffed up her cheek, seeing he didn’t seem to care. “I’ve been trying to find you for weeks!”

“…Yo, you found me.” He raised a hand, acknowledging her accomplishment. He then yawned and used the same hand to stick his pinkie finger into his ear in boredom. “Such a loud voice…” he mumbled to himself quietly.

“Is there somethin’ you need?” He finally asked, after a moment of silence while Amy’s heart broke inside her.

“…I… Sonic… It’s me. It’s Amy. Amy Rose! You’re Amy…” She defeatedly withdrew a little bit. Her head came down, her hands met down in front of her, but her eyes remained to the back of his head.

“Oh?” He looked behind him, shrugging with the same arm. “Never heard of ya.”

The nonchalant reply shattered the windows of her eyes.

Even Sonic’s eyebrows lifted at the sight of her absolute destruction.

“You… You… That’s not funny! Sonic, you’re a jerk! Idiot!” she cried, launching her hands up to the sides of her eyes as tears sprayed out and she raced off, sobbing.

“…Was it something I said?” Sonic looked confused at the camera.

Amy continued to race away, crying loudly. ‘How… After all these years… how could he forget me?’ It was her worse nightmare, she couldn’t handle it, her heart was failing her as the engine she once trusted so much began to falter and wane.

As though an old and rusted furnace, the lining of her heart began to peel off and she slowly sunk to the ground, tucking her legs up to herself as rain began to fall.

A figure in the rain stood over her, his hands on his hips.

She heard a rustle of muddy grass approach her like footsteps, and tried to peer up through the thin but heavily pouring rain to see the man.

“…It’s never wise to be out in rain.” The voice stated, offering her his hand as he bent down to her. “Come on, you’re crying is upsetting the sky.”

It was a tender remark, but it was still a direct piece of pain to her heart.

She nodded and took his hand.

“Where are you from, anyway?” he asked.

She couldn’t even bear to look at him.

When she didn’t respond or even turn her head to him, he sighed, remaining still a moment before looking up at the storm clouds.

She sneezed then, and he smiled.

“Well, we won’t get anywhere by just standing around.” He scooped her up bridal style and was amazed at how well she adjusted in his arms. Though, he didn’t say anything regarding the strange sensation that he had done this sort of thing before, but he hadn’t really saved a damsel in distress. Did this mean he was officially her hero now?

“For a fan, you really put everything you have into seeing me.” He meant it as a compliment, “A few weeks, huh?”

He looked to her, but she just clutched her hands around his neck tighter, gritting her teeth.

‘How could this have happened? There must be an explanation. Was it Eggman?’

When she didn’t respond again, he sighed once more. “You don’t seem thrilled about any of this…”

“How can I be happy knowing you’ve forgotten me?” her voice cracked mid-sentence, too ashamed and worthless to stick up for herself. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny. It’s.. too cruel. Even for you.”

The statement just left Sonic staring at her.

In silence, he decided it best not to push anymore conversation. He wasn’t good at it anyway.

Deciding, very consciously, not to be confused- Sonic trekked on through the blowing rainstorm. It was a warm rain though, so he didn’t mind.

He tried to be a gentleman and shield her most of the time, but her head was ducked under his anyway, she would get wet everywhere else regardless.

He found a batch of matted foliage and ducked under there to see if any water leaked through.

It was a batch of greenery, but small for a den.

‘Eh, it’ll have to do.’ Sonic looked to Amy, watching water drip off her quills and slide down her cheeks.

Were those rain or tears..?

His eyes softened to her and he looked away.

Taking a breath, he turned back with a heroic smile on his face. “Miss? We’re here.”

She sniffled, “Where?” her three bangs had fallen over her sad, little pitiful face and Sonic couldn’t help but find that rather cute.

“Heh.” he felt bad for the girl, wanting to turn her mood around. “A type of briar patch I would imagine.” he pointed to the tightly knit thorns above the entrance, “But our quills should keep us safe.”

“You knew I was a hedgehog?”

“Uhh… I may not have heard you calling from all the wind rushing past me, but my vision hasn’t failed me. Yet, anyway.” he winked, trying to be charming.

She turned away again.

“…Ohh.” He groaned, upset that for the first time, he couldn’t seem to cheer a girl up. “Here.” he tried to be polite now, just stick to good manners and set her down in the sheltered cover first. “Watch your head and dress.”

Her dress got caught on a twig and before it could tug her, he swiftly loosed it and she continued to crawl inside the den.

She turned around and sneezed again as Sonic sat beside her, ‘whoo’ing a gesturing of relief at getting them out of the rain.

He grinned even more now, knowing how contagious a smile can be. “Good thing you’re loud, lady. Or I’d have been looking for ya for a while.” he rubbed under his nose, finding it a bit embarrassing to say that.

“…You were looking for me?” She turned back to him, before puffing up her cheek in anger again. “Quit acting like we’re strangers! Hmph!” she rejected his kind gesture to make her laugh.

He flinched at how cold she was being, “Now, now…” he sweatdropped, “Give a guy a break…”

After a moment, Amy turned to him again, “You… You really, honestly don’t remember me?”

Sonic shrugged, “Not a clue!” he beamed.

Amy’s heartfelt Eggman’s robots surround her and fire directly to her core in an execution.

She silently fell back but was pricked by a thorn.

“Ow!”

“Woah! Hang on there…” Sonic reached his hands back for her, helping her stay upright. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I… Ohhh!!! How can I be alright when you seriously don’t remember me!” she reverted back to herself a moment before remembering to be mad again.

“Heh, okay, but I’m not entirely at fault here.” He kindly tried to look at her with some sympathy. “It’s not like you told me where we met before…”

“Ohhh! We’ve been friends for years!” she kicked her legs up and down like a mini-tantrum, not wanting to be spiked by the prickly twigs again.

“For years, huh?”

“I know Tails, Knuckles… everyone will be missing you!”

“…Who?”

“W-what?” her mouth dropped a moment, losing all her anger than to replace it with fear. “Tails… Knuckles… You don’t remember them either?”

“Not a clue.” Sonic shrugged, “But it sounds like a wonderful life.” He grinned.

“…No,… don’t be carefree about this… this is awful! We have to help you meet your friends!”

“Friends?” Sonic scoffed slightly, turning away from her and putting a hand up by his mouth. ‘She’s a little nuts…’ he told himself, ‘But at least she’s cute when she worries about me.’

He turned back to her, deciding to play along. “And what were you and ‘my friends’ and I doing together? Partying? Up to no good?” he reclined a little, wanting to see how far she’d take this.

“We’d fight Eggman…” she looked to the ground, heartbroken that this was all real.

Sonic’s eyes widened a little, “Eggman?”

“You… probably don’t remember him either.” she brought her legs up to her, holding them close when Sonic smirked.

“How could I forget Eggman?” He laughed, “How could anyone forget him?”

“Waahhh!? You remember Eggman but not me!?” Amy looked hurt, spreading out as she fully turned to him now.

“Haha! You’re so dramatic.” he pointed at her and continued to chuckle. “No need for the theatrics, lady. But it is kinda funny.”

She puffed up her cheek again, “Ohhh… you may have lost your memory, but you sure haven’t changed!”

“Heheh. So… what was Tails to me, in the past?” he closed one eye, turning playful.

“He.. he’s your best friend.”

“Tails is a boy?” he looked a little surprised to hear that. “His name sounds a little funny.”

“He’s got two tails, but his real name is Miles. We just call him Tails cause he prefers his friends to call him that.” she wiggled her finger along the dirt, still crushed by this discovery.

“Ohh…” Sonic wondered if such a girl would be able to find her way home after the storm. She looked like she needed some ‘special’ kind fo help…

“And Knuckles?”

“He… Well, he was kinda like your rival.”

“That sounds fun!” Sonic laughed, “What was he like? A real brawler?”

Amy suddenly realized his tone of voice, “You…” She turned to look at him, “You don’t believe me… Do you?”

He kept his smile.

“And what were you… to me?”

He lowered his head, “Back then? In this, other world?”

She was about to open her mouth and say, ‘girlfriend’ but he’d never believe her then.

She closed it and looked away.

“Oh? Suddenly turned shy now?” he tried to turn his head to see her. “Why all of a sudden? Were you something important to me?”

He was mocking her… wasn’t he?

She ducked her head even more now.

“My name’s Amy.” she muttered.

“Huh? What was that?” He bent his ear toward her.

“My name…” she twitched violently.

She lifted her head in rage, “IS AMY ROSE!”

A large ‘BONK!’ was heard along with a ‘PIKO’ as she raced out of the thicket.

“Ow! Where’d that come from!?” Sonic was totally taken aback by the random hammer and her fist coming directly down on his head. “My fault for getting to close to a nut job.” he grumbled, rubbing his head and sticking it out fo the ticket.

The rain was just a drizzle now.

“Hey, Wait-!” he sped off after her, catching her easily.

“You shouldn’t run off on your own like that. I thought we were having a pleasant conversation?” he continued this teasing, but Amy wouldn’t have any of it.

“If you met Tails and Knuckles, you’d know who they were!” she tried to find a way around his mocking, but he just kept speeding in front of her and waving his arms about to taunt her.

“Hehehe, Okay. I believe you.” he suddenly turned serious, and stood straight, dropping his hands.

“Y-you do?”

“Sure! Besides, I can’t let you run off without someone watching out for you. You may have a cold.” ‘I can’t let her leave like this, someone’s bound to be looking for her. Maybe these -Tails and Knuckles- guys are people who know her.’

She suddenly looked relieved and excited, “You mean it?”

Her change in attitude made him smile, “Yeah, I got nothing else to do.” He sweatdropped. ‘I couldn’t let you get into trouble because of me…’ “I’ll take you home too.”

She smiled, “Yay! We’re gonna restore your memory! You’ll remember us! Ya-ha!” she jumped around and cheerfully returned to her old self, eyes sparkling and her body full of life.

Her energy made him stop and stare a moment, ‘Wow, like 0 to 80.’ He whistled, “That sure changed your mood.” He was glad she wouldn’t be upset while they traveled.

He met Tails first, though Tails also didn’t seem to recognize him. Sonic side-commented that he was pretty sure Amy was crazy, and to go along with her till he could find someone who knew her. Tails was kind enough to agree, saying he admired Sonic too, but not to make up crazy stories like this…

However, Tails was surprised how much Amy knew him, and the spookiness of it all made him and Sonic a little more sheepish around her.

They met Knuckles next, who seemed more like a villain than a rival to Sonic and Tails.

They defeated him and bonded, high-fiving as Knuckles explained that he knew they stole his emeralds, but Sonic admitted he had no idea what he was talking about.

Amy suggested Eggman which turned out to be true, which continued to spook the three, but Knuckles believed Amy to be a witch of some kind.

Finally, Eggman didn’t recognize the whole lot of them but Sonic. “Making friends are we, Sonic?”

“Actually,” he looked around at Knuckles and Tails. “Yes.” He seemed surprised to admit that, but Eggman looked flabbergasted that his long-time enemy was quitting the solo career.

“No matter!” he got ready his ‘ingenius’ plan to thwart them. “More the merrier!”

The newly formed team defeated him, and Sonic finally gained the trust of Knuckles.

“I’ve never had friends before!” Tails exclaimed, excited to be a part of something like this. Especially S-so-social…

“I’ve never been out before!” Knuckles placed his gloved-hand over his forehead to block the sun, looking at the beauty of Angel Island from here, then all the world.

“No, no, no! You’re all friends! We’re all friends! this… you were supposed to remember! Augh! Now what do I do?” She held her head, shaking it in frustration and misery.

The boys looked at each other, then smiled to Amy.

“But we are friends.” Tails stated.

“And it’s all thanks to you, Amy.” Sonic gestured to her, also looking pleased by the day’s events.

“Heh, maybe you’re not so crazy after all.” Knuckles smiled, “But still weird, mind you.”

Amy looked at the three boys, still broken hearted but nodded in defeat. “You’re right… If I can’t bring back the time that once was… then…”

She raised her head and nodded, smiling prettily. “Then I can at least restore what was once lost.”

The three smiled and cheered. “That’s the spirit!”

Later, Sonic pulled her aside, moving his head close to just about touch his forehead to hers, but not really.

His arms folded, night steadily approaching, he asked again, “So… what were you to me? In this other world?”

“I… I wanted to marry you.” she finally said, nervously pushing her pointer fingers in on each other.

His face cracked.

He laughed, gripping his belly. “Definitely a good idea not to go with that at the first meeting!”

She blushed, “You really think I’m still crazy?”

“Maybe…” he quieted down and then looked more affectionately towards her, “But a little crazy never hurt anyone.” He winked, putting his hands on his hips. “Though, if you are a fortune-teller, I don’t know what to think of that one prediction… Still, I owe you a lot.” He looked up at the sky and scratched his nose, then smiled and closed his eyes, thinking…

“Thanks, Amy. I appreciate it.”

Amy would live in this new future for a few years before kissing Sonic and restoring the old world’s memory back to everyone.

But for a few years? She got to fall in love with him all over again~

#sonamy #sonicxamy #sonamy prompt #cutegirlmayra #sonic prompt #sonic the hedgehog #amy rose #sonic 06 au #sonic au #sonic #rememory #me fanfic

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fanfic-inator795 · 6 years ago

Text

RotTMNT Oneshot: Winter Nights

Summary: It can be hard dealing with all the snow and the cold, especially for four little turtles. But, even the harshest times of the year can still bring light and joy - their father will make sure of that.

((This story is also posted on AO3. Unfortunately I can’t provide a link since Tumblr’s still being weird about links showing up in tags, but if you can, please hop over there and give this story a kudos or a comment. Anyway, enjoy! ^v^))

Even with how deep they were underground, he could hear the wind howling above. His hearing was much sharper now, thanks to the mutation… Though, if he was being honest, he was more thankful for the warm fur covering his body than the increased strength in his senses. Especially now, with four small, cold bodies clinging to him.

Lou Jitsu sighed, watching his breath form a cloud in front of him before evaporating. Taking a moment to pull the thick blanket tighter around him, he then started absentmindedly petting the head of one of his boys, though he wasn’t really sure which one. Not that it really mattered, he was pretty sure none of them could feel it anyway.

He had been afraid - completely and utterly terrified - the morning he had been unable to wake any of his sons up. However, a bit of research gave him some relief, and he prayed that they would all wake up as happy and healthy as usual once the hibernation season was over. But until then, all he could do was hold them and keep them warm.

“What I wouldn’t give for a kotatsu right now,” Lou mumbled, resting his tired head against the cold metal of the sewer pipe, “Or maybe just a strong drink…” If only he could fall into his own hibernation… Just fall into a deep, peaceful sleep and forget all his troubles.

Underneath the blanket, he felt a couple of his sons start to shiver. So, he sat up and hunched over the small bodies in his lap, protecting the baby turtles as best he could.

Above them, people cheered and screamed despite the cold, with the bright lights and the city-wide celebration being more than enough to tempt most into braving the harsh winds and frigid temperatures.

()()()()()()()()()()()

“Why’re we so sleepy all the time now, Papa?”

“Because it’s winter,” Lou answered simply, “And you are turtles. Turtles get sleepy in the winter. Remember that picture book I gave you?”

Donatello pouted. Of course he remembered, he had read that book back and forth looking for answers, and had only found simple statements. “But why? Why do we have to be so sleepy in winter?” He stumbled forward, clinging tightly to his father’s robe and acting more like the youngest of their family rather than the second oldest. “It’s not fair… I don’t wanna sleep…”

Lou patted the softshell’s head. “I know you are frustrated, Purple, but winter will be over soon.”

“Not soon enough,” the boy pouted. Knowing he wouldn’t be in the mood to walk, Lou picked him up and carried him over to the heat lamp that had been set up in the corner of the small, stone room. The lamp had been a miracle of a find, as were the small space heaters he had managed to discover and fix up before the city dump had been almost completely covered in snow. But, even with there being plenty of heat sources, it still wasn’t warm enough to keep his boys awake, nor were the lamps and heaters comforting enough to keep them from wanting to cuddle up next to their rat-dad at least once a day.

As he got closer to the cuddle pile, he could see that Donnie wasn’t the only one awake. While Mikey and Leo were happily sleeping the season away, Raphael was lying on his back, looking restless and annoyed. Lou made sure to give him a couple pats as well.

“Why can’t we move somewhere with no winter, Pop?” Raph asked. He tried to stand up, but only managed to sit up before flopping back down on his stomach.

“The only parts of this country that are warm this time of the year are miles and miles away,” Lou tried to explain, “And by the time we arrived there, winter would be over, and it would be time to go back home.”

“I know what that’s called,” Donnie said, perking his head up slightly, “From the book! It’s called… migrasin, or something...”

“Well I wanna migrasin!” Raph demanded, giving his father the sternest (yet sleepiest) glare he could muster. It was adorable, but Lou held back a smile, not wanting to make the four year old’s mood worse.

“Maybe next winter. Now come on, back in bed, both of you.” There were a few protests and a couple sobs, but eventually his two oldest sons settled down, sleeping alongside their brothers as their father began singing a simple Japanese lullaby to them.

Still, as his gentle voice echoed through their temporary home, the rat-man couldn’t help but feel pity for his sons, and hoped that this year’s winter would be a short one…

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“...They sorta look like… sparkles.”

“Yeah, cold sparkles! How does somethin’ so small make it so cold?!”

“I think it looks pretty!”

“And look, it turned into water in my hand!”

“I thought you already learned that, Dee.”

“I did! But this is the first time seein’ it happen! And if it gets cold enough, it’ll turn back into ice! Isn’t that neat?!”

“Yeah, it’s really cool. Ice cool ~”

“Booooo.”

“What are you boys doing?” Lou - now called Splinter occasionally by his kids - asked. He tried to look stern, but amused smirk still crept onto his face as the turtles sheepishly moved away from the open sewer grate. Thanks to the bright light from the street lamps, he could see small flakes of snow fall through the grate and onto the metal floor of their sewer domain.

“We were just… checkin’ out the snow,” Raph explained, kicking his foot slightly, “Cause, I thought it was just rain, an’ then Leo said that he thought it was snow, so we had ‘ta double check and… We wanted to see the snow.”

“It’s really pretty!” Mikey repeated, his eyes practically sparkling. Splinter chuckled. He had a feeling there would be quite a few snowflakes drawn on the walls of their home in the next few weeks, courtesy of the young box-turtle artist.

“And so small!” “Really REALLY small!” the twins exclaimed. “It’s so weird!” “But so cool!” “Stop using that joke, Leon!” “Make me, Don- *yawn* nie…”

The rat’s smile fell slightly. “...Come on, you four. Home is just down this pipe.” And this time, he would be standing behind them, to make sure there was no more wandering off. Though, just because he could only see their backsides didn’t mean he couldn’t still see their disappointment…

As soon as they were in their home, he gave each of them a sweater or hoodie to wear to bed before sending them off to their rooms. With a bit of luck, winter wouldn’t completely hit for a couple more weeks, giving him time to prepare - and his kids a bit more time to play. But…

“It still won’t be enough,” he mumbled to himself, his ears folding down low.

New York winters were particularly harsh, it seemed. Always cold, always lasting for months, and never turtle-friendly - especially not for turtles who were old enough that they didn’t need all day naps. Turtles who were old enough and energetic enough to desire more than just a couple hours a day for playtime, especially now that they were starting to discover various interests and favorite things to do. Turtles who were absolutely miserable this time of year, no matter how much comfort Splinter tried to give them or how many Christmas decorations he scavenged in order to bring cheer to their home.

He clenched his fists, tail twitching slightly in agitation. He had to do something about this… He needed to do something for his boys! Rat or not, Lou Jitsu certainly wasn’t about to let this cruel season hold his family hostage for yet another year!

So, as soon as he was sure his boys were tucked in and sleeping away, he got to work.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

It was late, nearly midnight, but even the lively Big Apple seemed to be at peace. Most of the city’s citizens were tucked into their beds, grateful that there was no evening snow to shovel. The sky was clear as well, with there only being a slight icy breeze felt in the air. Still, as pleasant as the weather was, it was still winter - still a season of snow and ice and freezing cold.

Naturally, this cold was felt throughout the vast urban landscape, even in its deepest sewers…

“Daaaad, why do we gotta go out tonight anyway?” Leon pouted. He leaned on his twin, who begrudgingly refrained from pushing him away, if only so he wouldn't have to take his hands out of the sleeves of his coat.

Splinter glanced back at the boy, his eyes slightly hidden under the cabbie beret he was wearing. “You said you were bored, did you not?”

“Well yeah but, that doesn't mean I wanna help with chores…” Leo quietly retorted. Sure, he hated being stuck all season, but whatever his father was planning didn't exactly seem like a great alternative.

“Me neither… Especially when it's so cold above,” Donnie added, already bracing himself for the bitter cold as he and his family began walking into the tunnel. He tucked his chin under his scarf, wishing that he could go all the way inside his shell like his youngest brother could. “We should’a waited until I finished my new machine! It'll be able to dig through dumpsters and junk yards for us so we don't have to get our hands cold!”

“Then it is a good thing that tonight is not a scavenging night.”

The two five year olds blinked. ...Well, this made sense, they supposed. After all they still had plenty of food, as well as a couple toys they had managed to find. And thanks to their father having spent weeks gathering up abandoned costs and blankets for them all before the real snowstorms started to hit, there was nothing else they really needed. “So why are we going up then?” the purple turtle inquired, not liking being confused, “And WHERE are we going?!”

“You shall see, Purple One. Just a bit longer, our destination is just a few minutes away.” His rat ears perked up slightly as another one of his sons groaned.

“But why can’t you just tell us where we’re going, Pop?” Raph complained, crossing his arms.

“Because it would ruin the surprise.”

“Ugh…” Raphael kicked a stray chunk of ice, making sure to kick it towards the sewer walls so it didn't hit anyone in his family, and smiling just a little when the ice shattered on impact. “I still wanna know though…”

“I just hope it’s somewhere fun,” Leo added, thinking about all the trips they would take during the warmer seasons to places like the park or a restaurant or a mall, both to learn how to sneak around and to enjoy themselves without humans bugging them. Not like now, where they were just stuck inside their home half the time and trapped under a heat lamp or a blanket for the other half. “We haven’t been to the city in for- eeeeeever! ”

“I promise you boys that it’ll be well worth the effort,” Splinter insisted. He carefully stepped around a small puddle of ice, and used his tail to give his sons a path to follow.

“Papa knows the best places ever,” Mikey stated confidently as he easily grabbed his father’s thick coat and began to climb up onto his shoulders. As much as they helped with keeping him from getting too sleepy most of the time, the thick material of his parka and the clunky boots on his feet made it a bit harder to be as bouncy as he usually was. Thankfully he - as well as the rest of his brothers - had gotten a couple weeks to get used to moving around in their new every-day attire. And even if he hadn’t, Mikey’s grip and balance were as perfect as ever, even at only the tender age of four. Splinter had no doubt in his mind that his youngest would grow up to be quite the acrobat.

As he nuzzled his father’s warm fur, Mikey asked, “Is it still going to be winter where we’re going?”

“Yes, Orange,” the rat said simply, “Of course.”

“Oh…” And just like that, Mikey’s enthusiasm for this secret destination disappeared, his mood falling in line with his grumpy and reluctant older brothers’. “...I hate winter,” he mumbled, face still pressed up against Splinter’s furry cheek. Splinter held back a sigh, and stretched up his tail, using it to give his youngest son a comforting pat.

All of his hard work - all of his prepping and scavenging, getting every they would need, listening to the weather report several times a day as he waited for the perfect night - it would all be worth it. He was sure of it.

“Do you boys know why winter is so cold?” he asked as he looked down their metal path. He could begin to see light.

“‘Cause of all the snow!” Donnie answered immediately, “And wind, and ice, and all that other bad stuff!”

“Very good, Purple - except for that last part. Winter is not completely bad, it is just another season. Another part of life.”

“Yeah it is!” Raph lightly argued, “It’s always all cold and wet and- and cold!”

“True, winter can be tough to get through,” Splinter nodded, “The cold can be dangerous, if you aren’t prepared… But, there can be bright spots to this season.”

Leon tilted his head in confusion. “Like what?”

But Splinter didn’t give an answer. Instead, he simply said “Oh look, we are almost there.” Thanking his lucky stars that their new home was so close to a park, Splinter took them up to the entryway of the pipe where metal met snow, and watched as his sons’ expressions turned to ones of awe and amazement.

To them, snow was just the white stuff that fell from the sky and made things cold, the mysterious force that forced them to stay underground whenever it first started falling. Other than letting it fall into their open hands for just a moment or two, they had never really seen it up close. They had never seen what it looked like on the ground - and had certainly never seen this much of it! Entire fields of it, stretching all the way to the trees and sidewalks on the edge of the park as it sparkled in the light of the bright moon above.

“Whoaaaaaaaa…”

“Mm-hm,” Splinter nodded. He gave them all an encouraging smile as he took a hand out of his coat sleeve and gestured towards the winter wonderland. “Your gloves and booties should protect you, so go ahead and try-”

“WHOO!” In an instant, Mikey leapt from his father’s shoulder and right into the snow. He fumbled a little, nearly slipping but catching himself just in time. “Whoaaaa, it really is snow!” Curious, he put a hand to the snow, and with a squeak he pulled it away. It really was cold! But also soft… He put a hand to it again, this time scooping up an entire handful. It was like cold sand! With a laugh, he threw it up and let it rain down on him. Sure it was still cold, but the warmth of his clothes as well as just the excitement of it all kept him wide awake.

“Looks like Orange has the right idea,” Spinter smirked. His older children looked on, their own curiosity growing. One by one, each turtle stepped out into the snow, exploring how it felt in their gloved hands and under their feet while Mikey continued trying to do spins and flips in it, not caring if he slipped a little.

“So, this is all the snow that fell from the sky?” Leo asked, looking back at his father, “All clumped together? I didn’t even know snow could do that!” No wonder it made things so cold! But it was so pretty too, and so- so-... White! Definitely a shock to a five year old red-earred slider who only ever knew the dark colors of the sewers and the warm colors of his blankets and his father’s robe.

“It’s cause the ice that snow is made out of sticks together better the colder it gets!” Donnie grinned, the gears in his little mind already turning as he picked up his own handful of snow. “It really is like water, like how a puddle just gets bigger the more rain you put in it. It just all stays together, see Dad?!”

Amused, Splinter put a hand to his chin, feigning surprise. “How interesting! You know, I believe you can turn water into steam as well, once it gets too hot. Water is a very fluid element, you know.”

“I wonder what else I could turn water into…” Donnie mumbled, bringing the handful up to his eyes and examining the snow crystals carefully. Splinter expected nothing less from his clever Purple boy. He made a note to himself to try and ‘borrow’ a book from the library on the water cycle and other weather phenomenon for his son later.

Raph meanwhile, had made his own discovery. “It tastes a lot like water too,” he commented before taking another bite of his handful, not minding the coldness off it too much, “Crunchy water…” When he noticed his brothers giving him a bit of a look, he just shrugged. “It looked like sugar! I thought it would be yummy!”

“Soooo, what do we do in the snow now, Pop?” Leo asked. If the snow covered all the grass and trees, then it probably covered up any play equipment at the park too, so what else could be done?

Splinter, remembering all the various snow days from his own childhood very clearly, gave a grin. “Well, Blue, since you asked…”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“I’m gonna get you this time, Leo!” “Nuh uh! I’m gonna get YOU!” “Heh, you gotta catch me first!”

Snowballs flew through the sky one after the other, most of them falling flat onto the earth rather than hitting their target. Leo could dodge and evade like nobody’s business, but he had a bit of trouble with throwing far, and half the time he’d throw them upwards and end up hitting himself with them. As for Raph, he would keep trying to make the “biggest snowballs ever” in between attacks, not caring how many times they’d crash to the ground, not getting anywhere near his brother.

But it hardly mattered, really. Raph and Leo still continued to laugh and chase after each other, neither of them keeping any sort of score.

“Raphieeee!” Raph turned to see his baby brother waving his arms at him. Practically a whole army of snow angels had been formed in the field behind him, complete with stars and pictures drawn beside them.

“Whoaaa, cool!” Raph grinned, “I wanna try!” Letting himself go limp, the snapper fell back onto the snow, and began moving his legs and arms. With a much bigger back and thicker limbs, the angel didn’t come out quite as clean as Mikey’s, but he was still proud of it.

“Now your angel and mine can be friends!” Mikey beamed before turning to his blue brother, “Hey Leon, you wanna make an angel too?”

Leo breathed out a cold breath and rubbed his arms a bit. “Maybe later, Mikey. I wanna do something first.” Knowing instantly what Leo was going for, Raph and Mikey followed his lead back to where their father sat with his carefully packed tote bag beside him.

Splinter hummed. “More hot cocoa?” he guessed. The boys nodded enthusiastically, making him chuckle. “Alright, but remember to share, Blue” he said, reaching into his bag, “This is the last of it, and then you all will have to have soup instead.”

“Kay!” Leo took a couple sips before passing the thermos along. “Hey Donnie, d’you want- WHOA! Donnie, are you making a snow machine or something?”

“No, it’s a snow turtle!” Donnie explained, pressing a bit more snow onto the back of his creation, “It’s like a snowman - that was what Dad made when he was a kid - but wayyy better, cause it’s a turtle. Come on, I’ll show you guys how to make one!” Quickly finishing up the cocoa, the three of them cheered and ran over to their purple brother, eager to learn how to make this amazing thing.

As for Splinter, he just continued to watch his sons play and actually enjoy the season for the first time in their young lives. It had, indeed, been very much worth it…

However, as clearly as he could see the happy grins on his boys’ faces, he could also see the young reptiles start to shiver. Even with all the layers of clothing and warm things to drink and eat, they couldn’t stay out there forever. Still, there was one last thing he wanted them to experience before calling it a night…

“This is gonna be AWESOME!” Raph grinned, gripping the edge of their ‘ride’ tightly. Mikey nodded, having to force himself to sit still and not hop up and down in excitement, as per his father’s request. Donnie stepped in next, looking a bit more cautious. His twin seemed to share the same concerns, glancing back at his rat-dad.

“And you sure this is okay?” he asked, “An’ not something crazy people do?”

“Hmmm, well, I’m PRETTY sure.” “Daaaad!” Splinter laughed. “It is completely safe, Blue, believe me.” The hill wasn’t too steep, and there were no trees or rocks in sight. It was the most perfect sledding spot he had ever seen! “It’ll be alright,” he insisted.

Admittedly curious, Leo finally stepped on, making sure to huddle up next to his brothers and leave plenty of room on the trash can lid for Splinter to sit down on it. “Okay,” Splinter began, giving a toothy grin. He placed his tail on the cold ground as he wrapped his arms around his boys. “Hang on, all of you! Ready… aaaand… GO!” His tail pushed against the snow, and in an instant, they were off!

He heard the boys yelp, but within seconds they were all laughing and shouting in excitement, grinning as they flew down the hill. Still keeping his tail out, Splinter steered them, allowing their makeshift sled to weave back and forth, and even hop off the ground a couple times!

“Faster! Faster!” his children cheered, hollering and putting their hands in the air. So, Splinter leaned forward, increasing their speed. Maybe he could try out a couple tricks too, he thought to himself. A couple spins, or-

The lid hopped off the ground once more, hitting an unseen bump that Splinter hadn’t been expecting. As such, his arms weren’t wrapped quite as tightly around his turtles as they should of been. And, as their ‘sled’ came back down to earth, time seemed to slow as he watched his youngest fly off of it.

“MICHELANGELO!” Splinter cried out with a gasp as the box-turtle landed. However, instead of stopping dead (Splinter cringed. Bad word choice, very bad) in the snow, the young orange acrobat instinctively tucked into himself and rolled until he was safely on his shell.

“Woo hoo!” Mikey cheered, his body - and his own makeshift ‘sled’ - easily keeping up with his family’s speed, “I’m sledding! I’m sledding!”

“No way! Go Mikey!” Hey, I wanna shell-sled!” “Me too!” Before he could even try to stop them, each one of his sons backwards dove over the side of the metal lid. Even Donnie was daring enough to try it, knowing that the small backpack stuffed under his coat would easily protect his shell. And, just like their baby brother, each of them began to scream and laugh with delight as they slid down the hill.

“...Oh, what the heck?” Splinter mumbled, his grin returning. He crouched down, and- “ HOT SOOOOUP! ” he howled, jumping headfirst into the snow and leaving the trash can lid behind as he rolled away from it.

Unbothered by the splashing snow - unbothered by the cold or the wind or even winter itself - the five of them slid and flipped and spun and cartwheeled to their hearts’ content, until finally slowing down as they reached the bottom of the hill. Yet even as they laid there, their joyful laughter still couldn’t be contained.

“I LOVE winter!” Mikey yelled as loud as he could, his brothers enthusiastically agreeing with him. Still laughing as his heart continued to race - Goddid he miss this feeling, though it felt even better now that he was sharing it - Splinter gathered up his boys, hugging them close. “See? It’s just as I said,” he said, a bit breathless, “Lots of good things about winter!”

“Yeah!” “Uh huh!” “Lots of good things!” “I LOVE WINTER!” The turtles laughed again, still smiling even as their joy mellowed out and fell back to earth like snowflakes in the night.

Unsurprisingly, all the excitement had completely wiped them out, and Splinter had a feeling that even with heat, they’d still end up sleeping for a couple days straight. Even so, as he carried three turtles in his arms and one on his back through the icy sewers, he found he didn’t have any regrets.

Their wet parkas and booties were taken off as soon as they reached their home, instantly replaced with cozy sweaters and hoodies that Splinter had left sitting near one of the space heaters. “Come on, little ones,” he cooed, guiding them towards their rooms, “It is way past your bedtimes.”

“Hey, Papa?” Leo said suddenly, his voice quiet as he rubbed his eye.

“Yes, Blu-?” Leo grabbed onto him, hugging him tightly. His brothers quickly followed, their smiles strong despite their fatigue.

“Thanks for making winter fun,” Leo finished, nuzzling his stomach, “It was really fun...”

“Of course,” Splinter nodded, happily returning the hug, “I am glad to hear you all enjoyed it.”

“Can we go play in the snow again later?” Raph asked, nearly cutting himself off with a yawn.

The rat man hummed. It probably wouldn’t be for a while. There was a snowstorm announced for next week, with harsh wind chills after that… But after tonight, there was no denying that even the harshest conditions could still have perfect nights.

With a soft smile, Splinter answered with “...I suppose we could make nights like this a tradition.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()

“You got it all ready, Mikey?”

“Yep!” Mikey proudly lifted up the tote bag. “Two thermoses of soup, three of hot chocolate - and all in different flavors!”

Raph grinned, nodding. “Great job, bro. Now-”

“I’m telling you, Leon, my sled is Olympic-level quality!” he heard Donnie argue as the rest of their group (save for one member) walked into the kitchen, “There’s absolutely no way you’re going to beat me in ANY race. Period!”

“Dude, not only do snowboards beat sleds any day of the week, but my snowboarding skills are LEGENDARY!” Leo insisted, completely unphased by his twin’s boasting, “Come on! Everyone knows it’s not the equipment, it’s the champion that uses it.”

“Tc’ch, yeah,” Donnie rolled his eyes, “Just make sure you don’t slip and fall flat on your shell again, Champ.”

“I mean, if you ask me,” April smirked, her old green and gold sled already tucked under her arm, “I think I’m gonna kick both your shells, but that’s just me.”

Raph shook his head at the three of them, though even this old debate couldn’t bring his mood down too far. (Especially once he saw Mikey sneaking some gingerbread snickerdoodles into the bag.) “Hey Pop! You ready to go?”

“Just a moment, Red!” Splinter asked, his eyes still glued to the fabric screen in front of him, “You know how I like my holiday specials!” Though, it seemed that even the holiday spirit wasn’t enough to convince the scorpions to be docile, pinching away at the poor contestant and destroying his chances of winning a season’s worth of Christmas cakes and fried chicken. Chuckling, Splinter finally turned off the tv and began getting dressed, his ears open to the conversations the rest of his family was having.

From what he could hear, Mikey was planning some sort of ‘snow sculpture masterpiece’ while Raph was already egging Leo on for a snowball fight after his, Donnie and April’s race down the hill. April was insisting that they also had to try ice skating with her now that the pond in Central Park was finally frozen enough, and Donnie sounded eager to try out some new invention of sorts along with his high tech sled.

Splinter’s smile softened. Maybe he didn’t do much during them these days, other than sipping cocoa on a bench and occasionally hitting one of his boys with a surprise snowball for laughs (had to always keep them on their toes, after all). Maybe leaving his comfy chair and going out into the cold with his aging joints was a bit of a pain. Quite a bit of a pain, actually. And maybe - no, certainly - his family was old enough to go have fun in the snow without any supervision from him.

Still, Splinter found himself unable to give up their tradition. Not as long as his family still enjoyed it, still enjoyed his company, and not as long as it still brought smiles to his sons’ faces even in the coldest weather.

So, he bundled himself up, and followed his family down the cold sewer tunnel and into the light of the moon and the sparkling, pure-white snow, fully expecting another perfect snow night.

THE END

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2018 #fanfiction #oneshot #my writing #splinter is a good dad #master splinter #leonardo tmnt #raphael tmnt #donatello tmnt #michelangelo tmnt

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emblemevents-newyear · 6 years ago

Text

Set 7: REBELations vs The Royal Fortune Crew

“Of revelations and fortunes... err... rebels. I don’t have anymore dramatic one liners here.”

“This is gonna be my last time commentating before I leave the rest to Lyn and Morgan, so let’s make it a big one! This time around, we’ve got Captain Megan leading the REBELations crew against Captain Lilina of The Royal Fortune Crew! It’s the homestretch leading up to the semi-finals, so we’ll see how it plays out between the two crews!”

“At the signal, all crew members rush to their supplies to gather all the cannonballs they can hold before proceeding to the appointed cannon -- the tension can be felt now that this is one their last chances to score more points. Valter has the right idea and is lookin’ downright, err, thirsty to hit someone right now. So much so that he has a cannon quickly loaded and nails Claire right in the chest (Royal Fortune Crew+3 Points!). Meanwhile, Lilina tries aiming for Zuzu who dodges it, but at the expense of poor Rinea who just can’t protect her head at all lately (Royal Fortune Crew+5 Points!). The rest of the players finish out their preparations with loading up all the cannons, prepared to fire away and rock the battlefield soon enough...”

“Yuki begins firing away, managing to hit Lilina in the foot (REBELations+2 Points!), with Valter quickly responding by aiming at an unsuspecting Ludger by the foot too (Royal Fortune Crew+2 Points!). This is followed up by Fergus, believed to have been lazing about before, managing to get a hit on Kamui by the foot too because of course, where else would you hit him (Royal Fortune Crew+2 Points!). Camilla decides to join the trend of smacking feet as she aims for Lon’qu and hits him by the foot (REBELations+2 Points!). And just when you think it’ll end, Kathryn runs it home by aiming at Raigh who doesn’t want in on this fad, getting hit square in the foot too (REBELations+2 Points!). The feet chain is finally broken with Zuzu daring to be different, and striking Joelle by the hand who probably was expecting to be hit in the foot too (REBELations+2 Points!). And that should end it... no more cannonballs for this round, but plenty of sore feet. This was absolutely bonkers.”

“It’s been a rough first round, but now the teams are falling back to reload their ammunition, trying to rethink a new strategy for the next wave. Dimitri tries checking out if his own cannon was jammed, only to figure out it was perfectly okay but ends up hitting Zuzu in the torso! As players are surveying the waters again alongside others gathering more cannonballs, Ludger doesn’t care to wait around for much longer and takes only a single cannonball. Somehow, he fires it off and manages to hit Linus right in the torso (REBELations+3 Points!). What else is new, all the near shirtless guys keep gettin’ knocked out like that.”

“Megan sounds off the ensuing barrage by lighting her cannon, but unfortunately, it promptly blows up in her torso! Following that, things aren’t looking for her crew as Grima sends a barrage of cannonballs that rain from the sky, managing to knock out both Kathryn (Royal Fortune Crew+3 Points!) and Dimitri (Royal Fortune Crew+3 Points!) by the torso! Kamui sees his fellow shipmates get eliminated and takes it upon himself to change the tides, firing a shot straight at Valter. The latter sees this right away however, to which they’re both taken out by the torso (REBELations+3 Points & Royal Fortune Crew+3 Points!). But the REBELations crew isn’t going down that easy as Ludger responds by firing a shot that strikes Grima by the hand (REBELations+2 Points!). This bombardment isn’t gonna let up anytime soon, as both crews struggle to keep afloat while hitting each other with everything they got; Lon’qu and Yuki strike each other by the arms (Royal Fortune Crew+1 Point & REBELations+1 Point!), while Lilina and Rin aim for each other but are both taken out by the torso (Royal Fortune Crew+3 Points & REBELations+3 Points!). There’s no mercy around here, and somethin’ tells me this match will end quick at the rate it’s going now!!”

“The REBELations crew had lost a substantial number of their own, including the captain herself. Even so, they know there’s no time quit right now! As the teams retreat to load up their cannons again, Felicia finds a new sense of resolve with her master gone, taking aim right away and managing to hit Kaze in the torso (REBELations+3 Points!). The Royal Fortune Crew are startled by the surprise attack and quickly mobilize to get all the cannons ready for the next onslaught.”

“Yuki follows the cue of his captain and fires away first, straight at Grima as if knowing he’s a threat. But the latter by the last minute is saved by Joelle who bites it for him (REBELations+3 Points!). This isn’t the last of him being target, however, as Camilla also aims for Grima and succeeds in striking him by the foot (REBELations+2 Points!), though of course she had aimed to take him out entirely! Even then, this isn’t for over the crew’s sudden turnabout as Ludger manages to sneak in a quick one and hit Raigh in the arm (REBELations+1 Point!). Lilina scrambles to retaliate -- accidentally distracting Lon’qu by bopping him in the arm -- as Fergus realizes the danger and lights up his cannon... only for it to misfire into his torso. Somethin’ tells me he isn’t at all fazed by it too!”

“The playing field is gradually becoming evened out, but for now, both teams hurry to find more ammunition before the other could get the slip on them. Tobin doesn’t feel like being counted out just yet and continues to fire, striking Ludger in the torso (Royal Fortune Crew+3 Points!). Alerted by another one of their crew being knocked out so soon, Yuki goes for the retaliation and fires away several shots, hitting Lon’qu right in the torso too (REBELations+3 Points!). It’s getting tense between the two crews, with barely any friendly fire save for the unfortunate misfires. I don’t think either of them are letting up just yet!”

“At last, they’ve reached the cooldown period as teams gather their bearings after an intense series of barrages prior. Felicia and Yuki talk it out to see just how they’re even gonna proceed from here, but their chat is cut short with Raigh sneaking in a cannonball that hits the tactician right in the head (Royal Fortune Crew+5 Points!). Tobin and Grima are quick to take advantage of this surprise attack, but recklessly firing away causes themselves to both misfire right in the torso. Not wanting to make anymore careless moves, the remaining players opt to keep resting for the climactic battle...”

“Lilina immediately opens fire with a fully reloaded cannon; Felicia tries to dodge but ends up getting struck in the hand (Royal Fortune Crew+2 Points!). Meanwhile, Camilla does her best to fight back but is subsequently thwarted by everyone’s worst enemy: the misfire. Now Felicia’s left all alone to fend off for herself, against those who are seeking to win!”

“After reloading as many cannonballs for the next round, Lilina hurriedly moves her cannon to aim for Felicia, but the maid responds with a quick shot that catches the former off guard and right in the head (REBELations+5 Points!). It seems like she’s pushing forward to be the last one standing, but Felicia’s steam is abruptly put to a halt as Grima fires a clean shot that hits her straight in the torso, sending her careening backwards (Royal Fortune Crew+3 Points!). It was a good fight to the end from both teams. And then Raigh’s cannon misfires on him at the last second for good measure. As a result, the Royal Fortune Crew the bonus (Royal Fortune Crew+5 Points!)!”

“Well, that oughta do it for me yelling about the players and repeating the same few lines over and over again. I’ll see around much later on for the award ceremony, but for now, good luck in the semi-finals and finals!!”

REBELations: 37 points The Royal Fortune Crew: 43 points

**see below the cut for all simulation results!

#season segue ;; summer solstice #pirate panic ;; summer solstice #mod hector

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scaryscarecrows · 6 years ago

Text

Roots and Leaves, Pt. 7

I wouldn't dub Jason as the most reliable narrator right now. He's in shock. He has a concussion. Be gentle with him.

The lights do not come back on.

His eyes are open. He doesn’t know when he opened them, but they are open and it is dark and his head hurts.

Where…

SheilaHarleySheila’sdeadshe’sdeadshe’sdead

Mom?

I just thought just once just once that someone’d

Please

It’s hard. He’s on something hard and wooden, he can feel the cheap slats against his spine. He remembers. He remembers getting bogged down by goons and clawing his way back out and then sudden pain and-

-where is he?

His hands are folded across his chest and when he unfolds them to feel around they smack into more wood.

No. No, no, please-

Forcing himself to remain calm, he pats around him. Wood. Wood, wood, so much wood, and i-it smells like. Like dirt. Mud. It’s freezing and it smells like mud and God no please-

Okay. Okay. Shallow, even breaths, he can’t have been…been down here for long and the wood feels cheap, he can. He can get himself out. He has to. He has to he has to or he’s gonna die down here forgotten like he was before PLEASE-

Settle down.

Maybe that’s his own voice in his head, or m-maybe it’s Catherine Todd’s.

Mom, please-

Whoever’s it is, it’s right. Okay. Assess. Robin Lesson one-oh-one, assess the situation.

The cheap wood is creaking. Bits of dirt are falling in around him here and there, especially when he moves. He has no more knives, but his brass knuckles are safe in that little pocket.

He squirms a bit until his shirt’s over his mouth and nose and smacks his funny bone trying to get the damn things out of his hoodie, but he gets them in the end.

He doesn’t have nearly enough room to swing as hard as he’d like, but the wood’s not built to last and it splinters almost immediately, creates a gash that’s just big enough to claw at.

It hurts at first. One nail, one that he smacked with a hammer by accident a few days ago, catches an edge and rips straight off. But now dirt is pouring in, pressing down and he can’t breathe.

Then he’s in the mud, squishy worms and hard roots catching in his fingers and he can’t see, either,

See no evil hear no evil breathe no evil please somebody help me-

and a root pulls his shirt off his face and something squirms down his throat.

There’s rain above him, turning the dirt to slick mud that just keeps slipping through his fingers.

God no please not like this not like this-

He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe and he knows that not a foot away is air-salvation-life, but he can’t breathe now and-and-

Please not like this-

And his fingers finally breach the topsoil, scrambling in the mud, blood drying in the wind.

He gets a grip on the grass and hauls himself out, coughing and gasping for freezing air that hurts his throat. But he’s alive.

He’s alive.

* * *

Jason’s abruptly yanked off-balance when someone nearly pulls his arm out of its socket. A car zooms by, honking angrily. Where…when did he…

“-uck, you idiot, did you never learn to look both ways?”

Huh?

His savior vanishes into the throng of people. He doesn’t. He’d been in the park. He remembers. He’d been in the park, by the…by his…in the grass, and he’d just meant to lie there for a minute. So why is he know in mid-Gotham?

His head hurts-Sheila. Sheila’s apartment. It was near here, he’d meant to…to…

She wanted to show him something. Family photos. But she’s dead, she can’t, and…

S’bright. Tha’s all he knows right now, s’that s’bright ‘n that his hands are hot.

“-ck, something’s come up-Hood. Hood, fuck, kid, what happened?”

He’s Hood. He knows that. Red Hood ‘n Robin ‘n that’s all he’ll ever be worth-

Something grabs his sleeve and he’s jerked back to reality. Gotham. City lights, that’s why it’s bright like this. Okay. Okay, he was going…he was…

“C’mon, kiddo, you’re freaking me out a little.”

Dove Marquis. Hot chocolate. Kept him from bleeding out when he was fourteen. Probably won’t…won’t…

I just thought-

“Hood!”

Huh?

He blinks a few times and realizes that she’s pulling on his sleeve. Why.

“C’mon, you’re a mess. What’d you get into, a mulcher?”

He’s not dead, as far as he knows, so…

She pulls on his sleeve again. Oh. He’s not tryin’ to be difficult, he’s not, honest, s’just…

“-ky you didn’t wander into the Narrows like this, who knows what Crane’s people would’a thought-”

His hands are hot and the rest of him’s just so goddamn cold-

“Mom?”

He jerks back without meaning to and Dove swipes for his sleeve again.

“You’re okay, kiddo, you’re gonna be okay…did you run into Scarecrow?”

No. No, that would’a been better-

She’s still waiting for an answer. He swallows

Dirt ‘n leaves ‘n somethin’ movin’ inside’a me

and tries to speak. His voice doesn’t want to work and he shakes his head instead. The world spins.

“You’re sure?” He manages a nod. “Okay…come on, then, you’re a mess and it’s cold.”

It doesn’t matter, he guesses.

Time flickers and the next thing he’s really aware of is that he’s in a dark apartment.

NO NO NO NO

There’s the click of a switch. It’s empty. It’s empty. And blue, not white, a-and he can see the city skyline through the window. The drapes aren’t drawn, it’s just nighttime.

“-y here, I gotta do a serial killer check.”

He can-

But she’s gone, leaving him by the door. He should go before this can go wrong

Again

but by the time he thinks he can manage stairs (no elevator too close too tight not now not now), Dove’s pulling on his sleeve again. He follows her.

“Okay-okay, honey.” Her voice is doing a weird thing. He’s confused. What’s going on? What’s happening is he here is- “Just…just sit down, okay? And, uh, maybe don’t touch anything.”

They’re in a bathroom. It’s white, with a duck rug and a hanging fern and a cross-stitch saying, Don’t do coke in the bathroom.

He sinks to the floor, back against the wall, and finally realizes why his hands are so hot and (probably) why Dove’s voice is doing the weird thing. Blood’s warm. ‘Specially when it’s pooled around a shit-ton of splinters.

Can’t breathe can’t breathe somebody help me BRUCE-!

“Just hold still. Can you do that for me?” He nods, or he means to, and she crouches in front of him and pulls one of his hands away from his ribs. “Good boy…just…just stay real still, I’m gonna try to get these out…”

‘Kay.

He loses track of time, watchin’ the fern (why’s she got a fern, Ivy could…) and then realizes, in a very detached way, that he’s gonna be sick.

He pulls back, the sudden movement makin’ his head spin, and flings the toilet open.

Can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe

There’s not much in him to heave up. Just dirt (gritty bile) a-and bits of worms that squirm over his tongue and against his teeth and-

A piece of worm bobs in the frothy water and he convulses, thinks distractedly that he’ll never eat spaghetti again. The porcelain’s ice cold against his hands and it feels like his blood’s gluing his skin to the bowl.

“-do, get it all up, there you go…”

He’s not sure if that’s a bug or not. Could be roots, could be legs. Either way, watching it hit the water makes his stomach flip again and he gags, throat and jaw stretching uncomfortably and hot tears pushing themselves out of his eyes and down his nose. There’s nothing left there’s nothing left but the heaving won’t stop-

The toilet flushes and that seems to do it, lets him stop vomiting and sink back against the wall with his head tipped forward, hot, wet gasps brushing past his lips. A plastic cup appears in his line of vision and Dove reaches over to tip his head up, murmuring, “Rinse your mouth out, honey, it’ll help, c’mon.”

Initially, the water just stirs up more grit from behind his teeth, but eventually it runs clear. He’s barely sprawled back against the wall when a warm towel moves over his face and scrubs firmly through his hair. Feels good, and he presses against it because Jesus it’s warm and he can’t even shiver right now.

“There we go, kiddo, okay…okay…gimme your hand again, we’ll finish up, huh?” The towel drops to the floor by his knees and his hand’s pulled out of his lap. “Do you remember what happened?”

He wishes he didn’t. Now, with his stomach empty (but still churning is something still alive down there?), things are coming into sharp focus. The fern. The bowl of bloody splinters. The bruises.

Mom?

“Harley Quinn,” he mumbles, because she doesn’t have to do this and he owes her that, at least. “Woke up underground.”

She stills, tweezers halfway towards a splinter between his knuckles.

“Is she going to look for you?”

“I don’t think so.” He hopes not he hopes not surely she won’t- “She wasn’t there. When I got out.”

“That’s something.”

Yeah. That’s something.

At some point, she lets his hand go and pulls the other one over instead. Now that the splinters are gone, the heat is more pronounced. So’s the pain.

The pain is not bad enough, however, to stop him drifting off a little, coming to when Dove pulls his jacket half-off with a soft, “You don’t wanna sleep in this, do you, sweetheart?”

Huh?

He squirms out of it anyway, doesn’t even care when it gets flung into the shower with an ear-splitting WHAP-CLANK! Without it, it’s colder than ever and he pulls his arms against his chest, finds that his t-shirt is a wet mess, too.

“Okay…my neighbor’s fuck-buddy might be…just stay here, huh? I’ll be right back.”

No, no, not again, please-

But she’s gone. The apartment door opens and closes and he needs to get out but he doesn’t think he can even stand up.

His hands have been wrapped up, he notices. Haphazard, a little, but the nail beds are covered. They don’t hurt so much now.

He falls back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, and is jolted back to awareness by Dove knocking on the doorframe. He pulls his eyelids up, wincing at the light, and sees that she’s got what looks like sweats and a t-shirt in hand. Huh?

“Let’s getcha a little less zombie-like, huh?” Mm. “Think you can manage?”

Uh. He’s not…sure, exactly. He tries picking up the towel, just to see, and manages it. Barely, but enough to determine that yeah, he can get dressed on his own.

‘Least there’s that.

He nods. Dove looks a little less confident than he thinks is fair, but she sets the clothes near him anyway and says, “Anyone I can call for you, kiddo?”

Alfred. He wants Alfred, ‘cause Alfred won’t…he won’t blame him for this,

Just once I thought I wouldn’t be second choice just this once m’sorry m’sorry-

but…but with Alfred comes Bruce ‘n he can’t call Bruce Wayne-

“Batman,” he whispers, ‘cause Alfred won’t let Bruce lecture him either, not now, and…and he wants his dad. He wants Alfred and Bruce even though he’ll probably regret it later.

“Okay.”

There’s no way she can call Batman. Doesn’ matter. Maybe he can catch a ride…

But she’s gone before he can take it back and he’s left with what turns out to be purple sweats and some sorta fleece running shirt.

She’d gotten his boots off at some point-he sees them in the shower near his jacket-and that’s…that’s something.

Okay. He can do this.

He’s not sure how he gets out of his jeans, but he manages in the end and fuck it’s cold now, like Freeze’s goddamn ice cream truck. His skin’s hardly even wet and at least there’s that but it’s cold…

The sweats are soft. Okay. Halfway there.

He doesn’t remember getting the shirt on. He does, he knows he does because now he’s fiddling with the hem, but he doesn’t remember how. His head hurts.

There’s a knock and he must make a noise because the door opens.

“Think you can stand up?” Huh? “I can’t carry you, honey, but if you can get up, you can crash on the couch until Batman gets here.”

Okay. Maybe. Maybe for a few minutes.

Getting up is hard, but past a certain point falling down sounds like it’s gonna hurt and he promises himself that he won’t. Dove eyes him and says, “If you start falling, I might be able to catch you, but, uh…I kinda doubt it, so please don’t.”

He doubts it, too.

There’s a sheet on the couch. It’s black and worn down enough to be really, really soft. He’s barely made himself comfortable (like that’s hard it’s soft and squishy and not wood) when a heavy blanket falls onto him. He can feel wires and a second later it registers that it’s an electric blanket. It’s already kinda warm.

“There you go, honey…need anything? Water, Tic-Tac?” He shakes his head and draws under the blanket. Now, confronted with heat, he’s starting to shiver in earnest. “Okay. I called Jim, he’s gonna turn on that stupid searchlight. You wanna sleep for a bit?”

No no please no because this could be some sorta pre-death hallucination, his brain tryin’ to soothe itself before he suffocates in the dirt, a-and goin’ to sleep might be the end and this wasn’t what he wanted-

“She said she was done,” he whispers, because he needs to say it to someone and Alfred isn’t here. “She said she was done ‘n I believed her ‘n I shouldn’ ‘ave but-”

“Harley?”

“Sheila.” It kills him to say her name and haha so it should what does it say that he couldn’t save her? “She. She said-”

He gags on phantom soil and swallows, clenches his teeth together tight enough to squeak.

“Shh, baby.” She reaches over and pushes his hair off his forehead-prob’ly checking for fever or something, but… “Calm down, okay? You wanna tell me what happened?”

“She said she was done.” She had she’d said ‘n he knows he shouldn’t have believed her but he’d just wanted, just once… “She s-said…m’sorry, m’sorry-”

He’s pulled upright and held onto, blanket falling to bunch up around his stomach. A hand moves gently across his shoulders and he’s vaguely aware that he’s being rocked back and forth.

“Sh-sh-sh.” But- “This wasn’t your fault, I promise, it doesn’t matter what happened, that fucking clown…it wasn’t your fault.”

“I shouldn’t ‘ave-”

“Shh.” He shuts up, tries to get his breathing under control. “You’re okay. C’mon, now, just calm down, huh? This wasn’t your fault.”

He pulls away and drops back to the couch, shivering and staring at the ceiling. Dove fixes the blanket and ruffles his hair before straightening up.

“Want the TV on?”

“M’okay. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Try to sleep, sweetheart, Batman’ll be here soon to get you.”

He doesn’t want to, but everything’s crashing down on him at once and it’s getting hard to keep his eyes open.

After another few minutes, it’s impossible.

* * *

He wakes twice-once, for a couple’a seconds, to Dove running her fingers through his hair and murmuring, “It’s just a nightmare, honey, you’re okay…” and once, later, when he’s pulled into a fireman’s carry.

S’he dead? Maybe he’s dead, ‘n bein’ carried…to wherever he’s s’posed ta end up.

He’s gotta be dead, he decides, ‘cause he hasn’t been carried since before…before, and…

S’warm. He thought death was cold but this is warm. S’okay.

He presses his head against the warmth. All too soon, he’s let go but he’s not falling ‘n there’s some kinda restraint ‘n-

“Jason?”

Huh?

He forces his eyes open. Batman-Bruce-is standing there, and he’s in the Batmobile’s stupid roller-coaster-seat.

“B?”

Bruce’s smile is only obvious if you know where to look, but Jason didn’t spend three years searching for it to fail. This is it, then. He’s dead and this is not Bruce, because Bruce doesn’t…after everything he’s done…

He wishes he’d gotten the chance to say good-bye to Alfred.

“Jay-”

Mm-mm. He doesn’t want to talk to Not-Bruce. And, just to make this clear, he decides to pass out.

#Jason Todd #Dove Marquis #Bruce Wayne #Batdad is here #being buried alive bites #Roots and Leaves

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