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victoriadecapua · 2 years ago

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Republic of Infidels Book I: The Remains - Chapter Eight - The Tender Void

“When you think about last night, try to remember that you fucked me after the world ended, not the other way around, hm?”

Rachel stared into the mirror. Ten days had passed, and already a lexicon had formed around their new reality. For those who preferred a more sanitized accounting, the Fall was rapidly becoming the most popular euphemism, though the Event was the term that Vikram and his little band of acolytes favoured, when they alluded to it at all. Before was less used. No one had attempted to polish it.

He had asked her to join them, to discuss the fate and future of their little afterworld, but she had declined, instead preferring to sit in front of her mirror and stare. She’d spend hours like this, staring at her own reflection, looking into her own eyes as she watched herself remember everything she had ever done, ever said, or that had ever been done or said in her presence.

Memory came in waves that seemed to lash against her mind, eroding her discipline, all the more irresistible because she wanted to let it take her, let it drag her under. She wanted to be with Alec in the grassy quad, that paltry twelve minutes in which he had brushed aside her defences, put his mouth on hers, lifting her up an invisible step on to an entirely new plateau of experience.

She wanted to tell him how unusual that was for her, to not know. To want, without having yet experienced. To feel that sexual charge, to embrace it, to know she could relinquish her hard-fought self control, because she knew Alec loved her.

But Alec Vigna was dead. Everyone was dead. Everything she’d known, and everything she’d ever experienced was simultaneously meaningless and inescapable. If she left this spot, if she left the memory of Alec, it would inundate her. Here, she had found a small refuge in the tactile recollection of his lips, his mouth, his teasing smile.

What would I want with a nice girl?

“You need to eat something.”

She blinked, realized her brother was standing over her with a plate and a mug of tea. With the interference of his presence, she came back to herself, and realized there were tears on her face. This happened all the time now, this unconscious weeping. She did it in her sleep, often waking to find her cheeks stained with salt. She knuckled them away and looked blearily at the reflection of his concerned, disapproving face.

Heaving a sigh, he balanced the plate and sat down cross legged beside her, then put the spoon in her hand. She looked it, frowning in confusion.

Exasperated, he held the plate out to her. “Do I really have to hand feed you, Rachel?”

She took it, and to please him, loaded the spoon and nibbled at it. It was uncomplicated, just curried rice and lentils, but the taste of salt and carbohydrates woke her appetite just enough. She ate another spoonful, then another. He handed her the tea, and she sipped the fragrant liquid, feeling her throat unstick.

She thought about the flavour, her mind naturally unpacking it, pulling out the facts she had in her nearly infinite record. China, she thought. Green tea came from China. As she thought this, the feedback loop she’d been trying so desperately to avoid by staying with the memory of Alec began, because of course there was no China, just as there was no Alec.

Tears again. She tried to ignore them as she continued to eat, but she found she could no longer stand the taste of the tea. She put it down. Vikram did not fail to note this gesture, and his expression of concern deepened. He reached out and used his thumbs to wipe away her tears, his black eyes searching her face. She let the half empty plate slide to the floor, and stared back at him.

“Why don’t you feel it?” She wanted to know, her voice shaking as she tried not to unravel. “Vikram, I can’t do this.”

“You can,” he insisted. “You can’t give into despair. I won’t let you.”

She looked at him, wanting so badly to explain that she didn’t want to be alive, but she couldn’t do that to him. And yet, she wanted his pain. She wanted him to stop being strong, to stop seeking solutions, to admit everything they’d overcome had now rendered them obsolete.

“We’ve gone extinct,” she whispered.

“No. Endangered, perhaps,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Refugees are coming here. More every day. There are still cargo ships on the high seas, still provisions and goods. Maybe we are writing the merest end to human history, but at least….”

Seeing her expression made him stop. They’d had this same conversation many times, but she could see he was giving up. Resigning himself to caring for her, because he couldn’t repair her.

“Why do you do this?” he asked, indicating the mirror. It wasn’t a judgement, she knew. He was interested in the psychic application. They had all kinds of tools for managing their condition, some of which they shared, others which were private, or not consciously applied.

This meditation was too private, too intimate for her to describe to him. She wasn’t sure she could explain that the memory of Alec Vigna’s cock pressing against her through his trousers was the only thing keeping her from stepping off the mountainside. It was not a nourishing memory, and it created a void of exquisitely painful desire in her, but that pain was so physical that it centred her. Stopped her from thinking about China, about Oxford, about Jamal Salim, about a thousand different things erased from a world she didn’t know she had loved so much. Most dead of all, the young woman she had been, one endowed with status and power. She would never have that again, and to her shame, she mourned.

“I don’t know,” she said in answer to her brother’s curious gaze. “What do you think I should do?”

“Engage,” he said at once. “Mother is establishing an academy and Father’s shoring up the harbour. You have medical training, you could help people.”

“Help people,” she repeated. “I can’t help people with radiation sickness, Vikram. The best thing you could do for most of them is shoot them.”

He glared at her. “You know who you sound like.”

She shrugged, and turned back to the mirror. Her face was unchanged, her dark eyes blank. Vikram’s reflection watched her, and she could tell he wanted to shake her, if only to make her resist. As her eyes moved to his, she thought that she would quite like to do the same. To shake him out of his missionary delusion, to shake some tears out of him. By trying to keep her safe from his own trauma, he wanted her to lie to herself about her own. She had begun to feel lonely in his presence. She hadn’t expected him to make the mistake of thinking that leaving her alone would correct the difficulty.

He got to his feet, then bent to her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You need a shower.”

Then he was gone, slipping out the door without another word. It hurt, his frustration with her, but she knew his return in precisely six hours, when his rounds would take him back to her door, would hurt in a different way.

Silently, she rose and moved towards her en suite shower. She briefly toyed with the idea of taking her shaving razor to her wrists, but once there, her routine took over. Soon, she was washing her hair under hot water, now an unimaginable luxury for most other humans.

She stood there under the spray, and then, on impulse, turned up the cold water. It was icy glacial runoff, and made her instantly cringe. She forced herself to stand under it, to accept the cold burn on her sensitive skin, but it was such light punishment that it didn’t take long before she was accustomed to it.

Her mind swam through a rhythm of memory, each one like flashes of strobing light. It came in every form. Hundreds of thousands of faces, names, foods she’d eaten, tedious imprints of all the ordinary moments. Every traffic light in downtown Amsterdam flashed in her mind alongside the sound of each busker on the London Underground. Underwater, now. Under the punishing waves. Every memory that had ever given her joy was now a knife in her flesh, piercing her through so many times that she was more wound than human.

Mechanically, she dressed for sleep, pulling on her black oversized Nirvana t-shirt, but realized at once that she could not stand the idea of getting back into her bed. She needed air, needed to experience something external, something that wasn’t just the electrical impulses surfing the fine imprints in her brain.

As she made her way down the stairs, she paused at the entrance to the common area. Vikram, along with several of the village leaders, were in deep conversation over some kind of hand-drawn map. Planning the layout for his capitol, she thought with a poisonous surge of contempt. At once, she hated herself for thinking it, and wished, as she lingered there, that he’d see her. That he’d drop it, that he’d hold her and admit defeat so she could trust him again.

He looked up at her from his discussion, and smiled his strained, sad smile. For an instant she was hopeful, but he only gave her that nod of the head that said we’ll talk later. With that gentle dismissal, he returned his attention to his vapid statecraft, leaving her bereft in a way she couldn’t have imagined Before. There it was, Before. Her brother, her protector, the one who cared for her above all things had not survived. Perhaps it was worse. Perhaps she had simply not understood him as well as she had believed.

Aimless and lonely as a phantom, she turned and walked out the arched entry, letting her bare feet take her down to the causeway. The wind rushed up the sweeping rock face, smelling of sea junk, of petrol, and even from up here, rotting corpses. Thousands of feet below, they tumbled in the surf, not visible from here, but Rachel knew that they lined the strand. Those that came ashore rarely got further than the beach. Even so, her father and the security team would soon be overwhelmed by the number of survivors.

Her medical knowledge, even her practical experience, hardly qualified her to repair the wounds of this last, lost remnant of humanity. So far, the problem most common among the refugees appeared to be death, and she had no remedy for that. It was hard to think of a worse death than acute radiation sickness. Even if she could bring herself to try, there were no medicines, no narcotic that could alleviate the excruciating pain of cooking to death from the inside. She’d seen enough to know that a bullet in the neck would be the kindest remedy.

That thought lingered in her as she made her way along the dam, letting her hands ride the planed stone of her father’s engineering masterpiece. She still had this and all that Radhesh had created. The thought made her feel a little less heart heavy, knowing his genius was still alive, still protecting them. Then she paused, feeling the wet cool fog rolling against her skin.

As it cleared, the great ionized light that marked where the satellite had fallen became visible on the horizon. She considered it, feeling a tug of curiosity. The accepted theory was that the ARC had penetrated the earth’s crust, had forced the creation of a kind of nuclear volcano that would never stop generating radiated combustion. The eruption only built upwards, until it created a kind of geological funnel for concentrated energy, though no one would ever get close enough to verify it for themselves.

All around the world, every volcano, every fault line, any place where the earth’s crust was thin had opened, disgorging more magma, creating new volcanos, the layers of newly formed volcanic rock forcing the water level up to impossible heights. The wounds had then sealed themselves, but the original puncture remained open, filling the air currents with deadly radiation that would travel with the refugees, who would bring it here.

She walked along the lip of the dam, no longer aimless, but not quite committed to the possibility welling up in her mind. The lights illuminated the great sweep of cement wall, their supply of electricity uninterrupted. The dam had preserved, at least for them, the ability to generate this electricity, and through some strange meteorological dogma, it could harness the high altitude snows that now only touched the very top of the dry rocky spike that was Everest. Even Vikram was unable to account for the new rules of physics of this place and she’d given up without bothering to make the effort.

This meditation took her all the way to the eastern termination of the parapet, near to the switchback approach. On the other side of the road, the short end of the Alpine Security barracks loomed, its broad pitched roof making it look like a tall, asymmetrical steel and mortar tent. The windows set in the long side were narrow, but Rachel could see the dim light glowing faintly at the edges, and there, a diffuse shadow moving across the frosted glass.

Giving in to the impulse, she went to the plain wooden door situated at the end, and knocked once. Then, when there was no answer, she tightened her fist and cop-knocked on the hard wood until her fist throbbed.

The first thing Rachel saw as the door opened was the barrel of an extremely large pistol pointing directly at her forehead. She wasn’t frightened, exactly, but it certainly was a new experience. The passive, cold eyed expression on the face behind it animated as Sergei recognized her.

He lowered the gun, his blonde brows coming together in surprised perplexity. “Rachel.”

She looked from the gun, to him, his damp hair, his black bathrobe, and felt a little perplexed herself. “What are you doing?”

He raised an eyebrow as he looked her over, taking in her ragged, underdressed appearance. “I should be asking you.”

She ignored his question, then fixed him with a silent, expectant stare. He moved aside for her, uncocked the pistol and set it on the kitchen table. She paused to look at the gun, eyes following its machined lines, its silver dark finish. It was a Desert Eagle .50, Israeli made. Ostentatious and showy, just like its owner.

She’d never had reason to be in Sergei’s quarters before. Lit by two low lamps, it was a generous studio space, tented under the extremely angled ceiling. In addition to the kitchen area, there was a couch, a coffee table, and a low platform bed made with hospital corners. Beyond, she could see a bathroom door ajar, and inside that, a standing shower that was still steamed up from recent use. He’d been showering at the same time she had, she guessed, and wondered why this detail had decided to make itself important to her.

Her eyes caught something else, tucked into a corner, and she walked over to investigate. It was a two-doored gun safe with the doors open, full to bursting with small arms, assault rifles and shotguns. Most had been properly mounted in their brackets, but the floor of the safe held a pile of handguns of different makes. She almost wanted to laugh. So much death, stacked like children’s toys.

“You’ve been busy,” she murmured, half to herself. She heard him shut the door, and she could feel him watching her, struggling to place her. There was something wrong in his silence. Even without seeing his face, she could feel it.

When she did look up, the man standing before her, watching her intensely, no longer aligned with her record of him. He hadn’t just been busy. Something about him had changed. Something that intrigued her, and because it intrigued her, it also frightened her. That fear fired a little adrenaline into her, enough to give her back some focus.

It was also quite strange to look at him full in the face when it had been her decade-long policy to avoid acknowledging him with the privilege of her attention. His superficial playfulness was gone, revealing the hard, featureless core of him. Ten days ago, he had been an annoyance. Now he was a stranger.

“I made a few new friends out on the water,” he said finally. “Maybe you’ll meet them someday.”

“You know they’re not really friends if you make them at gunpoint.”

“What do you want?” he asked, the frown still etched between his brows.

“Vodka,” she said, knowing he’d be well supplied.

Letting out a breath of annoyance, he went to the freezer, pulled out an unopened bottle and held it out to her, neck first. She looked at him curiously, then nodded at it.

“In a glass. With ice, if you have it.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but his expression softened a little around the mouth. She watched as he went through the ritual, pulling an old fashioned ice tray out of the freezer. It was surprisingly fascinating to watch as he cracked the tray to loosen the ice cubes. He could have broken it in half as easily as she might have snapped a twig, but there was something precise, almost delicate in his gestures. An animal grace to him that she hadn’t really noticed before.

He poured a measure of vodka into an old fashioned glass, added two ice cubes and looked up at her. She nodded towards the table, and went to sit down, taking the glass and pressing the cold surface to her neck. She sighed, uncaring of his presence, as the chill soaked into her skin, cooling her pulse. She took a drink and that was even better, the frigid liquor burning down her throat.

Sergei watched her, clearly quite fascinated himself by her deviation from their traditional script. He took a pull off the bottle, then set it down on the table next to the pistol.

“You didn’t come here just to have a drink with me, Rakhila.”

“Don’t — ,” she began, then cut herself off. There was no point, and she was too busy living in the world of that glass, the sensual promise of the slippery ice texture, and its melting entropy. She took another sip, and decided to tell him the truth.

“I was thinking about killing myself,” she said, almost casually. “I’ve been thinking about it in one form or another every day for weeks. I suppose having a drink with you is a close second.”

He cocked his head to the side. “And what, you think I will help you?”

“Why not?” she smiled, feeling a little of the old contempt warm in her. “You’ve helped others.”

She almost expected him to smile back, to put on the mask he liked to wear when he was pretending to be roguish. Insulting her to her face with the suggestion that he was an incorrigible delinquent and not a brutal sadist of the first water. But he did not smile. His expression remained unchanged, his unblinking stare almost accusatory. She turned her attention to the pistol, tracing the Eagle’s rubberized handle with one finger, letting it find the contours where his fingers had recently gripped it.

Sergei took the gun out from under her hand and stowed it beneath the head of his bed, where he’d easily be able to reach it if needed. She recharged her glass as she watched this, and drank off half, craving the lightheadedness, the feeling of being divorced from her inhibitions.

“What has your brother told you about me?” he asked as he sat across from her. “What has he said to you that would make you think I would enjoy hurting you?”

“Nothing that would make me think you would enjoy hurting me in particular,” she said dismissively. “Nothing beyond what everyone knows.”

A thin smile played around his mouth. “What does everyone know?”

She shrugged, looked down at the contents of her glass. She could recall the different states of these ice cubes, but not the melting in between. The contemplation of this chaos slowed her mind, releasing some of the pressure cycle. She looked up into Sergei’s pale blue eyes, the irises so lacking in reflectiveness that it was difficult to see the folds in them. Each contraction of dilation would be impossible to detect, even though she knew they were happening, because she could see the widening pupils absorbing her, taking her in.

“What does everyone know?” he repeated, wetting his lips with his tongue. “That I am a killer?”

She looked hard at him. “Are you owning that now?”

“What do you want to hear?”

“The truth.”

He considered her, taking another pull off the bottle. Then he shrugged, his eyes going to the safe.

“Did you count them?”

She nodded.

“Add nine,” he said indifferently. “From Before.”

“Before,” she sneered, dimly aware that she was being offended by the wrong thing. “Before Armageddon.”

“Why aren’t you saying this to Vikram?” he demanded, suddenly irritated. “We are not friends. Your brother understands you. Why aren’t you asking him for help?”

She couldn’t meet his eyes. The ice had melted in her glass, leaving her without the meditation. Still, she focused on it, tightening her grip in the hopes that she might shatter the leaded crystal, create a different bloodier chaos. Why had she come here? Why hadn’t she stepped off the dam?

“You are crying, Rachel.”

As she looked up at him, she was dimly aware that he had not asked her why she was crying, merely stated the observable fact. He was born without the ability to recognize distress, and so had to go by the physical evidence. As she stared at him, stared into his aquamarine eyes, the flat edged soul behind them, she realized she had fully expected him to lay hands on her. To do intimate violence to her, as he had once attempted years ago. She had laid him out with deliberation and damage for that trespass, but now she couldn’t even feel the humiliation of knowing she would submit to his poisonous flirtation a thousand times if it meant a return to Before.

She met his eyes again. “Sergei, will you do something for me?”

He nodded, staring back at her with unblinking intensity.

“Promise me you won’t tell me everything will be all right.”

At first he did not react, merely continued to stare at her. Then he a gave a reflexive little laugh, more surprise than amusement. Again she was struck by the change she perceived in him. He was not sobered, or tempered, but something had turned inside of him. He didn’t feel the need to mock her, to put some kind of intimidation on her, to pretend like he was in love with her. From that day to this, he had acquired an authentic confidence, and she knew with utter certainty it had everything to do with the former owners of the firearms piled in his safe.

He shrugged. “When have I ever lied to you?”

She said nothing, absorbing the truth of this. He’d offended her in the past, attempted to touch her without her permission, but he’d never insulted her intelligence with dissembling. Frozen in this thought, she only noticed at the last moment that he was reaching for her face. He caught one of her tears on his thumb, and brought it to his mouth, licking it off his thumbnail, his eyes never leaving hers.

Before she could appreciate this strange gesture, before she could speak any word of denial, he took her face in his hands and began to kiss her tears. Her breath caught, her body paralyzed by the tenderness an act so soft, so sweet that she could close her eyes and almost believe that she was waking from a terrible nightmare. That it was another man entirely who was gentling her, drawing the poison.

She knew the substitution was impossible. Even with her eyes closed, even as she struggled to find some part of Alec in that brief window of memory, she discovered she could not recall him. She knew the details of his face, the lemon spiced smell of his aftershave, but only as listed facts. She could not feel them, could not make her senses experience them. The scents now filling her nose were rust, gun oil, and vodka. The hands cradling her face already had a long resume of atrocity. Sergei wasn’t kissing her tears away, but imbibing them.

She opened her eyes to find him watching her with that glacial intensity. Alec had looked at her with greed, with desire, but the hunger in Sergei’s face surpassed her knowledge of human expression. Even when they had been teenagers, his attitude had been more teasing than threatening, a boy baiting a viper on a dare. Now his eyes glittered, scanning her face, his lips parted as he breathed in the taste of her. He was barely holding himself back, the need he had kept in check manifesting, forming the edge of an abyss. Waiting for her to step off.

When she pressed her lips to his, it felt like falling. His kiss was restrained and probing, as though he didn’t want to scare her, to overwhelm her. Being the gentleman, letting her use her mouth to instruct him. To decide who it was she needed him to be. It was a pathetic lie, and she felt an upwelling of rage, having just extracted his promise. She didn’t want his restraint.

She wrapped her arms around him and invaded his mouth with her tongue. With a sound somewhere between a groan and a purr, he gave it back with equal force, pulling her to his hard chest, calloused hands holding her face, tilting her head back so that he could deepen the kiss. His dark little chuckle when she gasped for breath was another new sound, just as his hands were new, as was the closeness of his face, the thousands of new details now overwriting the psychic pain with raw physical sensation.

She tugged open the neck of his robe, heard him give a strangled groan as she put her mouth on his flushed throat. Her hand moved down over his staggered abdominal muscles, seeking to go further. He grasped her wrist, stopping her hand from going lower.

“Don’t be greedy,”

She glared at him. “Why not?”

He grinned, and put his hands on her waist, walking her backwards until the edge of the bed caught her, and she fell back. Then his mouth was hot on hers again, his hands sliding up under her shirt, pulling it up over her head. His hands found her bare skin, thumbs sliding over her ribs, his mouth on her ear again.

“Because it’s my turn.”

He pushed her back, taking his time as he placed kisses on her body, moving down at a leisurely pace. She gasped as he slid teeth and tongue over her breast, pausing only a moment before moving lower over her belly to the plain black panties that spanned her hips. Even aware of what he was about to do, it still surprised her when he bent his head between her legs, pulled aside the fabric barrier with one finger and began to kiss her.

Rachel could not make herself understand or analyze the sensation of his tongue going inside of her, the sounds he made as though feasting on something delicious. She could only feel. Tension streaked down her legs, making her toes curl. Breathlessly, she arched back, only to find the upward surging arousal interrupted as he lifted his head, eyes bright, mouth flushed, a wide wolfish grin on his face. He licked his lips, clearly aware she wanted to inquire the reason he had stopped. He said nothing, but laughter was written all over his face. Triumph.

He leaned in, pressing his mouth against her ear. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

Ignoring this, she reached up and caught the belt on his robe, then hesitated, suddenly stymied by her inexperience. She didn’t want the charged, liquid feeling to end. Now that limitations were meaningless, she found she was strangely enticed by the possibility of intimacy with him. Sergei would not require emotional complexity from the exchange, wouldn’t even demur if she continued to hate him. But she had never done this before, and she knew she could safely assume his experience to be considerable. And for someone who was so disconnected from the subtlety of human emotions, he had shown himself to be incredibly well tuned to hers, because he seemed to know what was holding her back.

The familiar vicious grin spread across his face, and he took his time as he shrugged off the bathrobe. “Have you been saving yourself for me, Rakhila?”

“Fuck you,” she whispered, so fogged by lust that she couldn’t put force behind the words.

His smile softened. He took her hands and pulled them to his chest, wanting her to touch him, to experience his body. Having watched him create himself over the years, Rachel could not deny that she had wanted to know the sensation of his hard flesh, his creased lines. To add his physique to her anatomical database by studying him with her fingertips. He closed his eyes, lips parting as he savoured her hands on him, soaking in her touch. Then he bent down and kissed her with a perfect softness that was both erotic and almost obscene.

He pressed his mouth against her ear. “Hold on to me.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. He braced one hand at the small of her back and rolled, inverting their position so that she now straddled him. He was completely naked beneath her. Slowly, with one hand, she reached down, and his eyes closed as she encircled him with her fingers. His lips parted with an intake of breath, becoming more shallow as she familiarized herself with him, evaluating how he would fit, and how it would feel.

She wasn’t sexually unaware of herself, so part of it was familiar, the solidness of him, the thickening feeling in her belly. It was the fact of him. Sergei. His massive shoulders collapsing inward, his chin tilting back, eyelids fluttering. He let out a low moan as she rolled her hips forward, feeling him move with her, move into her as he let her discover herself. Her whole body was aware of the power she had over him, intoxicating as anything she had experienced. She wondered if she hadn’t always marked him as prey. Something she could always take if she wanted it.

He sat up, pulling her into his lap, kissing her mouth, her throat, using his hips to drive up into her. She gripped his hair as she learned him by touch, whispering words of surrender in some voiceless, tactile language he understood perfectly. His arms went around her, her world turning upside down, and then she was on her back, her whole body wrapped around him. Crying out, crying his name, begging him shamelessly for more speed, more force. He laughed at her, mocking her aspirations, the idea that she could tolerate even half his strength. She didn’t comprehend. She didn’t care.

As he held her down, went deep into her, she felt like she was entering a sweat lodge trance. Nothing but skin, and heat, his mouth, his grip on her wrists, the relentless articulation of his core and his hips as he showed her in full tactile detail the difference between store bought and the genuine article. His stamina seemed endless, his adoring words bleeding together in her mind as he spoke them against her skin like an invocation — dorogaya, beautiful one, how could you make me wait so long, you fucking bitch...

Rachel let his words bypass her mind, now saturated with thought-numbing endorphins that spiked with each orgasm he patiently, efficiently fucked into her. Each time he would slow as she gripped him inside, as she shuddered, his eyes on her face as though keen to examine his work. She saw him through a heat haze, felt the entire solidness of him, the width of his hips between her thighs, the length of him inside of her. The crystalline clarity of his blue eyes, so strange and beautiful this close, drinking her in. So greedy for the sight of her.

Her fingertips slid over his sweat glossed back, each muscle flexing hard as he used all of them to reach into her, to get as close to her as he could. His words had long ceased to make any sense to her, and she was losing track of time. Hours, days, it didn’t matter. Finally she collapsed in a sweating, panting fever of exhaustion. Oblivion enfolded her, taking her intoxicated consciousness away from her living flesh into the perfect void.

She woke suddenly, sore from friction, from exertion, at first unaware she’d actually been asleep. She could not reach back to a defining moment when the sex had stopped and unconsciousness had taken hold. Blinking in the dark, she sat up. Every place Sergei had touched her was its own little flame, and he had touched her everywhere, so the collective effect was a throbbing burn. She wondered if this kind of sex hangover was normal, or if it was just a result of his need to overachieve.

She turned to look, and found him sitting upright against the headboard, eyes watching her through the dark as though it did not impair his vision at all. She could just perceive the twitch in the corner of his mouth, the cockeyed smile now forming.

“What time is it?” she asked, suddenly keen to be outside of this room, and away from him.

“Early,” he said unhelpfully.

“Did you watch me all night?”

He shrugged. “I don’t sleep much.”

“And you didn’t… ” she resisted the urge to touch her inner thigh, to investigate for any trace of his genetic material.

“I don’t,” he said, all frankness. “Not when I want it to be good.”

Before she had too much time to think about that implication, he rose, made his way to the refrigerator. She turned her face away from the light as he opened it, but then felt the cold bottle of water as he put it in her hands. She drank down half of it in one gulp, then forced herself to sip slowly, not to guzzle the rest.

She felt his lips on the back of her neck, his hands linking around her waist. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

“Not here, they’re not,” she said, pressing the still cold bottle against her cheek.

One hand moved up to squeeze her breast. “Good.”

She allowed him a moment to nuzzle and grope her before finally shrugging him off, and moving to the edge of his bed, peering through the slowly receding darkness.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for my shirt,” she said, scanning the floor for the dark garment.

“Come back to bed,” he suggested. “Or do you have plans for today?

A frisson of irritation ran through her. “Just because —“

“Just because.” he mocked. “Why, was I not good?”

She turned and glared at him. “You know, as a physical object, you are not without certain appeal, but then you open your fucking mouth… “

He put a finger on her lips, but it was his smile that stopped her. That same smile, wide, full of laughter, so very strange on his normally indifferent features. Now she’d never think of it without her body remembering the feel of him.

“I’m glad,” he murmured. “That are you are feeling better.”

He wasn’t wrong. The coarse, abrasive texture of her thoughts had smoothed, and she was back the old familiar contempt. Her desire to punch him was the most normal thing she had felt for weeks.

She spotted the shirt and fished it off the carpet, dropping it over her head and pulling her long black hair out behind her. The addition of both their sweat had made it frizz, and she was anxious to get back to her own suite where she could shower, well out of his reach.

He rose from the bed, his tall, broad muscle-bound frame still fully naked, his skin covered with the inflamed streaks she’d made with her fingernails. He stretched ostentatiously, and subsided into a self-aware slouch, eyes on her. “You didn’t answer my question, Rakhila.”

“Will you fuck off?” she snapped. “What do you want, a medal? Yes, it was good. I’m going now.”

“I hope so,” he said seriously. “Last night was the best night of my life.”

“Well done.”

She went to the door, pulled the handle, tugged it open, but he grabbed the door edge in one hand and held it in place, not allowing her to open it further.

“Get out of my way,” she snapped.

Sergei released the door with an open handed fine gesture, letting it swing inwards. Then slid a hand into her hair and used his body to press her back against the door frame. His mouth came down on hers before she could speak, and for an instant her recent experience of him took over, and she felt herself opening, melting —

Just as abruptly, he released her, giving her a little push like he didn’t want her any more. Then he nodded to the pre-dawn murk, sending a jolt fear through her — but there was no one there. Her eyes moved over the slowly lightening approach, the pathway, the dam’s great parapet. It was totally deserted, but he’d made his point.

“Look at me,” he said coldly, something dark and entitled in his expression, a soft rage that eclipsed his former playfulness.

Rachel raised her chin as she gave him the full measure of her disdain, even though they both knew her power to dismiss him was gone forever.

“When you think about last night, try to remember that you fucked me after the world ended, not the other way around, hm?”

Before she could bite back, or insult him, or remind him that she couldn’t forget if she wanted to, Sergei nudged the door closed with his foot and left her standing alone, with no good explanation, on his threshold.

Glancing around once more, her body shaking from muscle fatigue, she headed towards the dam. Halfway across, she paused for an instant on the parapet and looked out at the broken horizon, the burning nuclear fire visible thousands of miles away, a white needle piercing the sky.

It made her feel a little ill, the realization that her first experience of sexual intercourse had been with a man who clearly considered this horrifying vista a fair exchange for the privilege. It frightened her, but it also made her realize she could still be afraid. She thought of the pistols in his safe. She could still feel his hands, his mouth.

She turned her back on the anemic dawn, and hurried to make it back to the monastery while it was still dark. The same rocks hurt her bare feet, but she didn’t slow down, wanting to put as much distance as possible between herself and what she was beginning to suspect might be the worst mistake she had ever made.

#republic of infidels #sergei vetrov #rachel kori #excerpt

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dolphin1812 · 2 years ago

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It’s always somewhat hilarious when Hugo interrupts a moment of extreme tension to remind us that Jean Valjean is absurdly strong, but here, I also found it moving? I think it’s the combination of that with his devotion to Cosette. His first thought about being caught is this:

“And the galleys now meant not only the galleys, but Cosette lost to him forever; that is to say, a life resembling the interior of a tomb.”

Cosette being gone would be worse than the galleys! And he’s also thinking about death (a “tomb”) as a negative because it’s void of Cosette! That’s such a radical change for him, and it’s wonderful to see that she’s brought so much life to him. He’s also completely unwilling to leave her behind, and although the way he convinces her to be quiet is a bit harsh (understandable given the need for quiet and the horrific consequences if they’re caught, but cruel, because Cosette’s trauma is still very recent), it’s nice to see him not even think of leaving her and be so careful in their ascent to keep from hurting her.

I also like the smaller details about his escape here that reveal the usefulness of his skillset. Hugo does not that he learned to climb like this in one of his escape attempts, but I found the tiny details that he doesn’t discuss explicitly interesting as well. For instance, he breaks a box to get the rope with his knife, confirming the usefulness of what he keeps in his giant coat pockets (unfortunately, we haven’t seen him pull out a wig for this escape, but I guess there’s always next time). He also ties the rope with “that knot which seafaring men call a “swallow knot,” which he likely learned to do in the galleys. These small things say a lot about his life experience, even if Hugo doesn’t directly point out where and how he learned them.

As for Cosette, it was sad to see her so scared, but it also felt realistic? This part in particular seemed to reflect a lot about her character at this point:

“Nevertheless, the hour, the place, the darkness, Jean Valjean’s absorption, his singular gestures, his goings and comings, all had begun to render Cosette uneasy. Any other child than she would have given vent to loud shrieks long before. She contented herself with plucking Jean Valjean by the skirt of his coat. They could hear the sound of the patrol’s approach ever more and more distinctly.

“Father,” said she, in a very low voice, “I am afraid. Who is coming yonder?”

“Hush!” replied the unhappy man; “it is Madame Thénardier.”

Cosette shuddered. He added:—

“Say nothing. Don’t interfere with me. If you cry out, if you weep, the Thénardier is lying in wait for you. She is coming to take you back.””

Cosette’s ability to stay quiet comes from two things: her trust in Valjean, and her trauma. On the one hand, she’s comfortable enough around him to assume that she’s safe for far longer than would be typical. She even feels safe expressing that fear to him, and she gets closer to him instead of crying out. On the other, Cosette doesn’t really have a good grasp of what is typical to be afraid of because of her time with the Thénardiers. That time of living in constant danger, contrasted with the safety of Valjean, makes it difficult for her to evaluate these situations, especially since she’s so young. Being unnaturally quiet may even be one of her ways of coping with fear, since she had to avoid drawing attention to herself or risk beatings. We know that she did cry at times, but she also “never sang.” “Singing” would be a happy sound, and we know she wasn’t happy at all, but it could also be that she was generally quiet as well.

Cosette’s “shudder” is also the same reaction Jean Valjean has to Javert, paralleling their situations. In a way, Valjean isn’t lying when he says Mme Thénardier is after them, because that’s who Javert is to him (and of course, there’s the risk Cosette would be sent back to them if she wasn’t put somewhere else entirely). Both are disadvantaged in some way because of class (Javert was born in prison, and while the Thénardiers seem well-off compared to the rest of Montfermeil, they’re deeply in debt and certainly have never been rich), but instead of allying with others in their situation, they take out their frustrations on others. True, they do this in different ways and with different rationales (”incapable of loving anyone outside of one’s daughters” and “the Law is always right” are two drastically different mindsets), but for Valjean and Cosette, the effect is the same: a sense of constant danger.

#les mis letters #lm 2.5.5 #jean valjean #cosette #javert #mme thénardier

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shih-coulda-had-it · 3 years ago

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notebook #13!!! she’s a little grimy (i guess that’s what i get for throwing it around everywhere), and she has about 80 pages of wide-ruled composition paper; i started February 1 and ended August 31, so... yeah, definitely not a page a day with this one. extra doodles and insights into how i ‘journal’ below the read more!

my bnha star wars au!! the posed picture on the right is ref’d off a panel of depa & caleb, but otherwise, it’s all idle doodling. i think i reflect my bad posture in all my doodles btw. poor sorahiko and nana... they deserve to stand up straight and proud..

Toshinori on the bottom left corner, pushing his forefingers together and looking anxiously at Nana: “I think Torino-sensei’s mad at me.”

Nana, bumping her fist against Toshinori’s shoulder: “Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle him.”

billboard and postage stamp found through clicking frantically at the smithsonian’s open-access archive. “the woods” by san fermin has an insane breakdown that just rattles your eardrums. sandshrew community day was VERY nice to experience.

(left comic, fastest heroes in the east!au)

Sorahiko: “Pro-heroes are a dime a dozen. What you’re looking to do - to follow Endeavor’s footsteps? You don’t need power. You need a different motivation.”

Hawks: “What was yours?”

Sorahiko: “... My best friend.”

(right comic, some wildly indulgent Dimensional Babysitter Torino AU)

Toshinori: “Er, Torino-sensei, can your apartment hold the five of us?”

Sorahiko: “Not seeing any alternatives, Toshinori.”

read! read what you can, and jot down notes so you aren’t just skimming blankly at the passages! re-reading the witches by roald dahl was like taking a sip of honeyed tea. i can’t believe i totally just accepted the visual horror as a kid.

*3/23 was the most recent leak night in which vestige!Nana was present. It’s now September. Tick-tock, Horikoshi-sensei!!!

garbo drafting for the “Never Love an Anchor” PMV started MONTHSSS before I just committed to putting it on csp. You can see some panels got shifted, trashed, or retained (the “But try as I might, I could not bring myself to hold you” was a very strong mental image).

my pokemon: unbound playthrough... it’s stalled... but I remember doodling my team comps at the end of every session as an attempt to stay invested.

i visited edinburgh, scotland!!! quite possibly the highlight of my life so far, because it was almost entirely my own responsibility to get myself places (and survive without... necessities...). not sure how @thisauthorisscreaming bullied me into hiking arthur’s seat my first morning there, but. yeah that happened.

nobody judge me!! i keep making bishops in maplestory cause they have the least amount of attacks, and they all look the same cause i’m a sucker for that hairstyle!! ah, that tera burning event is certainly winding down now. i guess i’ll be back in winter.

rasolnikov (versalian/proto-bishop/totally just a lore-insert, not really a character i was dedicated to getting to lvl200+), jean moreau (victorian islander/bishop/my baby to whom i dedicated an entire made-up story in my head about re: romancing von leon + defeating the black mage), and shuzenji (maple islander/bishop/my latest tera-burned character who is now technically my main, as he has a LOT of money invested in his progress)

i really just inserted this picture here because i wanted to show that i use that trick of papering over my OG mistakes HAHA (weeps)

anachronism updated, so of course i reread the whole thing and fawned over one of my favorite chapters (was there EVER a gran torino more self-sacrificing?), nana versus torino. and now i have references at hand for the gym uniforms!!! man he looks good in it.

#shih’s drafts #shihpost #long post #not just a sketchbook but not quite a journal either

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nevalizona · 3 years ago

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My brother sent me a couple prompts and I am slowly working through them!

Here's the first!

Pardon any errors.

xxx. after everything.

Genevieve stood in front of the mirror in her bathroom. She’s avoiding eye contact with herself. This is not completely uncommon, but it’s certainly gotten worse after everything that has happened this year. In fact, she avoids looking at anything reflective. The last time she did, she felt like she’d never be able to lose this look of grief. So, she has ignored it. She doesn’t need to worry about not looking so sad, if she cannot tell she is, then maybe she isn’t. Even though she can feel how heavy her chest has been. What a confusing year this has been. Her beloved husband, Connor, finally comes home from Vietnam, only to leave again after a few months. ‘It’s unfinished business’ he had said. Told her that he would be home sooner than later. She imagined it must’ve been important if he would leave his family so soon. But for some reason, him leaving devastated her. She would never tell him, but she weeped for days, maybe even weeks. She kept up appearances around her children, like she did the entire 7 years he was gone, and as soon as she was alone she’d allow herself to feel everything at once. It wasn’t healthy, but it was better than gluing herself to their bed and crying all hours of the day.

She took a deep breath, gripping the side of the sink in her hand. She’s trying to calm herself, her kids are about to be up, and she doesn’t need to look like she had been just crying. This is more of Genevieve trying to convince herself that she doesn’t always look like this anyways. They can never know this feeling of grief. They will experience something different, abandonment. She knows that one day, everything Connor has done to their family will leave her kids hating him. Maybe her too. They won’t be able to understand, and Genevieve certainly isn’t going to try to change their minds. They really haven’t had a father, they’ve heard about him. Seen pictures. But a couple phone calls and letters will never be enough. The few months Connor was home, the kids clung to Genevieve. Almost like he was a stranger to them, perhaps he was. By the time they finally started warming up to him, he was gone again. Gone. Never coming back. No funeral. No body. Gone. She has tried to find a way to tell CJ and Audrey that their father isn’t ever coming home, but nothing seemed right. Why burden them with this? They hardly know the man! She keeps hoping that maybe if she says nothing at all, they won’t ask and they can go back to the way things were before Connor came home. Just the three of them. A single mother.

Genevieve remembers how angry she got when Connor’s mother had called her that. She was trying to be nice. Helpful. But nothing about anything she ever says is helpful. It left a terrible taste in Genevieve’s mouth, in fact, it sat on her tongue for weeks after. Single mother. Is that what she was? She practically raised CJ and Audrey all on her own, and now she will continue to raise them alone. Anger stung her in the oddest way. Her teeth chattered as she moved away from the sink, forgetting what she was even doing in the first place. How could he do this to them? Again!? She wanted to get angry. Feel her feelings. But she can’t. So instead, she pinched herself as hard as she could on the thigh, a way she’s grounded herself since she was a teenager and plastered on a smile, going in and waking up the kids.

#stevie.txt #text #m*fia game #stevie writes #genevieve rivera

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yarichinbokutoclub · 4 years ago

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rules: make a drabble/headcanon or describe the first time you and your chosen character met.

tag game by @paradise-creator , thank you @keisdeliveryservice for tagging me in this!!! ofc i decided to write about my best boy tendou bc he has my heart 🥺🥺

classmates: @finnyboywolfhard @1-800-imagine @m3llos @thicchaikyuuboys

tw: toxic family and mentions of bullying

a/n: i’m sorry this is kinda sad and depressing but i was listening to phoebe bridgers when writing this and i think she like took over my body

It was a chilly Monday night in January and, of course, you were working. Coming from a lower class family, you were never just handed what you wanted. Your parents made sure to let you know that you were nothing but a burden. A dent in their wallet so to speak. So, from the day you were finally old enough, you’ve been working. Your dedication to your job was astounding, working almost every day after school. Sure, it felt like your youth was being wasted working all the time, like you were missing out on things other kids your age got to experience, but that didn’t really matter to you. After all, you didn’t have any friends, although you chose to keep it that way. You learned from a young age that people were not all good and not everyone was kind. Most of the time people only got close to you to use you or to build you up and then break you down. So, you dealt with the bullying and snide comments at school about how you were a loser and how weird it was that you never talked to anyone or joined any clubs. You knew that none of this mattered, after all it was only high school. What did matter to you, however, was the fact that the newest Shonen Jump came out today. Jump was your paradise, so to speak. The only place you could get away from it all. Pretending you lived in these make believe worlds made everything feel okay, even if it was only temporary. It was nearly time to close. But, by the time you finally got out of this godforsaken cafe and to the nearest convenience store they would probably all be gone.

This wasn’t just any copy, it was a widely anticipated one. One of your favorite stories had a new chapter coming out and it was supposed to be juicy. Did someone say major character death? You needed to get it so no one would spoil the storyline for you online or through overheard conversations. Something that had happened to you one too many times. Time felt like it was crawling on, moving as slowly as it possibly could. You glanced at the clock, 7:55 it read. Your heart began to race thinking about how few copies were probably left. Yet, time slowed. It could only be described as the last few minutes of school before a big break, or a car in rush hour traffic. Anxiously awaiting what you knew was to come when the clock finally struck 8:00. You finished ringing up your last customer, packing up their pastry and wishing them well. That’s when you heard it, your boss over the intercom. “The time is now 8:00 and we are officially closed. Thank you for shopping with us today and please, do come again.” It was like you had been waiting for that all your life. Time began to race again as you quickly grabbed all of your belongings and clocked out. Yelling goodbye to your boss as you raced out the door like a racehorse leaving the starting line.

You ran, no sprinted, to the nearest convenience store. It felt like you had been running for hours when it finally came into view. The air was frigid and the winds scolding but yet you powered through, determined to get your copy. Finally reaching the store, you burst through the door. Making a b-line for the aisle you were oh too familiar with. That’s when you saw it, a tuft of bright red hair moving faster than the speed of light. “Shit.” you cursed under your breath. And just like that, your night was ruined. He beat you to it. His hand grabbing the book just seconds before your own could. You had never felt so defeated. It was such a trivial thing, but Monday nights were your nights to escape and live in a world of your own devices. The tall red head looked at you, almost teasingly, and smiled. He probably didn’t intend to seem as though he was mocking you but… You tried to ignore it and just smiled back before turning to go home.

“Hey! If you want you can have the last copy.” he shouted after you.

Turning around to look at him, you replied, “No, that’s okay. You were here first, you deserve it!” You put on your fakest smile and left.

The weather had seemed to turn almost as quickly as your emotions had. The night air had not seemed so threatening before. But now, the once scolding winds seemed all but furious and the sky seemed to weep. Of course it was raining. Could your night get any worse? Realizing you had forgotten your umbrella, you sat down on the stoop outside and began to sob. Your melancholy feelings being perfectly reflected by the weather that night. You heard the door to the shop open, but you chose to ignore it. Choosing instead to wallow in your own self pity.

“...Hey,” his voice was gentle but firm, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” you replied, harsher than you meant to.

“I know you don’t know me but you can talk to me if you want. I think I might be able to understand,” no one was ever this nice to you. However, being the nihilist that you were, you couldn’t help but feel like his kindness was a double edged sword. He had to have an ulterior motive, everyone always did. Your mind was molasses, oozing indiscriminately over his words, struggling to find your own. That’s when he spoke again. “Here, I want you to have this.”

You turned to look and were met with, not only the kind eyes of an understanding stranger, but the last copy of Jump, which you so desperately craved. “Oh, no. I can’t take that.” You quickly dismissed him.

“I insist, use the money you brought to get yourself an umbrella,” he said, forcing the book into your hands with a smile. “Besides, I can just read it online with my subscription.”

And with that, he turned and left. Never even telling you his name. You took his advice and made your way inside to purchase a disposable umbrella. And then you started your treacherous journey home. The weather did seem to let up a bit, which you were grateful for. By the time you finally made it home you were so physically and emotionally drained that you couldn’t even bring yourself to read the new chapters. Opting instead to set an extra early alarm for the next morning, you threw yourself into bed and passed out, dreaming of the odd boy who had shown you kindness you had never seen before.

The next morning you awoke with a start, all but jumping out of your bed to grab the manga. Flipping to the first page you saw what looked like a handwritten message. Trying your best to make out the chicken scratch when suddenly it hit you like a ton of bricks. It was a note from the boy you met yesterday. “It may not seem so bright now, but I promise the future has a lot to offer. Text me if you ever want to talk. -Tendou Satori (xxx) xxx-xxxx.” There it was, his name. You smiled, wider than you ever had. Just like it had the day prior, the weather seemed to perfectly mimic your ever changing emotions, as the clouds began to dissipate and the sun shone bright, brighter than you ever thought it could. Today, for the first time in what felt like forever, would be good.

#tendou imagine #tendou x reader #tendou hcs #tendou scenario #haikyuu tendou #hq hcs #hq!! hc #hq hc #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu!!#hq

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soundtrack-scribe · 4 years ago

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Lunchtime Disaster

A/N: A thing for mostly @philthepegacorn.

Trigger Warning: ? Bigoted bullshit that in no way reflects my own views. If you’d rather not read it, that’s what the warnings for. Don’t come bitching to me for writing it because A.) I warned you and B.) this fic largely isn’t for you 😊

Word Count: 1.5k

And away, and away we go!

You were so excited about getting ready for lunch to see your old childhood friend, that you didn’t hear the first knock on your door. Or the impatient three thumps that followed a few moments later. Or anything beyond the music blaring from your phone as you exited the bathroom and found Michael standing in your bedroom doorway, arms crossed over his chest. So, you did the natural thing: you screamed.

Michael’s hands went up to plug his ears while you continued to shriek, “Michael! What the fuck?! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!”

“You should really learn to lock your door.”

“You should really learn to not barge into people’s houses!”

“I knocked for one thing. For another, you knew I was coming over today. Didn’t you?”

“I-” you faltered, your eyes wide and mind racing with your plans. Were you and Michael supposed to hang out today? How had that slipped your mind?

Michael sighed, crossing the room to sit down on your bed. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Michael, I am so sorry!” you apologized, sitting down next to him. “I must have mixed up the times, I just… Faith called me saying she’s in town, and I guess I got too excited to see her again, I forgot about any other plans I had. I’m so sorry.”

“Faith? Your high school best friend, yeah?”

“Yeah! And…” you trailed off to check the time on your phone. “I really need to leave before I’m late meeting her. But I will call you when I’m done, and we can hang out after? It’s just lunch, it shouldn’t take too long,” you tried to make amends as you got up, grabbing your bag.

“Lunch? I like lunch. Any activities that involve eating really.”

You laughed, pausing in the doorway. “You wanna come with?”

Michael grinned as he got up and skipped over to you, interlinking his arm with yours. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Michael listened to you chatter away about how excited you were to see Faith again on the short drive over to the restaurant. About how she had been your best friend growing up and stupid college and time made the two of you grow distant. “Oh, I’m so excited!” you said for the millionth time as you pulled into a parking space. In addition to getting to see Faith in you didn’t know how long, you also had some news you wanted to share with her.

“I can tell,” Michael teased you.

You smacked his arm, giggling as you did so. “Fuck you. You didn’t have to come.”

“And do what with my day instead? Not eat?” he asked as you both got out of your car.

“Is that the only reason you came with me? To get food?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s the only reason. But definitely like 90 percent. The other 10 is because I’m your new best friend, and Faith is your old best friend. So I should probably meet her.”

“Who said you were my best friend?”

He staggered dramatically as he pulled open the door. “The guys warned me. They said ‘Mike, watch out for Y/N, she’s only your friend to get close to the dogs’ but I told them they were crazy. Turns out they were right all along. I’m wounded. Truly.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed, scanning the restaurant, spotting Faith at a table. “Oh, there she is! Faith!” you waved.

The woman turned her head to the sound, spotting you and smiling brightly. “Y/N!” she called out, waving you over.

The two of you crashed into each other for a tight hug as you both let out a small squeal of glee at being reunited, Michael standing awkwardly just a step behind you. He cleared his throat when he thought the greeting had gone on long enough. Faith peeled herself off of you to look up at him. “Oh? And who are you?”

“Faith, this is Michael. Michael, this is Faith,” you introduced.

“Oh?” Faith asked again with a slight lilt that came from wanting to ask if you were just friends or more without directly asking.

“Just a friend,” Michael clarified, understanding what wasn’t being said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Faith smiled at him.

As lunch started, and you and Faith started up a conversation, you began to wonder like you often did how the two of you had drifted apart. What with endless ways of staying connected, it was crazy to you that you hadn’t stayed in better touch. But after she came back from excusing herself to the restroom, you quickly remembered why. “What’s up?” you questioned, noticing her face pinched in disgust.

“It was a fuckin’ gender neutral bathroom…”

“That’s probably really helpful for single parents,” Michael commented offhandedly.

Faith shot him a look. “Yeah, but like make a single use family restroom for them then. Don’t make the existing bathrooms gender neutral. That’s gross…”

Michael pulled a small face, but shook his head and went back to his food. “Okay…” he muttered under his breath.

You, however, didn’t show as much restraint. “What’s so gross about gender neutral restrooms? It’s a restroom.”

“Yeah, but…” Faith looked around before leaning across the table and talking in a hushed voice. “This is how it starts.”

“How what starts?”

“The bending over backwards to make everyone feel safe. It’s a bunch of shit. There’s already equality with there being a men’s restroom, and a women’s restroom.”

“Which is great. For those who identify that way.”

Faith snorted. “As if there’s any other way to identify.”

Your skin felt like it was on fire with the level of rage boiling inside you. You definitely weren’t going to tell her your news now. “Well… It’s like Mike said. It’s great for single parents to have access to gender neutral restrooms.”

“Oh, I bet. But you could just make a separate restroom for that. But for everyone else? Just pick a restroom.”

“I don’t think it’s as easy as that.”

“Oh sure it is! Either you’re a boy, or you’re a girl.”

“But there are people who identify as both…”

Faith snorted again. “Please. That’s almost as bad as bisexuals. It’s an excuse not to make a choice, really. Or a way to be cool. Because bottom line, end of the day, you’re one, or the other.”

“Interesting…”

“What? You think I’m wrong?”

“I think…” you said, keeping your voice tightly controlled, “that your viewpoint is a closed-minded one.”

“Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion. This one just happens to be mine.”

“That it is.”

“Anyway!” Faith decided before launching into a new story, but you couldn’t focus on anything beyond the gnawing feeling in your stomach. When the time came for the three of you to leave, you could almost weep with relief.

“I’m not sure I like your friend so much,” Michael murmured once you were safely tucked away in your car, and Faith in hers.

You let out a loud laugh. Then kept laughing until it turned into sobs, your body heaving as you hunched over your steering wheel. Michael’s hand reached over to gently rub up and down your back. “It’s alright,” he soothed, not quite sure of what else to do.

“No it’s not!” you blubbered, adjusting just enough to look at him, tear tracks down your face. “She hates me!”

“How does her being a bigot translate to her hating you, exactly?”

“She hates people like me, Mike!” you continued to wail, your tears now leaving wet spots on his shirt as you clung to him for dear life.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you to him. “Hey, slow down. What are you talking about? People like you? Are you…?” he let the question hang in the air.

“Bi? Yes,” you hiccuped.

“No, I knew that. I meant your identity.”

“Yes, I’m non-binary…” The confession fell from your lips, and while the word flooded you relief at finally saying it to someone else, Faith had tainted the experience even though she wasn’t here to witness it. “And now you hate me too, don’t you?”

“Aw, c’mon Y/N. I could never hate you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. I love you too much to ever hate you.”

That shocked you enough to choke on the next cry. “You… what?”

“I-” Michael stumbled, his face bright red. “I meant like as friends I love you.”

“Oh…”

“I mean… I’m in love with you too. But I was kinda saving that confession for another time. When you’re less… distraught.”

You looked up at him with your eyes puffy and red from crying, the tears making your lashes stick together. “You’re in love with me?” you whispered.

He chuckled softly as his thumbs brushed away the tears still on your face. “Of course I’m in love with you. Why wouldn’t I be? And no, I don’t care if you’re in love with me back. I mean… I do. But it’s not gonna change anything for me if you don’t. Because you’re you. And there’s nothing you can do, or be, that would make me not love you.”

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#lunchtime disaster #michael clifford #michael clifford fic #michael clifford x reader #5sos #calpal irwin

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keelywolfe · 5 years ago

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FIC: Boogie Shoes (baon)

Summary: Andy Jeff really isn't one to celebrate his birthday, but when you have someone like Stretch for a best friend, what's a guy supposed to do?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Found Family, Friendship

Notes: I like to write a short for my birthday as sort of a present for all my readers, but this year there is Stuff going on so I'm posting a couple days early. 😁

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Jeff was concentrating so hard on the spreadsheet in front of him that the knock on his office door made him jump, banging his knee on his desk.

“Come in,” he called, rubbing his wounded leg. The door opened to reveal not Catty with more work, as expected, but Stretch, carrying what Jeff sincerely hoped was an iced mocha latte with his name on it.

“heya, handy andy,” Stretch set the cup down carefully away from the laptop and Jeff took it gratefully. He seriously loved his job, but everyone could use a quick coffee break from time to time. “i came up to pester my shorter half and thought i’d stop and say hi.”

“If you come bearing caffeine, you can visit any day of the week.” Jeff took a sip and couldn’t hold back an appreciative groan. The Beanery knew its coffee, for sure, and they made their own mocha syrup in house. Perfection in a recyclable cup.

Stretch plopped down in the only other chair in the office, propping his untied sneakers on the corner of Jeff’s desk and Jeff let him, payment for the tasty goodness. “so. right to brass tacks…tacts? who the hell came up with that phrase…anyway, a little bird told me your birthday was coming up.”

“A little bird?” Jeff said dryly. He saved his spreadsheet and pushed his laptop aside; this conversation might require actual attention before he got swept away in some kind of crazy scheme. Been there, done that, lost an eyebrow to prove it. “More like the cat who should’ve gotten your tongue.” Catty was a gossip of astonishing breadth and commitment.

“could be,” Stretch grinned, “but hey, birthdays only happen once in a blue moon, didn’t wanna miss the boat, you’re the apple of my eye, don’t wanna be a fair-weather friend—”

“Enough,” Jeff laughed. “Before I run out of here like a bat out of hell. What did you have in mind?”

Stretch dropped his feet back to the floor and sat up so straight Jeff could hear the joints in his spine pop in protest. “as your best bud, i’m pretty sure i’m supposed to throw you a party or something. didn’t want to go the surprise route, ‘cause as fun as that sounds to me, i kinda think you need to feel out that sort of thing before you plan it. don’t have a bladder, but it doesn’t take a crystal ball to figure out that making someone piss their pants in front of friends and family is kinda the opposite of fun.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Jeff shuddered. “To be honest, I’d rather not have a party at all.”

“oh. okay, if that’s what you want.” Stretch didn’t sound put out, only a little disappointed as he slumped back into the chair. He wouldn’t pry, Jeff knew, but it was okay. A lot of his old hurts stung less these days.

“It’s just…my parents used to throw me a party every year, but they didn’t invite my friends.” What few he had, but that didn’t seem worth mentioning. “They invited theirs and kids from our church who didn’t even like me. I’d spend the whole time being ignored at a party that was supposed to be about me, unless it was to blow out the candles for the photo op.” The memory of sitting miserably alone, waiting for his father to scold him in a low whisper through clenched teeth to stop embarrassing him…Jeff shook it away. He was done letting his dad hurt him, thanks. “After I moved in with Julia, we just had a little cake and dinner together with some presents.”

He could practically see Stretch eagerly latch onto that idea. “we could do that, if you want! edge could make dinner, you and antwan could come over. have some cake, play some games—”

“Play games? I thought you wanted me to have a nice, quiet night,” Jeff teased. Their game nights hadn’t reached the level of the legendary (and fiery) last game of Monopoly before it was permanently banned, but not for lack of trying.

Stretch’s grin was unashamed, but then, he didn’t usually start the gaming fires, he only fanned the flames. “yeah, okay, maybe a movie. how about it?”

“I’d like that.” One of Edge’s delicious dinners, followed by one of his luscious desserts? He could do things with chocolate that would make angels swear and devils weep, Jeff’s mouth was already watering.

Stretch was nodding thoughtfully, probably already plotting at least something unusual and whatever it was, Jeff knew it would make him laugh. He started to climb to his feet and Jeff hastened to stop his escape. He was starting to get the hang of all this, figuring out the steps to Stretch’s internal dance, and he knew the best time to probe for his own info was when Stretch just dug up his own.

“What about for your birthday,” Jeff asked, lightly, “party animal or homeboy?”

Either way, Jeff figured he could rope Edge into helping and they could have some real fun with it, come up with some sort of crazy party theme. Mad scientist was probably off the table, unless they stuck with classroom experiments, but Stretch would think rubber chickens were hilarious, or wearing anything but clothes or even a 70’s disco bash, Jeff had a cute pair of go-go boots that he was dying to wear.

Of all the answers Stretch might give, from actual honesty (unlikely) to some kind of sly pun (far higher on the list), Jeff was not expecting his friend to only shrug his narrow shoulders. “dunno, i’ve never had a birthday party.”

“What? Seriously?” Jeff said, startled. He’d honestly expected that if nothing else, Edge would make sure Stretch got a little celebration, not to mention Blue.

Stretch only rolled to his feet and lived up to his namesake with a joint-popping groan, tall enough that his fingers brushed the ceiling as he stretched. “don’t even know when my birthday is, none of us do. it was always just me and blue until we got here.”

He didn’t seem bothered by it, which, yeah, it wasn’t like he knew any different. But knowing that Stretch never had any kind of parent…sure, his own parents were kind of shit, but he’d at least had Julia. Stretch was the older brother, had anyone ever taken care of him, made sure he had presents and hugs and treats when he needed them, made him feel any kind of special, before Edge stepped up?

Jeff was afraid he knew the answer to that one. No wonder the whole Skeleton family went all out on Gyftmas.

“anyway, i better let you get back to work.” Stretch waggled his fingers in a lazy little wave. “i’ll talk to edge, makes some plans for this weekend, yeah?”

“Sure, sounds great,” Jeff said, but he already had a plan of his own forming and knew just the accomplice to help.

It was how he ended up crouched behind a sofa a few days later with the entire skeleton clan, plus extras, waiting for a door to open and the lights to turn on before jumping out with the rest of them to a loud chorus of, “Surprise!”

Surprise was probably an understatement, Stretch nearly jumped out of his non-existent skin and he dropped the bag of books he was carrying, a quick call from Thomas at ‘Classic Books’ the perfect ruse to get him out of the house for a couple of hours.

Jeff really hoped someone recorded that shriek, it deserved a place of honor on Twitter.

“what the hell?” Stretch didn’t seem happy, only bewildered, looking around the room at the streamers, the balloons, the haphazard pile of presents with the rubber chicken in a white leisure suit standing guard, and the banner that declared, ‘happy birthday!’. There was an entire buffet table full of mouthwatering treats, more than enough for the hungry guests, and eh, maybe the huge disco ball was a bit much, but when you had a theme, you had to run with it.

“It’s a party for you, Papy!” Blue chirped out, like maybe somehow his brother missed the clue. His cheery smile dimmed a little, the party hat on his head almost drooping when Stretch only stood there in confusion with his bag at his feet. Edge started towards him in obvious concern and Jeff held out a hand to stop him. This was his idea, he’d take the heat.

He walked over to Stretch and picked up the bag, heavy books shifting within it. The shiny white leather of his go-go boots reflected the light of the disco ball, but Jeff forced himself not to stare at them. Instead, he pulled off one of the wide gold chains around his neck, the one with a medallion on it that had ‘Let’s Boogie’ engraved in it. He held it out, looking into his friend’s pale eye lights as he admitted, a little nervously, “I figured since I didn’t want my birthday, I’d give it to you.”

The confusion on Stretch’s face faded into something more complicated, harder to interpret, but there was no mistaking the strength of the hug Jeff abruptly found himself pulled into, the books thumping back to the floor.

“thanks.” A single word, maybe a little too soft and thick. Tears pricked Jeff’s eyes as he hugged Stretch back, the best friend he’d never even thought to wish for, much less imagined he’d have. Then he was biting back a laugh as Stretch murmured, “we’re still doing dinner and a movie, you shit.”

“Deal.”

Stretch let go after a minute and his grin was enough to rouse the rest of the guests who were starting murmur apprehensively. He snatched the necklace still dangling from Jeff’s hand and looped it around his neck with a loud, “c’mon, let’s party!”

It was one of the best ideas Jeff thought he’d heard all year.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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unlockthelore · 5 years ago

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Chivalry

For so long, Kairi had been the one who was protected, but now she had to protect the ones who tried their hardest for her.

Part of the Beyond the Horizon series on Ao3. For more updates, follow the beyond the horizon tag on this blog.

Returning to the island where they played as children was difficult on Riku. As much as he tried to hide his inner struggles, they were there, plain as day in Kairi’s eyes. She could tell how he tried not to approach the Secret Place or the furthermost treehouse with its open terrace where the palm trees shaded enough for a nice nap. Walks along a sandy shore with the surf’s chilled foamy waters rolling over their feet were harder when they looked back and found only two sets of footprints instead of three. She didn’t pretend not to notice when Riku squeezed her hand or lingered on the bent paopu tree long past sunset.

A space always left between them for the one who couldn’t be there with them.

For now, she reminded herself. Just for now.

--------------------------

“Need another pin.”

Riku’s voice roused her from her thoughts just as the waves crashed against the pier’s wooden posts. A spray of water misting against the soles of her feet as they swung back and forth over the damp wooden boards. Kairi tipped her head to one side then glanced toward the calloused palm hovering in her periphery. The scrapes and bruises unable to be healed by healing magic blended into peach tanned skin, but afternoons spent tracing them with her nails reminded her of where they were. She shuffled slightly, a throbbing ache in her lower back from sitting in one position for so long. Her fingers dipped into the small cup of bobby pins left beside an assortment of colorful hair clips beneath the pom of her moogle backpack. Two plucked out and set in Riku’s palm. Sunlight catching on the glossy black surface until his fingers curled around them and a light kiss was pressed to the top of her head.

“Thank you.”

Kairi smiled to herself, one of her knees pulled to her chest as she leant back against him. His fingers working into her hair with the start of another braid somewhere at the right side of her head. “So you’re going on another world tour after this?” She asked, resting her hand against his thigh, the checkered pattern of his board shorts plucked between her fingertips.

It took a moment longer for him to reply. Always so serious with his work, a distracted hum was his only response for a moment. “Yeah…” He murmured, and she felt him tie off the braid after snapping on a rubber band. “Part of being a Keyblade Master is making sure no one has so much as a hurt toe, I guess.”

“Riku,” she scolded gently.

Although, she could understand his discontent with the task. Masters were charged with the world’s affairs, but in Kairi’s opinion, it seemed too big of a job for one person. Or two, in Aqua and Riku’s case. More than that, she knew what he wanted to do with the access he was given to traversing the worlds but someone had to be there to help. Perhaps they were following Sora’s example by trying to do more for others instead of putting themselves first.

She frowned and curled her fingers around Riku’s knee, squeezing gently. “It has been awhile though, and it would be nice to see everyone again.”

The likelihood of new information cropping up was minuscule but they could take comfort in knowing their friends hadn’t given up. Just as they hadn’t. Riku’s thigh tensed beneath her elbow and his hands stilled in her hair. She could tell he was considering her words or at least the implication set behind them. A light ruffle to the back of her head before he started to gather her hair up in a ponytail.

“Just so long as you don’t disappear into the castle for hours,” he said with a playful scolding tone. “I swear, Ienzo will talk to you forever about science if you let him.”

Kairi smiled, keeping her head stilled as he continued combing his fingers through her hair. “He’s just really passionate about what he does!” She clapped her hands together, fingertips pressing and palms barely touching. “Besides, it’s nice to hear it.”

To be included, if she were honest. So often were things done without her involvement or knowledge. Left out. Left behind. She was sick and tired of being the odd one out who wasn’t expected to do anything. If everyone she loved was going to fight then so was she. Even if it did mean going through lectures and notes Ienzo meticulously prepared, far too eager to share his knowledge with someone else.

After a few moments of idle humming and his hands working through her hair, Kairi bounced and pressed her empty hand to her thigh. “Are we done?” She tried to keep the impatience out of her voice but she desperately wanted to see his work. Growing out their hair again had been a mutual decision for the time being.

The unspoken condition not having to be said when they thought back to their journey before the last. Sora lamenting that he was the only one who hadn’t grown between the three of them. When in her eyes, he was one of the two that had changed the most.

Her bangs were swept to one side in answer, Riku’s lilting hum coming with the soft click of a hair clip. Rough palms gently cupped her cheeks and tipped her head back to where his lips were waiting to brush a kiss against her forehead. It was featherlight and fleeting, ending before she could really enjoy it, but a pleasant touch all the same. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as her lips pulled back in a smile, fingers curled over his own to squeeze.

“Are we done?”

“Mmm…” Sharp shadows cast by the fading afternoon sun darkened Riku’s blue-green eyes, half-lidded as his gaze flicked about her face lingering somewhere above her eyes. “Yep.”

Kairi grinned and brushed his hands away, twisting to kneel between his thighs, her arms thrown around his neck in a tight hug. “Thanks Riku.”

“Welcome,” he murmured. His breath ghosted across her bare shoulder, sending shivers down her spine that had little to do with the water dribbling along her toes. Gentle pressure from his hand flattened against her back in the barest show of affection.

Kairi sighed. Her mouth tucked against the curve of his jaw as she held him close and listened to the waves. One day, she wished, one day Riku would be able to accept the love they had to give him. As a friend and hopefully something else. She pulled back enough to hold him by the shoulders, ignoring a faint flutter in her chest when he looked up at her from beneath silver-white eyelashes.

“How about we go tomorrow?”

Surprise flickered across Riku’s features, and Kairi could understand why. Abrupt departures were something they tried to avoid when finding a new normal. But normal was far off for either of them. “Fine by me,” he said after a brief pause, a small smile quirked at the corners of his lips. “Little late today anyway. Your grandpa will kick my ass if you disappear without telling him.”

Kairi stifled a giggle behind a closed fist drawn to her mouth while her other hand thumped against Riku’s shoulder scoldingly. While she could recall the mayor’s stricken face when she returned to the main land, it was his weeping in private that’d made her reluctant to leave so soon.

“He’s been letting up just a little with letting me go more, but I still should tell him.”

The hand against her lower back hovered somewhere near her hip with the other joining it to keep her steady. Riku shifted backward to make room for her to clamor up onto the pier, the items spilled out of their shared backpack stored away.

“Lucky you,” she heard Riku say as he tried to free the moogle’s pom from the pack’s zipper. Her reflection in her gummiphone’s camera smiling and observing the three braids, clip and high ponytail he’d done with interest.

Once their pack was closed and hiked up on Riku’s shoulder, he held his hand out to her and Kairi took it with a light squeeze. She hooked her fingers in the opening of her sneakers and carried them at her side as they walked down the pier. Riku strolling down the steps one by one while Kairi hopped two by two. Their uneven pace dragged him forward a bit and only after he nudged her shoulder did she decide to slow down. Moisture along the soles of her feet made the sand cling between her toes, a soft krrch as she rubbed them together, enjoying the grit and slight sink of her heels in the sun warmed shores.

It only made sense for her to walk in the surf, she pointed out to Riku as she tugged him over. Glistening waters washed over her feet and barely touched the soles of his sandals although he made sure to gripe about it every time it came close. Their talks ranged from his mother’s experiments with the Keyblade out of sheer engineering delight, and their respective guardians’ reactions to learning there were other worlds outside of their own. While her grandfather seemed to accept it well enough, Riku’s mother was infinitely curious.

Like mother, like son.

“My mom’s been worried every time I talk about a new world. Chip and Dale gave her a gummiphone to ease her worry, and they’ve been talking non-stop about prototypes and who knows what else.”

Kairi giggled. “Little victories, Riku.”

He shot her a look of mock annoyance. “Always looking on the bright side, aren’t you? Let me sulk a bit, will ya?”

As they crossed beneath the bridge connecting the island to the smaller one a bit further from its shores, Kairi pretended to think it over. Shade provided by the wood was filtered with glimmers of light between the cracks and openings. It’d been awhile since Sora’s dad came to patch the bridge up. She could hardly imagine what it would be like a few years from now. Rolling her eyes up to the small streaks of sunlight, she hummed then shook her head.

“Nope!” She swung their hands back and forth, smiling despite his withering stare. “Not allowed.”

Riku sighed heavily, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes. “Whatever you say, princess.”

Princess.

Kairi swallowed. She hardly thought of the title much in the recent year or two. Not like when she’d been pulled from their island the first time. Her heart vied after because it was that of a princesses’. Seeing all of those empty faces, vacant eyes, Sora’s pain to strive and get her back but all he saw was a shell. She wasn’t truly inside. She was part of him. The princess who needed saving was right by his side all along but unable to do a thing.

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” She asked, trying to keep the mood jovial but the bitter thought soured her tone.

Riku’s half-jesting smile fell, a single brow raised as they slowed to a stop half-way beneath the bridge. “Why would I?”

“Because I’m not really a princess,” she said. Not at all. Even from the world she truly came from, there was nothing about her that was princess-like. Only a little girl who enjoyed flowers and her grandmother’s stories.

“What? You mean like the ones in fairy tales?”

Something in her snapped at the mention of fairy tales. Her grandmother’s face, weathered with age but sincere with greyed eyes and a chipper smile. “Yes,” she huffed. Riku snorted and shook his head. Kairi frowned. Just what was he not understanding? “I’m not a princess.”

She squeezed his hand and the last of the humor drained out of him as he stared down at her, his eyes seeming to glow in the weak light.

“Okay, and what is a princess to you?”

Her mouth fell open and for a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say. Her grandmother described princesses in one way or another with all of the stories of young women scattered across time in different worlds.

“Someone that’s meant to be royalty,” Kairi started, ticking off the traits on her fingers. “Calming, kind, gentle, loving, caring.”

With it laid out before her, she had to attest that she wasn’t any of those things. Hardly calming with the amount of trouble that stirred with her mere presence. Kind was an overstatement. She was nice when she wanted to be and otherwise, if someone really deserved it then she’d let them have it. Gentle, absolutely not. Loving, her gaze flicked to Riku and his thoughtful expression then the image of Sora in her mind.

Caring? If she cared, then neither of them would be like —

“Wanna know what a princess is like to me?” Riku interjected, cutting off the poisonous thoughts and dragging her back to reality. His eyes were glowing in the darkness and seemed to only render her silent as all she could do was muster a nod. “Someone like you.”

With how resolutely he spoke the words, she couldn’t think of anything to say in response. Transfixed on his face and the stern set of his jaw as he held her hand a bit tighter.

“So what if you weren’t meant to be royalty. Half the people who are don’t deserve it anyway,” he seemed to consider something then shrugged half-heartedly. “Sans the king and queen that is.”

Kairi tried not to laugh as Riku mumbled and fumbled with his words. It was sincere and she felt the biting souring thoughts begin to drift backward. Not out of mind but further from the centre of it.

“People have to want to follow you and listen to you. You think Donald and Goofy would’ve chased after Mickey for so long if they didn’t at least like him?”

She had to give him a point on that one. King Mickey, despite all of his faults, was fairly likable if not a little cute. Donald was a bit of a livewire while Goofy could be a bit lazy now and again. For both of them to run around the worlds with Sora in search of their lost king, he had to be something.

Still, that changed little in what she thought. Her fingers pressed against his own, their palms warm and a bit clammy. “Who would want to listen to me?”

Her voice rarely reached. When Sora needed encouragement, when he was at his lowest and felt abandoned by all those around him, she could barely summon a word to help him out. But she could hear him calling to her all the time from where she slept. Assuring her that he would come and rescue her, that he missed her, that they would all be together again. Riku did the same but his words were harsher. He assured he would protect her, that he wouldn’t let anything else harm her, that they’d go elsewhere — all three of them — just like they said.

They were all blinded and unable to hear.

And all she wanted was for them to listen to what she had to say.

Riku tugged her close by the hand, her toes catching in the sand as she fell into the solid warmth of his chest. His hand pressed to her back as he held her close.

“Me. Right now.… Hear me out?”

Kairi curled her fingers in the back of his tank top and pressed her forehead to his chest, nodding slowly. Riku felt sturdy and firm, solid with enough softness that she could be sure he wasn’t made out of stone. His fingers brushed against the swell of her ponytail and she hugged him tighter around his middle.

“You’re kind, you’re caring…” He snorted and flicked the ends of her hair, sending them sweeping against her shoulders with a light tickle that made a giggle bubble up in her throat. “And very stubborn.”

Kairi huffed, patting his back lightly. “So are you.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t mind being a princess,” Riku said in a snobbish tone. Kairi biting back laughter by burying her face against his chest. His own chuckles felt as vibrations beneath her cheek. “Let me finish.”

She nodded slowly and brought her other hand around his middle, her sneakers knocking together as she hooked her hands by her pinkies. Riku’s hand settled against the top of her head and smoothed down her hair. The distant crash of waves, trickling frorm the makeshift waterfall near the little cove they called their Secret Place. Even the gentle creaking of the wood as it groaned beneath a salty breeze rolled in from the ocean. It all reminded her so much of home.

“You’re kind but you don’t let people walk over you. You know your worth, what you put your time into you’re passionate about. And you do your best to help. That’s why people listen to you. You’re always trying, we can rely on you. Remember when we found Chocolina as kids? You calmed her down because you’re you. That’s your power, Kairi.”

She buried her face against his chest. It was difficult to stop herself from doing it. With all of what he said, she couldn’t help but try to find some alternative. When they needed her most — her voice couldn’t reach them, but she was trying now. That meant something, didn’t it? Sora’s infectious cheer, all of his positive-thinking, it might have been rubbing off on them for awhile now. As much as she wanted to be upset with herself, she wanted to take this chance even more.

Riku’s hand settled against her shoulder, strong and unyielding, but gentle as he pulled back from her. His blue-green eyes softened, fingers curling beneath her chin to tilt her head up. Concern stole his smile and his thumb swiped under her eye, smearing a tear against her skin. She sniffed and offered him a smile as her hand came up to cup the back of his own.

“So what if you’re not one of the ones in the story. I never was really into the damsel in distress type anyway.”

Kairi covered her mouth hurriedly, a snort that was definitely unprincess-like left them both sputtering in laughter. Riku leant down and his forehead pressed to hers as they laughed and smiled. If a few tears slipped past then neither of them mentioned it. Only wiping it away with the crooks of fingers and a reassuring glance. Her hand slipped into Riku’s again and he gave it a gentle squeeze.

“But if it bothers you, I’ll stop calling you that,” he promised, and she knew that he meant it.

The walk from beneath the bridge was slower and as they approached the other side of the sands, Kairi glanced up at him.

“Riku?”

He gave a soft hum, his head turned the other way, eyes focused on the ramshackle doorway which led to the other part of the island. She wondered what he was thinking. Would it have been the race he had with Sora? Or when they were finally putting the last touches on their raft.

“… Be my prince?”

His hold on her hand tightened considerably and absently, Kairi had to wonder if he was holding back his real strength all the time. His head whipped around and in the scarlet sunrays, she could see the faint touch of pink in his cheeks. “What?”

She tipped her head to one side, feigning innocence with a small smile. “Too much?”

“W- I mean…” Riku sputtered, and Kairi tried her best not to laugh. It wasn’t often that she saw him at a loss for words or this shy. He lifted a hand, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m not really the prince type, Kairi.”

“Of course you are,” she insisted, feeling just a bit of payback was in order along with honesty. “You’re kind and patient, and you always come to the rescue when you’re needed. Besides, I feel safe around you.”

With each trait listed off, Riku seemed to grow more and more shy. She wanted to pull him into another hug and assure him that it was true. All of the words she was speaking, the meaning behind them, they were absolutely true. Riku always thought the worst of himself and although she knew he was changing to begin with — this wasn’t what she wanted.

He didn’t deserve to suffer for his mistakes forever.

“If you’re really set on having a prince, save that spot for Sora.”

Kairi’s eyes widened as the name fell from Riku’s lips. He didn’t shy away from speaking about Sora in matters of finding him or the deeds he committed for the sake of the worlds. But on their own, in times when it was only them, he seemed to dance around speaking his name as if he was unworthy of saying it. His hand fell from the back of his neck, hanging loosely at his side as he gazed northward past the broken fence partly submerged where it hung off from the shores and dipped into the ocean.

Kairi followed his line of sight and for a second, she could imagine Sora hopping along the posts while they urged him to be careful. His sunny grin wet when he accidentally slipped and fell into the water, splashing about in surprise. Riku ran after him without hesitation and Kairi returned to the treehouses to grab a few of the sheets to help them dry off after. She squeezed his fingers again as the memory faded along with Sora’s laughter.

“Then what are you?” She asked, turning her gaze back to Riku. He surprised her, constantly. Always deflecting positive affirmations to someone else. She knew that he didn’t mean to. That he was trying to stay within the lines that he’d set and not stray from them. Time would help them both but she wasn’t sure what all was needed. How far did they have to go before they could be together without feeling guilty again.

Riku shrugged, sheepish but receptive as he glanced toward her. A pride in his eyes that reminded her of the boy who proclaimed they’d leave their home world with a simple call of ‘Let’s go’.

“The knight who keeps you both safe.”

Kairi shook her head, tugging lightly on their hands. “We keep each other safe, Riku,” she chided gently, tipping her head skyward. “And we’ll save our prince and then…”

“Happily ever after.”

Kairi looked to him in surprise, the vague amusement showing in his eyes as he laced their fingers together then turned his gaze skyward.

“Yeah,” she echoed back as she stared at him numbly, then turned her gaze upward once more. “Happily ever after…”

#kingdom hearts #sorikai #rikai #riku #kairi #fanfiction #my fanfiction #sora

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robin-the-enby · 5 years ago

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Confusing feelings

Pairing: Abe Sapien x OC

Summary: Abe meets a creature he's only ever read about.

Warnings: Probably very long with grammar mistakes (English is not my first language), a little bit of violence

A/N: I've been thinking about making this into a full book on my Wattpad account. I already have one English book there, so if you're a Moomins fan, go check it out, the name is TheDarkSide019 .

* * * * *

Fridays never really meant anything at BPRD, apart from it being the most chaotic day of the week. I mean, it's not like they didn't have to work at weekends. They did. And that sucked, as Liz said many times.

The last few weeks were pretty calm, nothing big was happening and there wasn't any danger that could wipe out humanity.

That meant Abe, Liz and Hellboy could have more free time.

Liz finally accepted herself as she is and her and Red's relationship has been just great. They were spending most of their free time with the other, doing all sorts of things and going on all sorts of little adventures at BPRD.

Abe didn't have anyone he would be this close with and he definitely didn't want to be a third wheel, even though he thought that if he asked to, Hellboy and Liz would let him hang out with them. Of course, there were some agents that came to the library, which used to be dr. Broom's office, to ask him all kinds of questions, some more interesting than others, but as the kind-hearted soul he was, he answered them all with patience. If he could help, why wouldn't he do so?

But when the agents left, he was all alone once again. Alone. That word tasted bitter on his tongue. However, this alone felt different than how he ever felt before. He was so lonely it was distracting. Soon he couldn't even read books with how distracted he was. So his days were spent in his tank, just quietly thinking about what was it that he lacked.

However he didn't lack anything, it was his soul that was weeping. Every time Abe saw Hellboy with Liz, his soul cried out a little. He was happy for them, he really was, but there was something about the sight that made him feel a wide range of emotions at once. He was confused.

If you're confused, you can just ask someone, he told himself. So he went to the first person he thought could help him understand his feelings a bit more. Liz.

"You're jealous Abe." was the answer he got. It was simple, but genuine and said with care. She wasn't mad in any way, but she didn't see a reason to beat around the bush.

But that's ridicoulus. Abe thought. "What do you mean jealous? I'm not jealous, in fact I am very happy for you two." Liz laughed at his confusion. "You're not jealous of me or Red, Abe. You're jealous of what we have. Maybe you don't realize it, but inside, you want it too. A relationship, I mean." He didn't look much wiser than before and she shook her head a little "Look. I'm not saying I'm right, but from what you've just told me it looks like it. It's normal, everybody sometimes feels like this when they've been single for a long time. Just think about it and if anything, you can talk to me." she reassured him. He nodded and slowly stood up. He only managed to mumble out a 'bye' before slipping through the door. He didn't even notice Hellboy who was coming to see Liz in her room. Red said hi, but he didn't recieve an answer, so deep in thought Abe was. Red turned his head to look at him, then shrugged and entered the room of his beloved girlfriend.

"What's up with Abe?" he then asked Liz and pointed at the door with his thumb like the said man was just behind it. "He's lonely." Liz explained. "What do you mean? He's always been kinda lonely." Red didn't understand. Sometimes Abe would rant to him how he felt a little lonely sometimes, like there was no one that could fully understand him. But he almost immediately after said that he didn't mind and was grateful for everything and everyone he had. "Yeah, but he's that kind of lonely that you were when I left." she said, trying to light up the mood a little. Although, they both knew it was true. "Poor man." Red shook his head and sighed.

Abe immediately went into his tank after arriving in the library. How could one be jealous of a non-materialistic thing? That's ridicoulus. Although, he had to admit, it would be nice to have someone you can hold, trust and rely on, to share all the nice and bad things with and who would hold, trust and rely on him and want to share all those things with him too. Oh, that's how.

The next day his mind was still overloaded with thoughts. In the morning Red stopped by and asked how he was doing and if he wanted to hang out with him and Liz later. Abe politely declined, saying he needs to sort some things out. In my head. he added, but not out loud.

Unknown to him or the other two, who were a little worried about him, things were going to get exciting in just a moment.

Manning recieved a newspaper with a very strange title right on homepage. He was told by the agent who brought the thing, that the local police doesn't know what to do anymore. It was time to call the special agents.

Abe was forcefully pulled out from his thoughts by the library door opening. In came Manning with a few other agents, Liz and Hellboy trailling behind them. When Abe looked at their joined hands, his soul cried out yet again, but now he knew why. It was refreshing and frustrating at the same time, which left him as he was the days prior. Confused.

"What's so important that you have to pull us away from our day off?" Red asked and Manning decided to ignore him, because getting mad would not get him anywhere. "We've recieved an anonymus tip about paranormal activity going on in Scotland. Look at this." he handed Hellboy the newspaper. Red took it from him and looked at the homepage. There, in bold, capital letters was a title: TWO MEN DEAD AT A LOCAL LAKE. ONLY REMAINS FOUND ARE HEARTS AND LIVERS. "That's nice." Red commented. Then he came over to Abe's tank, where Abe was practically glued to the front glass wall, to show it to him. He watched as Abe's eyes scanned the title "What do you think it is pal?"

Abe thought for a while, blinking owlishly once or thrice. Just as they thought he maybe wasn't paying attention, Abe turned to look at them "I don't know. There are lots and lots of water creatures, but I can't recall a single one that doesn't eat a part of their victim."

His interest has been piqued. "A new creature perhaps?" Liz piped up, her gate set on the paper laying now on one of the tables. Manning sighed an annoyed sigh "Great." "Or a one we don't have much information about." Abe said. "Either way, I want you to catch it and bring it back for studying. The details will be given to you later today." "So wait, we're actually going to Scotland?" Liz asked excitedly. "You bet'cha babe." Hellboy smirked and wrapped one arm around her waist.

Abe was excited. Finally something distracted him from his thoughts. Try as he might, he couldn't figure out what creature could've caused this. He tried to narrow it to water beasts from The brittish islands, but that didn't really help, there were still too many options and too little information.

Another thing he didn't really like was how Manning said studying. Oh he was going to keep an eye on that. There will be no harmful experiments on his watch. No cutting, probing, chemical testing, nothing. That just wasn't right and even if he believed Manning was a good man, he knew how he treated those of different species.

They gave the trio all known information. The lake was near a small town that was build for people who worked in a nearby ink factory. It was that type of town where everyone knew each other.

They all left on Sunday evening and by Monday morning they were already there. It was necessary, all citizens will be at work or at school so there will be a near zero percent chance of someone seeing the trio.

The sky was grey as the water that reflected it, gentle breeze making small waves on the water surface. The lake was surrounded by reeds that swayed ever so slightly and rustled quietly. There were a few spots where the reeds had been cut, probably for people who wanted to fish. Strange thing was that there weren't any animals, usually this place would be full of water birds and insects, but here everything seemed dead. It was a little depressing.

Hushed voices of Liz and Hellboy could be heard with the rustling. Liz liked the idea of getting out of BPRD from the beggining and when they arrived, she fell in love with the place. Abe had to admit, the scenery all around them was beautiful. But he could feel that something wasn't right here.

A young agent called out to them to get their attention. He beckoned them over to where he was standing. They came to one of the fishing spots where remains of footsteps were highlighted by the police. "You got anything for us?" Hellboy asked. The agent nervously gulped "Well, you'll need to know what happened, before you start investigating." he said with a shaky voice. "And you know that?" asked Liz. The agent opened the casefile, which wasn't really thick "Well, two victims went to an inn after work. They were fairly tipsy, but didn't come in a vehicle, so the innkeaper let them go. And now this is where it gets interesting. The footsteps lead straight into the water, like they did it from their own will. Bodies were never found, the only remains are their hearts and livers which were thrown in the reeds over there." he pointed to the place where they had been found.

It wasn't much, but at least it was something new. "Thank you for your help." Abe thanked the young man. He then scurried off somewhere without saying anything.

There wasn't really anything to do now, Abe still didn't have enough information to figure out what exactly they were dealing with here. They decided it would be best to look around and hopefully find something new.

"Do we know where this thing could be?" Liz asked. "Well, because the victims were lured into the lake, I think it's safe to assume it lives there." Abe explained, even though he thought she could have figured that out on her own. "Well, if we won't find anything usefull, you're going to have to dive down there." Hellboy said and gestured to the lake with his head. Abe sighed "I know." Although he was excited, they still didn't know anything and he wouldn't like to go there unprepared.

As they were walking, Abe pointed out the lack of animals at this place. "Well, they could be just scared from all the people suddenly showing up." Liz shrugged.

Soon they were on the opposite side of the lake and nothing strange had happened so far. They could see meadows upon meadows everywhere and even those looked empty. There wasn't anything alive, only a horse on one of the meadows. Wait, a horse??

Liz softly gasped "Look, a horse!" and immediately started to go towards it. Red and Abe looked at each other uncertainly, not knowing if it was safe, but they trailed behind her nonetheless. What could a horse possibly do?

The closer they got to it, the worse feeling settled in Abe's gut. Liz was already standing next to it, petting it softly.

It was beautiful. But something felt off. It's fur was white like fresh snow and clean, even though it was standing on a meadow with no fence around it. How was it so clean when it probably didn't belong to anyone? If Abe could frown, he would. The horse was peacfully munching on the grass, until Liz touched it. It lifted it's head up, showing them the deepest dark blue eyes that they've ever seen. They looked almost...hypnotizing.

"Do you think it'd let me ride it?" Liz wondered. She was looking into the horses eyes and her voice sounded quiet and soft, like she was daydreaming. Abe found it strange for the girl to be so enamoured by a simple horse, but it seemed he was the only one.

Hellboy picked up his girlfriend and set her gently on the horses back. She sat there for a while, before trying to run her hands through its mane.

It was as white as the rest of its body, without any knots. "Somebody has gone for a swim, eh?" Liz cooed at the animal. And aparently wet too.

Abe stared at the horse, deep in thought. It didn't belong to anybody, it was beautiful and enchanting. It just encouraged you to ride it. Abe looked at its mane, small droplets still dripping down. If it went into the lake, it must have been before we got here. Wouldn't it be dry now?

It was just encouraging you to ride it. Encouraging....encouraging...luring...

And then it clicked.

"Liz, you need to get down. Now." Abe said, urgency evident in his voice. Hellboy registered it before Liz, who seemed in some sort of dreamy trance, sensing the tone he immediately felt unnerved and went to retrieve his girl.

"Give me your hand babe." he said gently. Liz blinked, suddenly confused. It took her a few seconds to process what did he want her to do, but when she was going to lift her hand, she realized she was stuck.

"Red." she said, her voice quiet "I can't take my hads off it." Hellboy looked confused "What do you mean you can't-"

It happened so suddenly. By now everyone figured that the cteature wasn't a regular horse and could in fact understand everything that had been said. Like a lightning from a clear sky it took off in a fascinating speed. Hellboy cried out his loves name while Abe's breath has been stolen. He finally understood what was going on and Liz was in deep trouble.

At this point both of them were running after the two. But they could never match the speed of the beast. Liz knew she had to do something when she saw where the creature was headed. She tried to concentrate on increasing the heat inside of her, until she burst into blue flames.

The creature let out a pained screech full of agony and fear and if it wasn't going in an unhuman speed before, it sure was now. Abe would later tell that it sounded nothing like a sound horses make. It resembled a human scream, but then times more terrifying.

All the agents looked from their work when they heard the commotion. And all of them jumped to their feet when a horse, that was on fire, ran past and straight into the water.

Liz could feel the water detaching her body from the beast. Even though she couldn't feel it anywhere around her, she still kept herself hot enough to boil it slightly.

Then she felt something grab her arm and pull her upwards. Thinking it was the beast she thrashed as much as she could, but when they broke to the surface and she could hear her boyfriend's shouts to try and calm her down, she stilled almost immediately.

Abe was surprised to see them both covered in some sort of black goo when they got out of the water. He pointed it out and told them it would be best to clean up. They didn't have anything against it and left him alone.

The next twenty minutes were chaotic. Agents ran all around the place, some tending to Liz, some questioning Abe and Red, some taking samples from the weird water and some looking for the Kelpie.

"A Kelpie? What's that?" Hellboy asked. "Well, it is a water creature living mostly in Scotland and Ireland. Because it's so far away from BPRD, we don't know much about it. That's why I couldn't figure it out for so long. However, what we do know is that in water it takes shape of a horse with a finn and on land of a beautiful horse or human." Hellboy grumbled "Well, I'm gonna kill it after they're done getting the information." if it was him it would go after, he wouldn't be surprised. But it dared lay a hoove on his Liz and that's a sin he can't forgive.

About thirty minutes later the trio joined the agents in looking for the Kelpie. They had to split up, which left Abe alone. Not that it was dangerous anymore, the Kelpie would be hurt. Abe was afraid it would die before he'd get his information and he scolded himself for feeling this way.

A few meters from him the reeds rustled and something dragging on the ground could be heard. That must be it. Abe thought. He stealthily crept to the spot and peeked between the reeds. And there it was.

It was a woman. She layed on her side, her back facing Abe. She was naked and covered in the substance from the water. Her back was badly burnt and she sounded exhausted, only shallow breaths and quiet noises of pain leaving her mouth.

He slowly came out of his hiding spot as to not scare her too much, but she was too weak to move. He came around her and saw her face. Without all the goo she'd be very beautiful. He didn't know if it'd be apropriate to calm her, so he just looked at her reasuringly, at least he tried to do so, and called to the nearby agents.

He felt strangely calm knowing the Kelpie was safe with the agents. He once again, couldn't understand his feelings. At least he could go home now.

* * * * *

Please leave a like and/or a comment if you want part two ;)

#abe sapien #abe sapien x reader #abe sapien x oc #hellboy x liz sherman #hellboy #liz sherman #kelpie #BPRD

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honeylikewords · 5 years ago

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my dear friend and incredible writer- can we hear some of your sweet sweet thoughts on agent whiskey and his lady love when she's having pms/on her period? xoxo thank you and no worries if not!

First of all, oh my gosh, what compliments! I feel so flattered! You’re gonna make me blush! Second of all, of course! Let’s jump right in!

(Yes, I know this is a gif from Narcos, but there aren’t many gifs of Jack, so I had to improvise!)

I think Jack both wouldn’t want to make a huge deal of the situation, but also want to be as helpful as possible.

On one hand, making a massive fuss over a very regular and normal part of human biology presenting itself in his beloved would be kind of embarrassing; he doesn’t want to alienate her from her body and experiences by acting like it’s some strange, abnormal, dangerous thing to be menstruating.

It’s perfectly normal and, while painful, not necessarily something he feels comfortable injecting himself into: it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but he is concerned that making a fuss would make her embarrassed, or would seem like he was inserting himself into a private element of her body’s functioning, one that she’s not ready to share with him. What if worrying over her made her feel ashamed, or like he was prying into a part of her life that she feels isn’t for him to know about?

On the other hand... Jack is very protective, and his sweetheart enduring any kind of pain (or even mild discomfort) makes him nervous and stressed. All he wants to do is make her happy and comfortable; if he had his way, he’d spoil her rotten and she’d never have to lift a finger, so her having to routinely endure something as frustrating and painful as, well, her cycle makes him feel helpless, as if he’s failed her in some way.

The moment he notices her wincing or rubbing at her stomach, or feels her squirming in bed because she’s unable to sleep from the pain, his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach, wracked with sadness and a sense of failure; what can he do for her? How can he make it better? How can he best serve her needs without making her feel put-upon or embarrassed?

So he’s constantly caught in a tug of war within himself, trying to decide if he should “mind his own business” or mother-hen her, following her around to see what she needs. Jack tends to hover nearby her, asking little, probing questions; “Are you hungry?”, he’ll ask gently. “Tired?”

He’ll try to brush off his inquiries as normal day-to-day check-ins, asking her how she’s feeling and if there’s anything she’d like for him to get for her. He’s not used to flat-out asking “are you on your period?”, worried that it’ll seem too brusque or demeaning (what if she thought he was being sexist and assuming that any unhappiness or moodiness from her had to be linked to her cycle?).

Still, his need to care for her often overwhelms and outweighs his shyness, so he’ll end up hovering around her, bringing her pain relievers, food, a warm pad, honeyed tea in a nice big mug, all served with a smile and soft reminders of his love for her, like kisses to her temple and the gentle brushing of his fingers over her hair. Jack likes to show himself as a capable, caring provider, and he takes particular care of his little lady to the best of his ability.

As they grow more accustomed to being in a relationship and expressing some of the more “embarrassing” parts of being in one, she’ll come to him first and tell her she’s on her cycle and that she’s starting to hurt, and needs her big, sweet boy to comfort her.

One of her favorite ways to spend time together and feel a little relief is sitting on his lap, back pressed to his chest, his large hands holding a heating pad to her belly, softly kneading as they watch a show and talk, cuddled under a blanket. If she gets back pain from her cycle, she can point to where it hurts and Jack’s strong hands will be there, massaging and unclenching the muscles with professional precision. He’s also an incredible back-cracker and can make her feel light as a feather by giving her a big, squeezing hug and lifting her up, popping her stiff vertebrae and leaving her with a giddily dizzy head and a significantly less sore back.

Jack also like to take initiative during her cycle to buy her little odds and ends to make her feel better and bring them home as a surprise: he gifts her with snacks he knows she likes, a DVD of a movie she loves, a stuffed animal he thinks is “not nearly as cute as her” but “hoped would make her smile”, a face mask; anything he comes across that seems like it’d lift her spirits if she’s having a particularly rough go of it.

As for any mood swings, that’s where Jack runs into a little trouble. He can start to walk on eggshells around her and seem hesitant to broach any meaningful topics, opting to defer to silly trivialities and fluff. She can get frustrated with him when he acts like that; it’s not like she’s going to lash out at him, after all, so he can talk to her the same way he’d talk to her any other week of the month.

However, she does have an increased propensity for crying at movies with death (especially tragic ones, like the loss of a pet, child, or family member) and any depiction of babies. Jack actually finds it rather endearing, and doesn’t mind scooping her to his chest and rubbing her back, cooing that it’ll all turn out alright (or, in the case of babies, that, yes, the baby is very wonderful, but that there’s no need to weep). He loves cuddling her up to him and feeling like her emotional rock, holding her steady as she sobs over a Pampers ad that showed a preemie baby holding their mother’s hand. He thinks it’s the cutest thing that she’s so sensitive!

He’s also perfectly capable of doling out heaps of compliments and an endless stream of affections, especially if she becomes self-conscious of her body or looks during her cycle, as many women are wont to do. Jack will lean against the wall where she’s fretting over the mirror and talk, distracting her as best he can.

“You have such beautiful eyes, babydoll,” he drawls, smiling sweetly. “And my goodness, what a figure! Finer than sugar and twice as sweet!”

When she won’t look away from the mirror, self-critical and scowling at her reflection, Jack takes an anxious step towards her and touches her shoulder, taking her chin in a gentle hand and steering her gaze towards himself.

“Eyes over here,” he murmurs. “Do you hear my words?”

“Mm,” she noncommittally rumbles. Her eyes flit back to the shining siren of the mirror’s scrutiny.

“Repeat them back to me, please.” Jack pushes his nose against the swell of her cheek, still holding her jaw to prevent her from turning back to the mirror. “I’d like to hear it from you.”

“You said I have...”

She pauses, the air heavy with self-consciousness and hesitance. He kisses her cheek lightly, a silent go-ahead. She sighs, but nods, accepting.

“You said I have beautiful eyes,” she repeats softly. “And that you... like my figure.”

“I love your figure,” he responds, lowering his hands to squeeze her hips and tug her out of the range of the mirror, into a space where they can focus exclusively on each other without distraction. “And I love your hair. I love your smile. I love everything. Even the weird stuff no one mentions in love songs.”

At that, she giggles a little, allowing him to pull her close, into a swaying motion, cheeks pressed together.

“I love your eyebrows and your nose, your ears,” he chuckles. “I love your teeth and your hands, I love your knees--”

“My knees?,” she laughs, shaking her head. “Really?”

“Well, yeah, honey. They’re what letcha dance so nicely!”

She leans in and kisses his cheek, rolling her eyes lovingly at his odd suggestion, but something in Jack’s tone conveys sincerity, adoration, truth. She suspects her really does harbor a genuine love for her knees, and the thought warms her in and out.

After a quiet beat, Jack speaks again.

“And I love your heart and soul,” he adds, barely a whisper. “I think that’s the prettiest part of you. That big, sweet heart. Sweeter ‘n anything I could have imagined comin’ into my life.”

Jack’s arms fetter around her, a little tighter than before, cleaving her close to his warm, firm body. She rests her head on his shoulder and listens to the sound of his breathing, forgetting about cramps or bloating or hormonal acne or anything else that had been floating in her mind, making her so anxious. All she can hear is Jack’s deep, consistent, rumbling breaths, the cool whisper of his voice.

“And I love you, all of you, just exactly the way you are.”

“Even when I’m moody and fussy and messy and tired?,” she asks tentatively.

She feels Jack’s hand rise to press softly on her hair, petting along its length gently, and he nods, cheek against the crown of her head as they hug, swaying on their heels a little.

“Especially then,” he chuckles. “Somehow, especially then.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I see you just the way you are, nothin’ in the way, no make-believe, and I still love you. And that’s how I know you’re the one for me.”

They stand in silence for a moment, mulling over the words shared. When she looks up, her eyes are slightly dewy, bordering on tears, and Jack coos, rubbing a thumb along the curve of her cheek comfortingly.

“Aw, honeybee, babydoll, sweetness, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean t’ make you cry--”

“I love you so, so, so much, Jack,” she interrupts. “And my stomach hurts and my head’s a little dizzy, and I’m not entirely sure if that’s the period stuff or how much I love you, but I think it’s a little of both, and I just--!”

Her voice breaks and she throws her arms around his neck, burying herself in the crook of his neck as she weeps with ardor. Jack tenses, concerned, then allows himself to melt into her, rubbing her back and hushing her as a besotted smile spread over his face.

“I love you, too, little missus. Now, come on; lemme getcha comfy on the couch so you’re not dizzy, and I’ll getcha the warm thingie, and we’ll set up a nice movie for you.”

“And you’ll stay and cuddle?,” she asks, plaintive.

“Goes without saying,” chuckles Jack. “Wouldn’t leave your side for the world.”

And they both know, as they walk towards the living room, that it’s far from hyperbole.

#messages #anonymous #gif warning #jack daniels #agent whiskey #kingsman #this one isn't as long as the other one but i wanted to get it out sooner!!#plus it's Surprisingly Hard to form a cohesive narrative from the idea of menstruation without getting a little uhhhh... well i'll just say #it can be tough! anyway #i had fun with this and i hope y'all have fun reading it! again it's not very long (only like 1.7 k) but i hope it's heartwarming!#and comforting for any individual on their cycle!!

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theveryworstthing · 6 years ago

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i have a guide for y’all today.

How To Prepare A Rabbit. A Simple And Peaceful Guide To Traditional Island Funerals As Led By Vultures Respectful Of Rabbit Culture With Perfect Customer Service Records Pertaining To Never Being Cursed Or Tortured By Vengeful Restless Spirits.

The Body Is Found. A crowded bedside, an open field, inside a room who’s door was still rusted shut until we broke it down how in the world did they get in there??? Somewhere on the island, a rabbit’s body is found and sometimes they are attended to by vultures. Some vultures prepare the dead a little differently, but these are the steps taken by senior priestesses Fifteen-Stab-Wounds and Irresponsible Botany and so are nearly identical to traditional rabbit-led funeral customs.

You’ll know when we get to the bit rabbits usually don’t do.

Steps Are Taken. A special tincture made of wine and charcoal is applied to the soles of the feet (if they still have them), which are then gently pressed first onto a piece of cloth and then onto a piece of edible rice paper. The cloth is the ‘second to last step’, and is kept for the funeral display. The rice paper is the ‘last step’ and is left where the body was found as an offering to any malicious spirits or persistent sorrows that were hounding them to the very end. This is supposed to be a symbolic gesture to give the soul the peace it might need to leave for The Rest instead of lingering out of worry or fear but something is eating those things the moment the body is gone and no one is looking, and something flattens the grass in interlocking circles outside of the morgue if the offering is forgotten.

To be fair this last part could be urban legend and asshole teens but something is definitely eating those dang rice papers.

Identification. The body is identified through necromancy or other ghost conversation if possible(making sure that the rabbit confirming their identity is the real deal and not…something else). This process, known as opening the left eye, also seeks to find the definitive cause of death (at least from their point of view) and secure final wishes before the soul begins their connection fast. This fast is a period of time where the dead should not be contacted. This is a time for reflection, adjustment, and mourning for the living, as well as a settling period for the dead. Fresh ghosts are a little volatile if they don’t pass on to The Rest very soon after death and can become trapped in the living world though their attachment to a person. After the soul is safely in The Rest loved ones are brought over for a second identification, known as opening the right eye, and real prep begins.

Cold Storage. The body is refrigerated above ground in specially built storehouses(the dead should not be brought underground into a warren or burrow), inspected one last time (careful notes are taken), gutted, cleaned with island fresh water(or any salt water), and readied for the funeral soon after. Well, some of the body is readied. The head, arms and feet are preserved and prepped for the funeral but the rest is put back into refrigeration (except for the heart, which is burned or thrown to the bugs asap) since rabbits consider it cleaner and only really care about those ‘main bits’ unless the dead had a very specific request. And even then it depends of the rate of decomposition. The less contact an entire group that lives in close quarters has with the majority of a rotting corpse that might carry disease, the better,

There is an exception for kits. They have their innards removed but are kept whole and are ‘fixed up’ as much as possible. It makes things…less worse.

Portraits And Dressings. Floor length death masks are made by painting a portrait on a circle of canvas, sewing it to the mask, and draping it over the face of the dead. These portraits can be very simple, putting eye color, fur patterns, and notable scars inside a general rabbit outline or they can be beautifully lifelike likenesses. It really depends on the customs of your warren and the artist in your local funeral home. In the past people with the means and access to good artists would go to get their portrait drawn every year just to have something nice to pin to their death mask (plus people just like having pictures of themselves). In modern times this is still done, but now the few that have gotten their hands on cameras have photographs as an additional option.

Bodies are displayed suspended on round yellow straw mats made to resemble the sun. The head, arms, and feet are arranged around a false body of flowers, dried fruit rinds, straw, and smoking incense. A brightly colored cloak is draped over them, allowing the flesh and fur bits of their ‘body’ to show. Flowers, pretty stones, and precious items are tucked in beside them and on top of them to further the illusion. The cloth with their ‘second to last step’ lies beneath their feet and a line of ash mixed with tiny jagged stones or thorns leads from it to the nearest doorway. The line symbolizes a kind of path to their death that they don’t want you to follow. You do not step on it.

The Service. Close family enters before the service to view the body if they wish and kind of just privately mourn. During the service mourners walk up to the body one by one after an attendant paints vibrant pigments onto their palms(choosing the color and amount of pigment that best represents their relationship with the dead), and briefly grasp the trailing edge of the death mask. You are not supposed to speak during this ritual. There is no one there to talk to anymore. This is just letting go.

This is all fairly quick unless people linger.

Food. When everyone who wants to has had their turn a memorial meal is served in the nearest warren dining hall. The death mask is taken to this meal and draped over a stand in the brightest area of the room. This is the real service. This is where, after staring out into space for fifteen minutes before someone hands you a drink and the remnants of chalky paint on your thumb smears ‘friendship’ on the glass that the pain hits. During this meal people grieve and sing and cry and fight and tell stories about the dead. It’s very chaotic and rowdy compared to the beginning of the funeral. It has to be. Everyone has to prove to themselves that they’re ready to keep going.

Food. Rabbit funeral directors will usually stay the whole memorial meal, which can last all night. But unless they personally know the person, vultures like the esteemed Fifteen and Irresponsible with arrive for the first toast and leave about an hour after the kits go to bed. Nobody talks about why they leave so early.

While the revelry continues, the body is back at the funeral home being butchered and skinned by the priestesses. Ears, distinctive bits of fur, and tattoos are all set aside for the grave slab. Everything else is mostly sliced off the bones, which have holes carefully drilled into the ends so the bugs can retrieve the marrow without trying to gnaw through them. The meat and previously refrigerated viscera is thrown into a big pot with some of the flowers and smoky herbs from the funeral, doused in boiling water, and left to stew a little. The bones (and any meat that can’t possibly be cooked or eaten that day) are taken to the bug kennels where carrion beetles and maggots make them shiny and clean before sun-bleaching.

And the priestess’ meal is delicious. A little sad at times, but delicious. Fifteen still cries just a little, just a tear drop, every time her wife holds her talons and presses their foreheads together over the steaming stew as they pray for the rabbit inside it. She can’t help it, she’s sentimental. And also, to both of them it’s just…a wonderful process. By making sure that the body is consumed by life, useful and beautiful in the end, they honor that person and acknowledge that death sometimes creates a fear and grief so tangible that all you can do is eat it or transform it but mainly get it out of the world before it hurts people more (the rabbits’ memorial meal is the same principle really, just not as eloquent and with more angry weeping about how the deceased still owed them a solid.)

Grave Slabs. When the meat is gone and the bones are cleaned, bleached, and prepared then the grave slab construction begins. Bones, ears, tattoos, significant trinkets, etc, are arranged in a mold by suspending them in layers of crystal clear (sometimes colored) resin. They are particularly careful with the skull, making sure to coat it with a layer of protective resin but leaving the jaw hinged and exposed since after their connection fast is over necromancers can use it to contact the dead. They are also very careful with the ears, as they must protrude from the resin mass as if still attached to a living rabbit or at least be posed inside the mass in a natural way. Skulls are a link to living people, but ears are seen as a link to their experience in the living world. Both are very important.

When the grave slab is ready it is delivered to whatever grave area the family desires. These areas are always sunny, above ground, and very rocky or laid with cobblestones. While some grave slabs are simply propped up on simple stand, others are bricked into low stone walls, making some old family plots glimmering bone mosaicked monuments. Once the grave slab is secure and the family is satisfied you’re done.

And that’s how you prepare a rabbit. Serves everyone.

Eventually.

#rabbits of downtrodden #long post #death mention #child death mention #funeral #i was weirdly afraid to post this. i'm trying my best lately but it doesn't seem to be good enough but i gotta get over that!#finished is better than perfect! i need to defeat this weird art anxiety/self doubt!

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malecsecretsanta · 6 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, @magnus-the-maqnificent!

I must say I had some fun writing this fic and I hope you will enjoy it as well. I have actually never read or even written a coffee shop au so I hope I did a good job !

Have some wonderful holidays and I hope you have a great time!

Read on AO3

*****

Of Presents and Phone numbers

"So today is the day, huh ?"

Alec groaned and dodged the elbow that was on its way to his ribs. He shot a dirty look at Clary who seemed to find the situation hilarious. He took hold of the tray with dirty cups before starting to wash them. Ignoring Jace's fake offended look, he quickly finished them before starting on another task.

It was calm at the 'Angel's Coffee Cups' today. The fact that it was a Thursday, freezing temperatures and that it was snowing outside really slowed down customer traffic. There were a couple of people scattered around the place sitting down. The usual long queue that had extended till outside only just yesterday seemed like a long lost memory, even if he had collapsed exhausted in his bed afterward.

To say that Alec was trying to keep his mind off things was an understatement. There was practically nobody here or at the counter and yet he tried to work as if everything was at its busiest. He needed to keep his mind distracted, away from the matter at hand, away from what, for him, today was all about. He exhaled, hearing the bell of the door. His heart leaped in his throat before turning around. His blood pressure dropped almost instantly. It was just two students from the institute next door. He hid a disappointed glance as he moved to go to the counter.

Jace was chatting with Clary as he prepared two more coffees. He got lost into the routine of his hands and the machines quite quickly. He looked at the coffee cups and presented them to the two other customers before they made their own way outside.

He exhaled again, not sure if he felt like looking up or even joining the conversation Jace was having about going to a Christmas dinner together at Clary's parental house. His stomach was twisted into a knot, it felt like it was getting worse with each passing minute, and it was almost 11 o'clock.

He decided to go to the back room and reorganize a delivery that had come in yesterday. In the fray things had been thrown around without actually being put into place. It was quite the mess. He focused his mind. He got to work and at least 10 minutes later everything was at least labeled correctly. Clary knocked on the open door. He looked up from the clipboard of the inventory list. Her soft smile told him everything already.

His heart beat faster at the mere thought of it.

"He is here, Jace has already prepared his order." She said. He walked up to him and extended her hand toward the clipboard. "He is sitting at his usual spot."

He nodded in thanks but once he was back in the main room he just felt rooted on spot. At the table the furthest away from the counter in one of the single couches sat a man, well, not just any man. An older-looking gentleman whose eccentric habits had surprised Alec more than once, a man whose quips had made Alec laugh and cry at the same time, a man who had looked so sad on new year's eve last year Alec had decided to sit with him and talk for hours.

A man who had attracted Alec's attention the very first time he came in. It was in October last year for Halloween. He had been dressed in an extravagant dark costume that had a plunging neckline all the way to his navel and Alec had almost dropped his order right there on the floor when their eyes crossed. Yellow slitted pupils had looked absolutely stunning and mesmerizing. The make up had been like he came straight out of a movie and Alec knew he was falling hard when they exchanged a first smile.

His name was Magnus Bane. He came every Monday, Saturday and Thursday morning for a single medium sized black coffee, which he took with two sugars or a bit of hazelnut syrup if he was feeling 'adventurous'. He spent an hour or two, reading a book, a newspaper or just to look in contemplation outside if he wasn't working away behind a small laptop.

They talked sometimes, nothing more than smalltalk or a well placed joke for the weeks that came and after new year's evening, when Alec learned his name, he had felt himself drawn like never before to this strange man. He wore nail polish and his hair had strands of different colors every other day. He was older, yes, greying temples and laughing lines creased his face when he frowned in concentration. But the charisma he exuded left Alec breathless.

He looked up and Alec felt his throat lock up. The knot in his stomach felt impossibly tight and it was as if it burned in his core. Magnus took a sip of his coffee before extending his hand to Alec, inviting him to come over to talk.

Alec inhaled to calm himself down. His muscles went rigid. He clenched his fists before letting his fingers brush the side pocket of his trousers. He tried to tell his legs to walk, to move, to actually be useful instead of just standing there in the nothing.

Jace was talking, perhaps even muttering a few encouraging words and tapping him on the back to tell his childhood best friend to move.

"It's okay, he is not going to bite Alec…" Jace squeezed his shoulder and a mischievous glint reflected in his eyes. And Alec groaned in irritation even before Jace was able to start his misplaced joke. "Unless you want him to, I don't think he would say no to that."

He had already started to walk by the time Jace had finished his sentence.

"Good Morning Alexander," Magnus' voice was deep and it sent a shiver down Alec's spine. "Thank you for having my order ready while you weren't even sure I would come in today."

He had green hair today, Alec noticed. His makeup looked darker than usual and his nails were colored in gold. His nose was slightly red from walking outside and he was wearing a dark blue turtle neck under his blazer. He was wearing his necklace with skulls today.

Alec realized a bit too late that he had left the greeting unanswered, too busy taking Magnus in.

"You're welcome." He took a step forward, refusing to look away or down. "You are our favorite customer."

Magnus halted after his reply. His whole face lit up and a chuckle crossed his lips. Alec found himself almost going down on his knees to weep at the beauty. He had dreamed of kissing that mouth more times than he could count.

"I didn't know you had a ranking system for the regulars that came around here."

"No we don't- we just," Alec found himself licking his lips, trying to find the words, trying to find something to say that didn't make him sound too much like a fool. "We like it when you come around."

He let himself smile at his boldness. He usually didn't flirt so openly; not when there was Jace around in the same room who was probably trying his best to follow their conversation. But then again today wasn't just like any other day, now was it.

"Thank you Alexander, I like to come around too, especially when you're the one working."

Alec felt the flush creep up his neck. He wanted to say more but Magnus' dazzling smile just left him disarmed. His heart was beating so hard it was as if it could split his chest in two.

"Would you like to sit with me for a bit ? I've got something for you, well not exactly for you personally. But it's something for you nevertheless."

Alec blinked twice, momentarily unable to say anything. He stared at the long and elegant ringed fingers. His thoughts trailed toward more explicit and heated desires. He sat down at the other side of the table, noticing that Magnus hadn't brought his umbrella with him.

"You seemed to complain about it a week ago," Magnus was fumbling into his satchel, trying to find what he was looking for. He took out a very small cardboard box with the emblem of Edom's Cosmetics written all over it. Alec frowned, not sure what Magnus was meaning with the gift in his hands.

He peaked inside of the bag.

His heart almost skipped a beat.

"I've been experimenting with the new colors in the lab and I had some time on my hands. I think it'll look great in contrast to your sister's hair."

It was unexpectedly nice. He reached down to grab the small bottle of nailpolish that was inside of it. The color was a mix between bronze and gold intermixed with glitter; it looked expensive. It was a color that was difficult to describe in any other way than calling it beautiful. It was nothing you could find in a regular store.

Magnus worked as a colorist at Edom's Cosmetics and preferred to come around for a coffee right before he had to go to work. It was something about the fumes of the lab making him feel dizzy at times. For the past week Alec had been complaining about the Christmas gift exchange organized at the coffee shop.

He had gotten Izzy's name out of the mystery bag. It could have been a relief if he hadn't just been really bad at selecting and buying presents. Every year he had found himself begging Lydia for help to select presents for his siblings and begging his siblings to help him select presents for his friends. Jace had been no help this year at all and he hated asking Izzy what she actually wanted.

The fact that Magnus gave him this. A present, a personal one, a unique item while Alec hadn't even enlisted his help ? Was incredibly kind. Because it wasn't as if Alec could afford any luxury nail polish or a luxury anything on his slim barista salary. This was something Izzy would be elated about.

She had gone through so much this past year.

"How much-" he started and Magnus laid down his hand on Alec's and Alec's mind stuttered to a halt.

Warmth spread from the point of contact to all the way inside his entire body. Goosebumps appeared everywhere and Alec felt his palms become sweaty and sensitive. Magnus almost never touched him, this is not something they did… this was actually the very first time. And it wasn't just touching, no, Magnus was holding his hand.

Magnus' hand was strong, well manicured and incredibly soft. It made Alec's mind dizzy and almost drunk on the feeling of these very soft caresses, especially when the thumb started to rub soft circles into his skin. It was light, almost unnoticeable. But enough for Alec to feel like he had reached another kind of heaven.

"I'll take a smile as payment."

Magnus' boldness would have startled him if he hadn't been so focused on their hands. If his body wasn't completely absorbed and yearning for more than a holding of hands.

He wondered how it would feel to lay his lips on the soft surface of Magnus' wrist.

"Thank you," he whispered, unable to say anything else. "Thank you so much Magnus." He turned his hand so he could grasp Magnus' hand with his.

He was certain he heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Magnus. The muscles of his shoulders tensed. Alec looked up and couldn't read what the dark eyes were trying to tell him. He let a smile form on his lips and Magnus' hold on him tightened even more.

He wanted to lean over the table to kiss the cosmetologist on the lips.

"You're welcome," Magnus felt so breathy. If Alec wasn't sitting already he would probably have needed to.

This man was everything Alec ever wanted in his life.

Magnus was about to speak when suddenly a loud vibration interrupted the start of his spoken sentence. With a bit of sadness Alec let their hands go so Magnus would be able to respond to his phone call.

"Sorry I have to get that." Magnus fished his phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket. He frowned as he saw the name displayed on the screen. Alec bit back the question on who it was as Magnus unlocked his phone.

He started talking into a language Alec identified as French. He didn't sound happy. He sat back into his seat trying to focus on what was being said on the other side of the line.

Alec took care of re-closing the little package Magnus had given to him and the bottle of nail polish. Even if it didn't look fragile, he didn't want it to get damaged. There was no telling if the bottles coming from Magnus' lab were as sturdy as the ones sold in the shops.

Magnus frowned even more. His tone became upset and stressed. His shoulders became slightly hunched.

Alec bit his tongue as he felt Magnus getting exasperated at his phone conversation partner. His eyes were darting everywhere and absentmindedly laid themselves on Alec.

Magnus then groaned and ended his call in a short burst of anger that made Alec jump in surprise.

"I'm gonna need to leave, something came up," Magnus said shortly, irritation coated his tongue. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Alec couldn't help himself from feeling disappointment blooming in his chest.

"I-it's sad that I won't be able to catch you during your break." Magnus' crestfallen expression was almost like a blow to the chest. Alec almost became as angry as Magnus had been at the person who had interrupted their exchange.

Their time together.

He only was able to let an "oh" cross his lips. He looked away, trying to calm himself down. Magnus took a last sip of coffee and stood up. He was on his way to the coat rack to get his dark grey coat. He was putting on his gloves first.

Alec looked a him getting ready to leave. Magnus needing to suddenly go like that was anti-climactic to say the least. It wasn't how he had imagined today to go.

His eyes fell on the package on the table.

Suddenly the adrenaline was pumping in his veins. He stood up almost in panic to stop Magnus who was almost halfway to the door. He couldn't let Magnus go without giving him what he had planned on giving him for months now.

"Magnus," he said, a bit too loud, it even made Jace look up from the counter. "Magnus wait." Magnus was rearranging his scarf so it didn't trap too much of his spiked hair.

"I-" Alec dug into his pocket, his hands grasping the gift he had prepared. "This is for you."

He presented it with an extended hand. His heart was pounding and his ears were ringing and he was certain he was blushing like a lost high school boy. But he didn't have time to care.

Magnus stopped himself in his gestures, his shoulders became relaxed and a curious but surprised expression danced on his face. "What is it ?"

"An omamori charm," Alec managed to rasp out. He was glad his courage had overcome his fear. "It's supposed to bring you luck and protection."

Magnus took the present from his hands. There was a slight tremor to Magnus' fingers as he opened the little bag where the charm laid itself in. His expression was unreadable. Alec was worried for a moment if Magnus was on the verge of tears or elation. There was a lot of things going on Magnus' face, surprise, excitement, sadness, joy. Everything at once.

"Thank you Alexander." The voice was so warm and full of reverence Alec couldn't help but smile. Desperately he wanted to make a step forward.

"I'm sorry I don't have any gift for you specifically." Magnus looked up and the sincerity in his eyes made Alec feel everything he hadn't felt yet.

His heart was aching with a love and adoration he thought he would never get used to.

"Well, there is something," he said. He felt bold, drunk on a happy emotion that would give him all the courage he needed.

He extended his hand, Magnus' palm touched his again and Alec took a step forward. His lips brushing against the softness of Magnus' cheek as he leaned down to kiss Magnus. It was almost electric and tender and Alec was glad he had dared to do what he had always wanted to do.

He perhaps kissed Magnus' cheek slightly longer than what one was supposed to. He held Magnus' hand a second longer before he let it go. Magnus smelled of sandalwood and it was making Alec's mind float.

"Would you," His own voice was still feeling locked up. Their sudden proximity made him feel nervous and yet so familiar and comfortable. "Like to go to have a drink some time ?"

Magnus looked up and Alec had to clench down the need to capture those lips with his. Magnus' smile and twinkling eyes would have brought any man, or woman for that matter, to their knees. There was so much comfort and joy exuding from him, Alec knew he had made the right choice to ask Magnus out.

"Alexander…" Magnus' eyes flicked to his lips and Alec couldn't help himself and licked his own bottom lip. It wouldn't take much. Just a ducking of the head, a leaning forward.

But that wouldn't be for today, would it.

Alec felt his whole stomach flutter as Magnus finally gave his positive reply :

"I'd like that very much, yes." Alec couldn't keep the grin from his face even if he tried.

"My phone number is in the little bag with the charm," He winked and Magnus' own wide smile would made the world around them stop.

"Alexander, you continue to surprise me." Alec felt Magnus' fingers brush the inside of his palm to interlace their fingers. Their warmth intermingled.

There was one last squeeze before Magnus said goodbye and let go.

It wouldn't take 2 minutes before Alec's phone would ping with a new upcoming message from an unknown number asking when Alec's next free day was.

#magnus-the-maqnificent #malecsanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19

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