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klixxy · 4 years

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weekly fic recs

(ft. my bookmark comments - mostly mha and voltron)

boku no hero academia:

what is right and what is easy - theroyalsavage

(bnha; tododeku; fluff + angst; 2k words; oneshot)

Midoriya Izuku is not chosen to represent Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament. He does not slay a dragon, or rescue innocents, or brave a maze of dark magic. He does not win accolades, or fame, or glory.

Instead, Izuku meets the son of the greatest dark wizard of the age, a Durmstrang student with hair like a sunrise and eyes like a war. And maybe, he just might win something else.

If I'm Being Honest.... by I_dont_know_man

(bnha; tododeku; fluff + crack/humor; 26k words; oneshot; truth quirk)

Midoriya scrunched up his nose in confusion. “Uh, Shouto, why are you glaring at me like that?”

“I-” Todoroki began to lie, until nausea slammed him like a door to any room that Bakugou entered. “I--” Todoroki grit his teeth, and glared daggers into the wall behind Midoriya. Goodbye, friendship. It had been absolutely divine while it lasted. “Because you’re very attractive.”

They say honesty is the best policy, but it sure as hell had a knack for Todoroki making a complete and utter fool of himself.

Or: In which Todoroki is placed under a mysterious truth-telling quirk and suffers, Uraraka laughs at him, Midoriya is confused but smitten nonetheless, and Twitter is the thirstiest site on the planet.

paint on our lips (paint on those fingertips) by spicanao

(bnha; tododeku; angst + magical realism; 11k words; oneshot; gallery au)

Galleries are wonderful places. The works seem so vibrant, so beautiful, so alive.

Until they're actually alive.

(Ib AU)

[my bookmarks: holy shit this is beautiful in an odd, poignant, dream-like way]

Todoroki Shouto’s Amateur Guide to Not Fucking Up The Timeline by Anubis_2701

(bnha; tododeku; crack/humor; 13k words; oneshot; time travel; future fic)

All that Todoroki had wanted was milk. Nothing drastic, nothing dramatic, just milk.

Unfortunately, in his quest to get milk, he ended up running into one of the saltiest, most impulsive people this side of the globe. Who also just so happened to have a volatile time-travel quirk.

So yeah, he was fucked. Just slightly. Being punted randomly through time wasn't exactly how he'd wanted to spend his Saturday morning. At least the younger versions of his friends are cute.

awake and (un)afraid, asleep or- by driedupwishes

(bnha; tododeku; fluff + angst + The Feels; 54k words; oneshot; social media/future fic)

“You,” Shoto says, picking his head up from where his screen is filled with The Worst Photograph Ever, curtesy of Shinsou, Jiro, Kaminari, his brother, and nearly everyone they know. “You are so dead to me.”

Kirishima blinks, mouth half open while Izuku mutters oh god, it’s too late, isn’t it on the other end of the phone, before Kirishima is leaning into his space to see his screen.

“Oh,” he says, in response to the photo someone in the crowd of civilians watching the fight had taken of them. “Oh, that’s-” he cuts himself off for a minute, leaning back to eye Shoto’s face while on the other side of the phone Izuku smothers what is probably a laugh, and then changes tracks.

“It’s super manly to love and support your friends,” Kirishima tells Shoto haughtily, as if this whole thing isn't his fault in the first place.

or: Kirishima and Shoto accidentally start trending on Twitter and in retaliation Shoto decides to make an Instagram to showcase all his Hero Deku merchandise, so that everyone knows how much he loves his boyfriend Izuku, and no one expects how quickly it will all spiral out from there

[my bookmarks: broke my heart. i teared up multiple times and even now I'm barely holding back tears.

pure beauty. pulls an incredible amount of emotion from the descriptive language and conveys the love and loneliness and that pulsing ache so well that i thought that my chest would cave in from the force of all the fucking feelings in it. this entire fic was a perfect, awe-inspiring package of fluff, beautiful shoto and class 1a interaction, heartfelt long distance tododeku feels, and almost every single paragraph had my heart fucking squeezing so hard in my chest that i could barely breathe.

i am in awe.]

Hooliganisms by aphrodaisyacs

(bnha; gen/todofam; crack/humor; 17k words; series; social media)

In which an anonymous artist’s street art of Bald Endeavor goes viral, causing a chain of coincidental events and ironic situations to ripple through the lives of everyone- heroes, villains and civilians alike.

[my bookmarks: i'm crying so much from laughter]

Part 1: Where it all begins- the origins of the street artist known as the "Bald Hooligan" and their rise to infamy

Part 2: The spin-off focusing on the unlikely trio whose friendship was borne from the events of Part 1

Daydreaming by AnonymousTwit

(bnha; gen/todobakudeku; angst; 7k words; oneshot; todoroki-centric)

If he'd been more careful, then they'd be fine. If he'd been paying attention, then he wouldn't be alone right now.

But he wasn't and he hadn't, so it's just him, now. It's him, his thoughts, and the unconscious bodies of two of his closest friends as he waits for someone to reach them.

Whether they be friendly or not.

Author has writer's block and coughed up some Todoroki angst in retaliation.

A Study in Firsts by Oceanbreeze7

(bnha; gen; angst + fluff + humor; 76k words; ongoing; class 1a-centric)

There’s a first time for everything.

The first time everyone crammed in Momo’s room to study, a mess of limbs and books on her bed.

The first time Mina burned crepes so badly the smoke alarm went off.

The first time a jumpscare got Sero so badly, he flipped off the back of the couch.

The first time Uraraka fell asleep at the table and accidentally sent it floating.

The first time someone realized Todoroki walked far too quietly, and far too cautiously around the dorms to be normal.

The first time Midoriya broke his toe on a door frame and kept walking through it.

The first time Kirishima woke up screaming through the walls.

The first time Tsuyu blanched at the sight of a needle.

The first time Bakugo dropped, clutching the back of his neck with eyes scarily vacant and detonating everything around him until Aizawa had to intervene.

It wasn’t always pretty, but the dorms were filled with firsts.

Responsibility by deafmic

(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 94k words; series (complete); todoroki-centric; dadzawa + papamic)

“I told you outside,” Aizawa chooses his words carefully, reiterating the same point he’s made before. “My responsibility for you doesn’t end at the classroom. Every part of your life is partially my responsibility. Your father doesn’t scare or intimidate me. If you need help, I can get it for you, but you and I both know that you need to ask for it first.”

Aizawa organizes a way for the students to go home for the holidays. Todoroki Shouto, however, gets left behind by his father. Aizawa, annoyed at Endeavor, takes Shouto under his care for the night, and is joined by a certain Yamada Hizashi.

[my bookmarks: *unholy screaming sobbing noises*

an incredible and emotional journey from start to finish.]

the drip of melting ice by walking_through_autumn

(bnha; gen/platonic shintodo; angst + fluff; 19k words; oneshot; todoroki/shinsou-centric ft. dadzawa)

Aizawa found out within a day. It was quite likely due to the dish Todoroki had washed and left to dry in the shared kitchen after the kitten had been fed off it. Hitoshi was forced to reflect that it wasn’t any good hiding the litter and cat food in their wardrobes if Todoroki was going to make a fundamental mistake like that.

Aizawa stood in his door frame and raised an eyebrow. “Well? Where is the cat?”

Hitoshi gave his most disarming smile. “What cat?”

Todoroki chose that moment to exit his room, eyes on his phone, other hand holding a cat toy. He bumped into Aizawa and looked up slowly, like in a horror movie.

“...oh,” Todoroki said. Aizawa raised the other eyebrow. Hitoshi rubbed a hand down his face.

Herbal tea, weekly floor gatherings, spoiled surprises, movie marathons, shared custody over a cat, rain and ice and blankets and plushies, and the journey of falling into a friendship.

(Or: Hitoshi moves into the 2A dormitory at the beginning of his second year, learns who his neighbour is, and makes the friends he had declared he isn't there to have within the space of a semester.)

Hand in Hand in Hand by kngsbrg (Citlalcoatl)

(bnha; todobakudeku; fluff + strangers to lovers; 10k words; oneshot; tea au)

Boiling the water, choosing the right temperature for the right kind of tea, using quality leaves, scooping the precise amount, and letting it steep for just the perfect time...

All that and more is needed to make a delicious cup of tea.

A business that Shouto was quite knowledgeable about.

Spring begins and brings with it the hint of new fresh air, buds waiting to blossom, and just a bit of change.

[my bookmarks: featuring: oblivious teamaker shoto and pining firemen baku and izu]

even if i die (it's you) by monomoon

(bnha; todobaku; fluff + angst + strangers to lovers; 75k words; complete; paramedic au)

Or; where Todoroki never went to UA and, in rejection of his father's ambitions, became a paramedic; and where pro hero Bakugou Katsuki is just a little bit too intrigued with the heterochromatic man who always glares daggers at him whenever he sees him.

When Bakugou was suddenly and abruptly met with two cold, heterochromatic eyes glaring daggers right back at him, he had two immediate thoughts:

"Why does he look like he's plotting my assassination?"

and

"Why the fuck are his eyes so pretty?"

[my bookmarks: UGH THIS IS JUST FUCKING PHENOMENAL- GORGEOUS LOVELY INCREDIBLE HEARTSTOPPING HEARTBREAKING BEAUTIFUL RIDICULOUSLY GOOD POIGNANT I AM RUNNING OUT OF ADJECTIVES BUT IT'S GREAT TRUST ME AKDHJSFNW]

This Is Now by colormesherlocked

(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort + fluff; 193k words; series (ongoing); todoroki-centric)

Todoroki Shoto will be a hero.

...But not just yet. Right now, Todoroki Shoto is a bitter, pessimistic, hurt teenager who doesn't want help, friends or hinderances of any kind getting in the way of his misguided goals.

Thankfully, there will soon be people in his life who will be more than happy to drag him into a place of happiness, safety, and acceptance - kicking and screaming the whole way, if they have to. All he has to do is survive his first meeting with them and all the incredible changes that will come after.

This is Todoroki Shoto's Hero Academia.

(Semi-canon compliant up to a point and told from Todoroki Shoto's POV.)

the league of anti-villains by aizawa_wears_crocs (avenris), avenris

(bnha; gen; angst + fluff + humor; 35k words; ongoing; todobakushinmono-centric)

When he's secretly tasked to find the UA traitor, Todoroki isn't expecting help. He's especially not expecting it from the three other first year students perceived as villainous in their own ways. Unfortunately for him, Shinsou, Monoma and Bakugou have all got something to prove, and his solo mission turns into a team effort that rapidly spirals far beyond what they were expecting to find - but hey, they're in too deep now.

Or: in which the gang solves the mystery of the traitor feat. todoroki family shenanigans, copious amounts of dadzawa, backstory for my favorite 1-B gremlin, and good old-fashioned illegal vigilantism.

such eloquent graffiti by firelilyblooms

(bnha; todobaku; angst + hurt/comfort; 9k words; oneshot; todoroki-centric; future fic)

Todoroki Shouto is sitting cross-legged at his coffee table, hunched over a bowl of instant ramen, when he finds out along with the rest of the world that the Flame Hero, Endeavor, is dead.

Or, Shouto's guide to dealing with death.

[my bookmarks: i am in ✨pain✨:)]

Tell-All by HopeNight

(bnha; todofam; angst; 4k words; oneshot; todofam/natsuo-centric)

When Natsuo is twenty-years-old, he publishes a tell-all book on his father and growing up in his house. This starts a domino effect, of course. With the book comes an investigation and sets the groundwork for the Hawks scandal in several years’ time that will see the disbandment of the Heroic Public Safety Commission and the ascension of pro hero Deku to the Number One slot. This will also lead to a decades long chain of change and progress with Deku wielding his influence and charisma like a sword and shield to make society and the world a little better than when he found it.

In essence, you can say, that Todoroki Natsuo is the true hero of this story with his fake quirk and an anger burning in his gut. Just one small book and suddenly…everything changes. The future is brighter for its existence. The curtains are thrown back and the light begins its work to disinfect and cleanse.

When Todoroki Shouto is in his second year of UA, his brother, Natsuo, publishes a tell-all book of essays about growing up in Endeavor's house.

This is Natsuo's story about how he really changed the path of things.

like an open wound by filzmonster

(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 5k words; oneshot; todoroki-centric; manga spoilers)

It's a Sunday and Shouto is making gyoza in the dorm kitchen - or: It's a Sunday and Todoroki has an existential crisis over food.

[my bookmarks: oh my GODDDDDDDDD

*screeches while crying**is a blubbering mess*]

Shouto Todoroki and His Stuffed Eeyore (And Also Childhood Trauma) by ThatSpicySeaFlapFlap

(bnha; gen; angst + MORE ANGST; 42k words; complete; todoroki-centric)

Aizawa looked him in the eye, placed a gentle hand around his bicep (not like Endeavor, his father had only ever touched him with the intention to burn) and asked, “Are you okay?”

People don’t usually ask him things. They like to tell him things, like where to sit or what to wear or how to talk or how to be a hero or how to be himself.

‘Am I okay?’ He thought. He realized he doesn’t ask himself things, either.

Shouto didn’t have an answer to Aizawa’s question, so instead he said:

“A very long time ago, my mother did something....highly upsetting.” The boy was tracing the outline of his scar, his calloused finger stopping and jumping around the bumps and ridges of the burnt skin. “Something today reminded me of that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” His teacher asked.

“No.”

“Okay. I’m here when you do. I’m always here, kid.” Shouto only responded with a sob. He felt as if he’d earned that right after all the emotional labor he had been put through tonight.

days by chibistarlyte

(bnha; todobaku; angst + hurt/comfort; 19k words; series (complete); todoroki-centric)

Most days, Shouto is fine.

But some days...

Some days, Shouto falls apart.

Location Sent by sunflowerstorm

(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 15k words; oneshot; todoroki-centric; third year 1a)

In their first year at UA Midoriya sent his location to the class 1-A group chat during the Hosu incident because he didn't have time to do anything else before rushing to Iida's aid.

Now in their second year, Todoroki sends his location to the group chat at 6:30am on a Saturday morning after going home for the weekend. Midoriya knows immediately that something is very wrong and takes off, Bakugo hot on his heels.

-----

"They’d known each other long enough to be able to communicate practically wordlessly. The quiet rage on Midoriya's face was extremely telling, this was bad. Bakugo braced himself as Midoriya shuffled to the side to show where his hands were hovering over what was most certainly a burn and a serious one at that. Todoroki’s own fire didn’t burn him but they all knew that didn’t make him fire proof. Bakugo could do the math."

Faith by phinnium

(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 7k words; oneshot; todoroki-centric; manga spoilers)

"You wanted to open a case?"

Aizawa frowned, "uh, yeah. Someone showed you Dabi's video, didn't they? And I don't doubt Todoroki himself has told you bits and pieces."

Izuku did not expect this to be how the conversation went.

"Yeah. But Todoroki isn't being hurt now. He's fine. Endeavour's changed."

Or: Midoriya trusts the Hero Commission far more than he should, especially given the situation at hand. Todoroki isn't available to explain what's what, so Aizawa and Bakugou do it instead.

(Written after the release of issue 293 of the manga, and in the aftermath of the current arc. Spoilers ahead.)

Incendiary by macrauchenia

(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 17k words; ongoing (hiatus?); todoroki-centric)

"You're going to die, little Todoroki. And if you don't, your classmates will instead."

A training exercise backfires when Izuku and Todoroki become tangled in an escaped villain's vendetta against Endeavor. Alone in a perilous situation due to the villain's barrier quirk, Todoroki must take desperate and creative measures to save his classmates.

[Class 1-A Teamwork/Bonding]

Parallax by petrichor (findingkairos)

(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort + fluff; 64k words; ongoing; todoroki-centric)

Todoroki Shouto has memories that he didn't make on his own, motor skills that his brain doesn't know how to parse, and a love of science and mathematics and physics that means he broke down his Quirk into its most intricate, universe-bending components at the age of seven.

In one universe, he wants to become a hero. In this one, even though he doesn't want to, he might have to.

(Featuring: a rapidly developing Shoutosquad, Quirk science, headcanons of all flavors, healthy and supportive sibling and sibling-like relationships, and Dadzawa.)

[notes: one of my current favorite fics that i’m eagerly following for the next update. :D]

Caturdays by staqua (aka my fav todobaku author)

(bnha; todobaku; fluff + angst + enemies to lovers; 10k words; oneshot)

"Hmm... It's lunchtime now isn't it? You should have lunch with him."

"With Bakugou?" He blanched. "I think he would refuse and then murder me."

Rei chuckled softly as if death was a joke and held his hand tenderly. "If he's in the hospital, someone he cares about must not be well. I think anyone going through that should have a nice meal with good company."

"You overestimate me," Shouto pointed out and she gave another laugh.

OR: Shouto's usual Saturdays included visits to his mother and the cat cafe; he wasn't expecting Bakugou to get thrown in the mix.

voltron: legendary defender:

*hacks twitter in space* by Zakyuu

(vld x marvel; gen/klance; crack/humor + fluff; 17k words; social media au; ongoing)

the voltron paladins arent as popular as the avengers, obviously — in fact, no one even knows they exist. but they still radiate the same kind of dumb gay energy like the rest of the world.

or: pidge somehow manages to connect voltron's communicators onto earth and virtually nothing is the same. voltron also collectively makes everyone lose their marbles while they play hot potato with the fact that theyre in a ten thousand year war with the galra.

the fear of falling by amillionsmiles

(vld; gen; angst + fluff; character study; 3k words; oneshot; keith-centric)

Keith can pull off a downward spiral. It's the kind of maneuver he does in his sleep.

[my bookmarks: stunning. beautiful. breathtaking. poignant.]

Recoil/Release by Cheshyr

(vld; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 22k words; oneshot; keith-centric)

When Keith is bitten by an alien creature with venom that causes your dominant emotions to be amplified, the team is ready for a day of dealing with an incredibly angry paladin.

Which means they're not ready at all for what actually happens.

hound by story_monger

(vld; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 47k words; oneshot; keith-centric)

Keith has a lot of practice being alone; you might almost say he's good at it. When he finds himself seriously injured and stranded on an unknown planet, he knows he's not alone there. And here's the worst part: even after rescue and after things return to normal, Keith gets the distinct sense that whatever was on that planet has followed him. He doesn't have proof. But he knows it's there. He knows it's not going to stop until it gets what it wants.

Keith's 'Physical Contact' Initiation Program by alisayamin (sh_04e)

(vld; gen; fluff+ angst + hurt/comfort; 26k words; oneshot; keith-centric)

Keith didn’t move and neither did Pidge. It was a little awkward until Keith finally said, “Maybe we could officially officiate this..?”

“What do you mean?”

“Fist me.”

Pidge recoiled and sputtered, “Keith, what the f-” She was cut off by Shiro’s bellowing laughter from the observatory deck.

With his straight face unchanged, Keith lowered his left hand with the stopwatch and lifted his right hand, fisted.

Pidge actually sighed with so much relief, “OH. You mean fistbump! Right.” She slapped her forehead to remove the very very wrong image her imagination drew for her, “Holy shit, Keith, we need to work on that but yeah sure, I’d be honoured to officiate your physical contact program whatever.”

That one time Coran realized Keith was too distant and decided to make him undergo the 'Physical Contact' Initiation Program which then led to --> 5 times the paladins realized Keith was an actual cat.

The Red String by Le_Tournesol

(vld; gen/klance; angst + fluff; 19k words; series (ongoing); keith-centric; pre-voltron au)

Lance and Keith keep coming across one another at different points in their lives.

[my bookmarks: this is so sad and sweet and lovely]

All that is gold does not glitter by Rangergirl3

(vld; gen; angst + fluff + hurt/comfort; 28k words; complete; keith-centric)

Keith isn't what most would call a 'people' person, but that doesn't stop him from caring about his team.

aka

Five Times the other Paladins learned something about Keith, and the One Time he learned something about them.

[my bookmarks: fuck. just- fuck.]

Miscommunication Celebration by SleepySsnail

(vld; gen; fluff + hurt/comfort; 4k words; oneshot; keith-centric; birthday fic)

Keith was never too focused on his birthday, but when it rolls around he hopes his team remembers it. When Keith's birthday is full of quality time and fun, he doesn't even question why his friends haven't said "happy birthday" to him.

Or: Where Keith thinks everyone is celebrating his birthday when they really forgot about it.

Keithtober 2019 Day 23: Birthday

avatar: the last airbender:

Change of Address by hearmerory

(atla; gen/zukka; ANGST + fluff + hurt/comfort; 89k words; series (ongoing); zuko-centric; modern au)

A collection of instances in a modern AU of Zuko's shitty childhood, featuring Ozai's dislike of his son's autism and sexuality.

[my bookmarks: FUCK F U C K WHAT THE ACTUAL F U C K.

I CAN'T WITH THIS ANYMORE.]

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purrincess-chat · 3 years

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Cat’s Not-All-Encompassing Character Ranking

Okay, so I have to admit that I omitted a lot of characters I don't have strong opinions on. Most of them were one-off akumas, so don't get your panties in a twist, your faves are probably still on here (and ranked lower than you think).

As a preface again, these are just my personal opinions. They can't hurt you. You can still like characters more or less than me. And I don't care how you feel about them. This list is for me. And the person that asked for it. So shut up. Go make your own rank list if you’re so butthurt.

We're going in reverse order this time, starting from the bottom:

84. Gabriel Agreste- I mean, is anyone surprised? I am not private about how I think Gabriel should go to jail. Or fall off a cliff. Or be erased from existence. Rip to those that like him, but I’m different.

83. Thomas Astruc- Honestly, he’s down here on principle. Self-inserts are generally a no-no, and I just laugh every time I see him on screen because he really put himself in this show and said boohoo no one appreciates me XD

82. Bob Roth- I feel like this one should also be obvious. He’s just a dick. Terrible human. I give him 0 stars.

81. Tomoe Tsurugi- We all collectively hate her, right? It’s not just me?

80. Su Han- This mans has small peepee energy. And he bad mouthed Fu, so get FUCKED, my dude.

79. Rolland Dupain- Listen, I get it, he liked Marinette in the end, but I could do without the racism.

78. Nathalie Sancoeur- My opinion of Nathalie took a nosedive after the s2 finale. I just do not care that she is in love with her boss. Don’t care that she’s dying. Just do not have it in me.

77. XY- Justin Bieber ass wannabe.

76. Nora Cesiare- I didn’t care for Nora. I know Thomas loves her, but the overbearing sibling trope is tired.

75. Anarka Couffaine- I underestimated how much I don’t really like her. Like, it’s not full-on hate, but I just do not care for her.

74. Otis Cesaire- Got akumatized because a kid said he could outrun a panther. I’m still not over it, Otis.

73. Andre Bourgeois- No love for the crooked mayor. I hope your wife divorces you.

72. Alec Cataldi- The real villain of Stormy Weather. Like fr why is he such an asshole?

71. Roger Raincomprix- Is Officer Roger just doing his best? Sometimes. But like sometimes this mans just needs to take a chill pill.

70. M. D'Argencourt- Please get out of the 1600s

69. Ella/Etta- These two are basically the same character, and I am indifferent to both of them.

68. KnightOwl/Barbara- Listen, I would have liked you more if you were less controlling.

67. Majestia- Same as above, but like I guess I like you more

66. Theo- *Mean Girls principal voice* Stay away from underaged girls!

65. Andre the ice cream man- I just want a scoop of chocolate, Andre. Is that too much to ask??

64. Amelie Graham de Vanily- We haven’t seen much of her, but she seems like a snake bitch.

63. M. Kubdel- I mean, if my son wanted to resurrect an ancient mummy and believed in aliens, I’d give the family heirloom to my daughter too.

62. Jalil Kubdel- Lolol, buddy, pal, dude, my guy. Chill.

61. Vincent (Adrien's photographer)- Head empty. Mom’s spaghetti. Idk he’s alright.

60. Manon- I don’t hate Manon. She just gets on my nerves every time she talks.

59. M. Ramier- This mans got akumatized a billion times because he gets emotional about pigeons. I mean, honestly mood.

58. Mme. Mendeleiev- She doesn’t put up with Chloe’s shit, and we respect her for this.

57. Baby August- Someone just give this mans some food. He’s a growing boy.

56. Santa Claus- If I were Santa, I too would list Ladybug as the best kid in the world.

55. Art Teacher- He doesn’t even have a name, but I vibe with him. He seems like he likes to paint scenes of nature with his pet squirrels.

54. Prince Ali- Lil mans just wanted to have a good time. I can respect that.

53. Duusu- Duusu, I get that your Miraculous was broken, but get with the program, girl. You is a hostage.

52. Other Kwamis- Idk, all the ones we haven’t seen as much. I don’t have real opinions on them yet. Just neutral.

51. Sass- He gives me dad vibes.

50. M. Damocles- You go, you funky owl man

49. Jean (Chloe's Butler)- He deserves a raise. What is your name, sir? We may never know.

48. Mireille Caquet- She’s pretty cute. No complaints.

47. Aurore Beaureal- Baby’s first akuma. I love her design. She’s a cutie.

46. Claudie Kante (Max’s mom)- This womans just wanted to go to space and live her dream. We stan a hardworking queen.

45. Hot Dog Dan- I like him more than Andre the ice cream fraud. Sure, my hotdog might turn me purple, but if I ask for chili on it, I bet he’d oblige.

44. Nadja Chamack- I mean, she’s doing her best.

43. Audrey Bourgeois- So, as I said in the episode ranking, I have a love-hate relationship with Audrey. She’s the worst, but that’s why I love her. I love her ironically. Like, yeah she’s atrocious, but I just want to watch her burn the world.

42. Luka Couffaine- Directly in the middle, like he’s always been.

41. Nathaniel Kurtzberg- My opinion of Nath improved after Reverser surprisingly. I ship it.

40. Chris Lahiffe- I like Chris better than Ella/Etta. He’s just a little mans out here living life wanting to grow up. Don’t believe it, Chris. Stay little forever. Being an adult suuuuucks.

39. Fang the Crocodile- The goodest boy.

38. Nooroo- I just want to give him a hug.

37. Mlle. Bustier- She’s doing her best, but I mean, when ya whole class keeps getting turned into supervillains, I’m surprised she’s not an alcoholic.

36. Penny Rolling- I just like her. I think she’s neat.

35. Ondine- Mermaid queen! She’s so sweet, and I love her with Kim. I hope we see more of her in the future.

34. Marc Anciel- Marc is a little cutie bean. Idc if he’s based off one of Thomas’s irl friends. He can stay.

33. Wayzz- He loves Master Fu so much I cry.

32. Felix Graham de Vanily- I know everyone hates canon Felix, but tbh he exudes massive chaotic neutral gremlin energy, and I actually kinda vibe with that. And he pisses with his uncle which is a whole ass mood.

31. Tikki- Tikki is very cute, but bby please work on the preaching. You don’t always know what’s right, babe.

30. Sabrina Raincomprix- Sabrina deserves better. I hope we see good things happen for her.

29. Lila Rossi- Surprised? I actually like Lila. The first fic I ever wrote for this fandom was a Lila redemption. I think she is a good antagonist and foil to Marinette. I absolutely want to see her get dunked on in canon, but that doesn’t mean I hate her.

28. Wayhem- I don’t know why, but Wayhem makes me laugh. I love him XD

27. Uncle Cheng- He’s just a good mans with a birb who wants to make you tasty food. What’s not to like?

26. Trixx- Trixx shot up after GoS. Chaotic bean make Eiffel Tower go bendy

25. Jess- She’s pretty cool. She’s a vibe.

24. Aeon- The cutest bean!!! She saw Adrien and Marinette and said yep. Those two are meant to be together. Jess, we gotta make it happen.

23. Ivan Bruel- Ivan is such a gentle bean. We love him.

22. Mylene Haprele- Smol

21. Fei Wu- I still have not watched the Shanghai special with subs, but I liked her.

20. Gina Dupain- The grandma I aspire to be.

19. Marianne Lenoir- I love her. She is good. She and Fu are so cute. And she seems like she would have kicked le ass back in the day. (and even now)

18. Rose Lavillant- I am so excited for Pigella!! Rose is too cute. We love her.

17. Gorilla- aka Adrien’s real dad. If the series doesn’t end with Gabriel getting yeeted into the stratosphere and Gorilla adopting Adrien, I don’t want it.

16. Clara Nightingale- She’s in love with Marinette. You can’t change my mind. 16 is also how old I hc her to be, so don’t nobody come for me.

15. Tom Dupain- Most. Supportive. Dad. Soft bean. Just wants to make you fresh bread.

14. Sabine Cheng- Good mom vibes. We love to see her.

13. Juleka Couffaine- Shy goth bean. Just wants to have her picture taken. Definitely a lesbian. We stan.

12. Nino Lahiffe- The goodest boy. He’s just out here doing his best, loving his friends.

11. Chloe Bourgeois- Chloe is another one I have a love-hate relationship with. Her brattiness is funny to me. We had high hopes for her. Honestly, she ranks this high because I like to play with her in fic.

10. Max Kante- He smol and smort. And I adore his friendship with Kim and the fact that he made an AI himself at 14. What a legend.

9. Alya Cesaire- Rip to Alya salters, but I’m different. Outside of Chameleon, Alya is fine. She’s a supportive bff. All yall people that are mad she doesn’t kiss Marinette’s ass all the time need to go out and make real friends. I said what I said.

8. Alix Kubdel- I love Alix. I love how she is always so done with all the lovey-dovey bullshit. She is tiny queen, and Bunnix, while OP af, is still super cool. We love to see her.

7. Kagami Tsurugi- I will fight anyone who shits on Kagami. She has done nothing wrong, you guys are just haters. All she did was exist, and yall said, wow what a toxic bitch?? Disgraceful.

6. Jagged Stone- We are going to ignore the deadbeat dad trope that canon thrust upon him. He is a Marinette stan, and we love that.

5. Kim Le Chien- I really love Kim, you guys. Does that surprise you? Listen, my favorite male character types are sweet beans and himbos. Kim is both of these.

4. Master Fu- If you didn’t pick up on how much I love Fu from the episodes ranking, then idk what to tell you. I want him to be my grandpa. I would trust this mans with my life. He did his best. You paint those pictures, you funky little man. I love you.

3. Plagg- My galaxy trash man. Love him. 10/10 chefs kisses all around.

2. Adrien Agreste- The biggest Marinette stan there is. I just want him to kiss her on the face. And marry her. Idk, I just think that would be neat if he could do that. I just want good things for them.

1. Marinette Dupain-Cheng- Honestly, are you surprised? I have always been and always will be a Marinette stan. If you expected anyone else to be in this spot, then clown suit rentals are off to the left.

#cat speaks #cat spoils #character ranking #okay fr tho dont ever ask me for anything ever again #take your complaints to your dashboard button and off my blog #idc if you dont like my ranks #theyre not for you #heck off

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gogo-karasuno · 4 years

Note

Hi Gogo! Im hopping on a bandwagon but I have been looking for some HinaKen×Fem!Reader and you are like the only person on Tumblr I have found who writes it! Headcannons or a scenario, whatever you want, go wild! (Btw, I am so glad you are writing! My poly shipping heart is so happy!)

I love getting to write for KenHina so much! Thank you so much! 🧡🖤🧡

- -

- When you meet the Hinata family there is a competition between Natsu and her mom over who loves you and Kenma more. The both of you are absolutely adored from the second you step foot into their home. Natsu may win the competition. She tells Shouyou point blank, “If you ever break up with them then you have to leave.”

- Hinata wants to teach you to play volleyball, if you don’t already know how to play, because he wants to share his passions. He also wants to teach you and Kenma how to play beach volleyball. Kenma gives him a Look because Beach Volleyball is even harder. For the regular games he cajoles Kenma into tossing for him. Protests against it are met with “You need fresh air and exercise still!” and also that sun bright smile. Really, can you turn Hinata down when he smiles at you?

- On his Femme Days, Kenma borrows some of your clothes. Be it a sweater, blouse, skirt, or what have you. Does he own his own femme things? Yes. In fact, he owns a lot of things. But none of those things are Girlfriend Clothes and those are infinitely better. Regardless of time he is an absolute fiend who “borrows” your hair ties, clips, and headbands. Also, super soft gender neutral things. He totally shares with you. As an add-on, Hinata totally braids both of your hair.

- Hinata absolutely loves to pick both of you up and carry you around. Expect to be occasionally tossed onto the bed while both of you are laughing. He carries Kenma to bed a lot. A few times he’s scooped both of you up at the same time. Hinata feels like a superhero cause he’s holding up his world. The two of you, both super aware of how clumsy he can be, are like, “Please don’t drop us or knock something over.” But, how happy he is can be infectious.

- Kenma gets super distracted between his streams and businesses. So, he isn’t the best at remembering to eat. Even after that he has to be reminded to eat a vegetable. However, he is super into 3am milkshakes. If you happen to find yourself awake at this time expect to be invited to this tradition. Sometimes he makes his own but other times they are ordered out from somewhere. His absolute favorites are apple pie milkshakes that are basically vanilla ice cream with little bits of pie crust, cooked apples, apple pie spice, and possibly some caramel blended together.

- Hinata is very much an early riser. There is a nice schedule he keeps of morning run, breakfast, shower, and then meditation. Kenma is the exact opposite of this. Sometimes he elects to be awake all night on his own but other times there are streams or overseas phone calls to be made. One of them is basically Cinderella rising with songs and birds helping them dress. The other is a wet cat hissing at the abomination of sunrise.

- Everyone who follows Kenma’s channels and social media are a little bit in love with you and Hinata. Streams have also been crashed by accident. Hinata stopped by to be like, “We’re going to play volleyball. Please come toss for us?” Social Media went wild about “Holy shit that’s the Black Jackals Opposite.” There may have been a tiny resurgence of Nekoma Popularity to see Teenage!Kodzuken playing volleyball. You could have stopped by for anything ranging from “We’re making smoothies. Want one?” to walking in talking about your day. Kenma starts using you both as models for some of his merchandise on his various accounts. It’s still not enough because his fans love you two almost as much as they love his videos.

- Hinata loves to spoil both of you by making lunch or dinner some days. The specific meals tend to be something he had in Brazil. You’ve both had Japanese Food loads of time but this is New. It takes effort to find an international grocery store that carries some of the ingredients or to find a place to order it online. But he really does try to be as authentic as possible. Other times, he aims for a Brazilian-Japanese fusion. Some of the experiments are absolutely amazing. Others...well he tried.

- You and Hinata are both self-heating body pillows for Kenma. I see him as being somewhat touch oriented for affection with lovers because talking isn’t his thing. Expect him to just collapse on top of you at various times. There is zero shame on his part as he gets comfortable to play a game, check emails, or just to relax. You get bonus points for running your hands through his hair. He really is very cat-like.

- You have a Sims Family of the three of you. It took a lot of mods to get the details fine tuned including poly relationships, a volleyball career, and way better clothing. But, it totally happened. Your family really is the absolute cutest to the point sometimes pictures make their way to Twitter or Instagram. The best ones have side by side comparisons to their real counterparts showing the same behavior.

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lu-undy · 4 years

Text

Chapter 40 - SBT

Here it is!

"V, hello."

Lucien entered the diner with Perle at the end of the leash and harness.

"Oh, is that you L? Do you always show up with a different disguise?" Victoria observed his face with as much attention as confusion.

"It is part of the fun of my job. One day you wear a mask, the next, your face is, let's say, re-arranged." He removed his gloves elegantly and slipped them in his pocket.

"Re-arranged? Did you get into a fight?"

"Please, can we discuss this at my table?"

"Sure, of course. And hello you, little girl…!" Victoria crouched down to greet Perle and the kitten hissed.

"Perle…" Lucien said and Perle hid behind his ankles. "As always, my apologies, this little cat has mysterious ways of choosing her friends."

"I'm used to it now. Go to your table, I'll be just a moment."

Lucien nodded and saw that indeed the diner was more filled than the last time he had been in.

"Meow?" Perle was struggling to climb the banquette and reach her master's lap.

"Oui, mon bébé."

[Yes, my baby.]

He scooped the kitten off the floor and put her on the table. Of course, Perle resumed her never-ending war with the paper towel coming out of the shiny metal dispenser.

Soon enough, Victoria arrived at their table.

"So, what will you take?"

"A coffee and a croissant… May I have some milk for Perle, please?"

"Sure."

"And for you?" Lucien asked.

"I think I'll take some lemonade."

"Add it to my bill as usual, please."

"Thanks, L. I'll be right back." Victoria spun on her heels and went away.

Meanwhile, just as Perle thought she was winning against the paper towel, the little metal box seemed to actually give her a second one. How dared it? But the kitten was stubborn and went to defeat her second worst enemy after paper towels: more paper towels.

"Here we are, coffee and croissant for you, small plate with milk for the baby and a lemonade for me." Victoria sat down.

"Merci, V. Perle, here is your milk."

When Perle saw the milk, she stopped fighting and instantly headed for the small plate.

"Meow!" She mewled and hissed as the paper towel was stuck to her claws and refused to let go of her. She tumbled on the table, trying awkwardly to get rid of the clingy sheet of paper.

"Je vais t'aider."

[Let me help you.]

Lucien removed it from her carefully and Perle gave it a last hiss before going to lap the milk.

"She's grown up nicely." Victoria said.

"You think so?"

"Oh, yeah. At first she did look a bit on the skinny side but now she seems much more healthy."

"I am delighted you see a good change on her." Lucien said. "I try my best."

"I know, I know, she's your baby."

"Indeed she is." Lucien patted Perle's head.

"So, L, what's up?"

"Not much."

"Obviously there's something new!" Victoria said.

"What?"

"Your face is covered in bandages! I know you're older than me, but surely you're not a mummy yet, are you?" She tilted her head on the side.

Lucien smiled.

"You are the second person who compares me with a mummy."

"Who was the first?" She asked and Lucien raised his eyes from his coffee cup to her.

"The same man responsible for these bandages."

"Who's that?"

"M." He answered.

"Oh, shit I'm sorry…" Victoria said, visibly concerned. She put a hand to her mouth.

"Why the distraught face?" Lucien asked.

"Because you… You like him. If he beat you up, chances are what he feels for you is at the other end of liking."

"On the contrary." Lucien answered with a pleased grin.

"What?! He beat you up cause he likes you?"

Lucien chuckled.

"I would not know. But I think he doesn't hate me."

"Why?"

"I lied to him about a lot of things. When he discovered the truth, he confronted me. I told him that indeed I did lie and the only way he could satisfy his will for justice was to redecorate my face with a few punches."

"What the hell is wrong with you two…?"

"After that, and having knocked me out, he took me to a doctor. He told me he participated in putting the bandages around my face and he spent the entire night by my side until I woke up the next day."

Victoria frowned.

"You two are weird."

"Meow."

"See? She agrees." Victoria pointed at Perle. The kitten's lips were soaked in milk as she tried again to lick it all clean, she still struggled.

Lucien smiled and his eyes went from Perle to Victoria.

"She might," He said. "But Perle lets him approach her and she even slept in his hands."

"Seriously?"

"I am absolutely serious. I have never seen her behave this way with any other stranger."

"Well that means she doesn't see him as a stranger at all, hm?"

"I guess so."

Lucien finished with his coffee and croissant and cleaned Perle's face with a paper towel, which she appreciated greatly, as usual…

"So, L?" Victoria asked.

"Oui?"

"Do you think he… likes you?"

His eyebrow ever so slightly twitched.

"I do not know. All I know is that he was kind enough to not let me wake up disfigured in the middle of the desert with no means of coming back to town. More than that, he maintained me alive and well, and made all the efforts for that."

"So he likes you?"

"I do not know and in a way, I would prefer it if he didn't." Lucien answered.

"What?!" Victoria opened wide eyes. "I thought you l-"

"I do." He interrupted her and Victoria saw he was irritated. "To my greatest surprise, I do. But if he makes me believe that he does too, then surely that will end in suffering. I do not want it, nor can I emotionally afford it."

Lucien stood up and took the kitten's leash again. Perle jumped down to his seat and then to the floor, ready to follow him.

"But if you both-?"

"Non, please, Victoria." Lucien closed his eyes and frowned. "Please, do not get involved in this and do not try anything. It is painful enough as it is."

"Painful?"

Lucien lowered his head.

"As you wish, L… But I think he likes you too. I don't know if it's as much as you, but he does."

Lucien opened his eyes and nodded.

"Thank you. I will see you later."

"See ya!"

A few hours later, Lucien was in the streets again but this time, without Perle. He was on his motorcycle, driving to Maurice's street. He didn't want to meet with the king of beggars yet, he was going to see the Doctor. When he reached the place, Lucien stopped the motorcycle and removed his helmet. As usual, he trusted the few kids that gathered around it to guard them for him before entering.

Lucien found the Doctor at a desk, on the phone. He nodded to him to let him know he was there and waited outside. When the door opened again, the Doctor peeked his head out.

"Come in, L."

"Merci."

They entered the house and Lucien followed him to a room where they sat down around a desk.

"So, what brings you here? Are the pills not strong enough to kill the pain?"

"Oh, yes, they are. Non, I wanted to ask a few things if you don't mind."

"Of course, go ahead."

"It is about M, the night he brought me here."

The Doctor nodded.

"How did it all happen?" Lucien asked.

"Well, he was carrying you in his arms. He asked someone who was in the street to open the door for him and I heard him call for me from upstairs and at the other end of the house. I was asleep so I woke up with a fright, put on a gown and came hurtling down the stairs…

'Doc', please, can you do something?' M was pale and his breath was fast. I had to do a double take to understand it was M under that fancy costume, eh.

'Bring him on the bed there… Hm, he is still breathing. Stay with him one second, I need a few things.'

I rushed to get everything necessary to clean your wounds.

'What happened?'

'I… I beat him up. Bugger, I didn't think I could hit that hard… Will he make it?'

'Wait, M, patience, I need to clean this mess.'

I cleaned your wounds while M was pacing the room. His heels tick-tocked fast on the wooden floor. He would have eaten his hat out of worry. When I finished and could see your face clearly, I started talking to M.

'Did you just punch his face?'

'No, I punched his stomach too…'

'M, do you have any extra clothes nearby? We need to get him out of this outfit. It is very tight.'

'I-I'll get something, I'll be quick!'

He disappeared and I was alone with you for a few minutes; five, maybe ten. When I heard a knock on the door again, it was him with a fresh pile of clothes.

'If he makes it, he'll kill me for what I'm givin' him to wear, let alone the beating…'

'Thank you, M. Wait outside, I need to change him.'

'Alright, but give me a shout when you're done, alright?'

'I will.'

M exited the room and I started to remove your clothes and change you. You were still knocked out so it wasn't too hard. When I was done, I told M he could come in again.

'Gosh, his face…'

He rushed to you and I could tell by the way his hands hovered above your face that he wanted to help. So I suggested he helped me with the bandages.

'Yeah, sure, anythin' I can do… But Doc', will he be alright?'

'Why did you beat him up this time?'

M sighed and we both started to wrap your head with the bandages.

'He… He lied to me about a lot of things when we're supposed to work together. I… I never lied about anything, I always told him the truth and followed whatever he said without questioning it. It felt unfair…'

'And you beat him up for it?'

M nodded.

'Something strikes me, M. I know he can fight. Last time, the both of you came in with bruises. Why didn't he fight back this time?'

'I don't know. I find it weird too. I expected him to punch back, but no. He let himself be beaten up, I don't know why.'

'I see. And why after you beat him up with no doubt the intention to kill him, why do you bring him to me?'

'Because part of me doesn't want to kill him. He has a lot to explain. He passed out before he actually had the chance to tell me the truth. But also… I mean… I can't do this without him.'

'I see. May I say, it is quite odd to see you work with someone. For as long as I remember, I have only seen you work alone.'

'This is a different job. I'm not just going after poachers.'

'No, it is true, for once, you are off to kill a man, hm?'

M raised sorry eyes to me.

'Maurice told me, and he told me that I might see you two coming from time to time.'

We finished the bandages and I had a last inspection at them.

'I think he is all patched up. There isn't much we can do about it.'

'Doc', please, tell me he's fine…'

'M, you beat him up to a pulp. Do you think he is ok? And have you stopped to ask yourself why he was lying to you? Maybe he should, maybe it's in your interest too.'

M sighed and stared at your face. He couldn't raise his eyes to me.

'No, I haven't thought of that.'

'I don't know what his reasons are, all I know is that when he wakes up, he won't be happy about the way you treated him.'

That's when M raised his eyes to me.

'What d'you mean?'

'M, he is risking his skin as much as you are. Maybe he is not showing it as much as you, but he is. Whatever your plan is to get that man and kill him, he is part of it too and from what you told me, you need him. You need him, yes, but he needs you too. Otherwise he wouldn't burden himself with someone who punches him every other week, hm? He doesn't seem like the type who usually needs someone with him, like you.'

'Doc'?'

'Yes?'

'Can I stay?'

'Yes. Let me know when he wakes up.'

And that's all I saw, L. After that, M stayed with you the entire night."

Lucien had followed the entire story and nodded from time to time.

"Is that all, Docteur?"

[Doctor?]

"I think so… Ah! Actually, a little detail. After I shut the door and left, I went to wash my hands and I happened to pass by your door. I heard him. He was talking to you, or to himself."

"What did he say?" Lucien asked.

"I couldn't understand the words, he wasn't speaking too loud and the door muffled everything. After that, I went to bed myself."

"I see." Lucien was processing it all. "Well, thank you again for your help and for the information."

"No problem. Uhm, since you're here, we could change the bandages if you have a minute."

"Please."

Lucien and the Doctor went to the room Lucien had stayed in a few days before and the medical expert got to work. He removed the bandages slowly and took a look.

"How do I look?"

"Still a lot of scars and quite a bit of blood. Let's disinfect this, clean it up and put new bandages."

"May I see first?"

"Of course, go to the bathroom, there's a mirror there."

"Merci."

A minute later, Lucien returned.

"How do you find yourself?"

"Disfigured would be exaggerated. Not pleasing to the eye is, on the other hand, very adequate…"

"I agree with you."

The Doctor got busy and in a few minutes, Lucien's face was cleaned and bandaged again.

"You can ask M to do it for you. I showed him how to."

"I could indeed. Thank you, Docteur."

[Doctor.]

"You're welcome. And good luck."

Lucien exited the house and hopped on his motorcycle again. He drove off back home, the wheels of his motorcycle swallowed the asphalt beneath him as his mind rolled on the Doctor's words, again and again, like a broken disc.

M had helped bandage him. He had stayed with him all night long, watching over him. And he had fetched some of his own clothes…

Lucien smiled like an idiot under the helmet.

He had washed M's clothes but even after that, they still smelled of him, his cheap cologne, the kind of things that would make Lucien tear up given the strength of it. But he liked that smell on M. Oui, he had slept two nights with that atrociously washed away red polo shirt. He had held the collar close to his nose all night long…

The Frenchman arrived at his hotel again and went straight to his room.

"Meow!"

Perle came running as she usually did and Lucien went to his knees to welcome her in his hands.

"Mon bébé… Comme ça me fait plaisir de rentrer à la maison et de retrouver!"

[My baby… How pleasant it is to come back home to you!]

Perle purred and mewled as she brushed her face on Lucien's mouth repeatedly, while he kissed her equally. They went to the sofa and he started reading his usual admirers' letters.

All the letters undoubtedly came from women. The paper was scented and coloured, most of the time of the best quality. After all, those were people who could afford regular dinners at the Queen Victoria's. The handwriting on the letters was always smooth, the loops and circles very round and there would even sometimes be a signature, definitely very feminine, at the end of the letter.

Lucien read them diagonally. They all told the same story, read the same way, with the same words or almost. There was no personality in any of them, no real feeling of any kind but the wild fantasy of women who dreamt of an adventure with a man of poetry.

Hm. Classic.

Classic and cliché. Lucien tossed the letters away as he read them. Perle caught them and fought them fiercely. Ha, they didn't stand a chance against the tiny claws…!

The Frenchman sighed when he finished skimming through all the letters. There was a hint, only a tiny hint, of disappointment.

"Meow?"

"Non."

"Meow."

"Perle…?"

She dropped her last foe - she had made confetti out of the paper - and jumped on her Papa's lap. She stared up at him with her big blue eyes.

"Meow."

Lucien rolled up his eyes and rubbed them.

"Oui, d'accord, j'avoue. J'aurais aimé trouvé une lettre de lui…"

[Yes, alright, I admit it. I would have liked finding a letter from him…]

Perle climbed on her master's chest and settled on his shoulder. She brushed herself on his cheek and out of reflex, he turned his head to kiss her.

Oui, he had wished to find a letter from M. But now that the Aussie knew he was Lulu, Lucien could but dream.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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shy-violet-soul · 4 years

Text

The Last Action Hero

Summary: In a scene straight from the apocalypse, Audra encounters the last action hero. "Chaotic Dumbass Reader” Avenger is here to save the day, one aisle at a time. Characters: OFC, “Chaotic Dumbass Reader (CDR)”, a very tired Bucky Barnes Warnings: language, threats of violence, out-of-context movie quotes Word count: 1,400-ish A/N: I am 100% enthralled with the “Bag of Tricks” world (please go read all the things) by @heli0s-writes. I’ve been having a tough few days - as so many of us are - and to give my brain a break, I decided to ponder what CD Reader would be doing during COVID-19. I only hope I’ve done this writer’s marvelous character some form of justice. I was super excited to receive her blessing to post this. This is for you, @heli0s-writes. Bless you for all the smiles you’ve brought to us!

Also - thank you @pinknerdpanda for catching my errors, reassuring my characterization fears, & laughing at my ridiculousness. xoxo

This is a work of fiction based upon characters owned by the MCU and created by @heli0s-writes. My work is not to be copied elsewhere without my written permission.

Audra stood at the entrance of the aisle, stared at the shelves, and swallowed hard around the jagged tears clogging her throat. The industrial metal towered over her head, and the empty shelves glared cavernously down at her as she trudged down the row. The cart squeaked annoyingly, one wheel sticking and spinning like a drunk ballerina as she tried to shove around the rickety remains of a Charmin cardboard box. Peering in hopefully, her shoulders sagged - nope. Not a roll to be seen.

A bit further down the aisle, she saw a couple of people shoulder deep in an open box on the shelf, and urged her stupid cart in that direction. Growling, like that of a supremely pissed off house cat, zipped chills up her spine. Audra paused, looking around the floor closest to her for the critter. Seeing nothing but hearing the growl continue, she looked up.

Not a cat. So much not a cat.

A woman sat perched on the top shelf like some kind of slightly cute but mostly terrifying ninja gargoyle. Completely clothed in black, she glared at the two women heave-ho-ing packages of toilet paper into their carts and - were those wrapping paper tubes taped to her? - hissed. Actually hissed at them.

Expletives from the two women distracted Audra back to the task at hand. She sidled her way around them up to the box and chewed hard on her lip. Empty. A glance at the wrestlers behind her saw three and four packs each of awful 2-ply store brand toilet paper, 9 rolls each. The shorter of the two stomped away with her loot, leaving the other to Tetris her prize around the 4 gallons of milk and a wobbly tower of bacon packages. Ready to forget it and walk away, Audra thought of what waited for her at home and dug deep for her bravery, gingerly reaching out to the woman with a nitrile-gloved hand.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you. But is there any way I could have one of those packs of toilet paper?”

A glare from the other shopper. “No.”

A growl from above.

Wavering but not giving up, Audra squeezed her hands together. “I’ll pay you $10. I’ve got the cash.” Digging in her pocket, Audra extended a folded bill. “Or, if you’d rather, I can Venmo you right now. Electronic, no germs.”

“Bitch, please! Try $25.00, and we can talk about it,” the woman snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

Audra blinked, momentarily stunned at the unprovoked viciousness and the audacity of the request. Just as tears threatened to straight up strangle her, the ninja gargoyle cat woman dropped to the floor between them. A cheerful tube of wrapping paper dotted with birthday cakes jabbed Audra in the belly before she scrambled back, dodging another roll of Santa-hat-wearing Yoda’s and Darth Vader’s that protruded from the woman’s right hip. Before Audra could even attempt to figure out what the hell was going on, the ninja gargoyle cat woman pulled out a sword - an actual sword - and pointed it at the other shopper’s chest.

“Say hello to my little friend!”

“Shit!” the woman squeaked out, eyes bugging out of her head. The ninja gargoyle cat woman growled, hissed again, and spoke.

“This is a katana. One of the oldest warfare weapons in Japan. Made out of tamahagane steel and polished for three weeks. I can slice your head clean off. You gotta ask yourself one question. Do you feel lucky? Well, do ya? Punk? Go ahead. Make my DAY!” Her voice rose inexorably from a hissing whisper to a screech as she inched her face to within kissing distance of the increasingly terrified woman. The offender frantically reached into her cart and tossed Audra a package of toilet paper; an impressive feat as she did so without even breathing. Ninja gargoyle cat woman grinned maniacally before she leaned forward and licked the offender’s face, then danced happily away a few steps, batting her in the side with a roll of pink flowered wrapping paper reading “fresh out of fucks” that jutted out from her left hip.

“What the hell are you doing now?” A deep voice cracked and croaked out the question. Audra turned to face the newcomer, clutching her precious package of toilet paper, faintly tracking on the frantic wails and wiping of the vanquished shopper behind her. The famous Winter Soldier stood before her, 2 bags of flour and a box of Cocoa Puffs in one arm as he stared at ninja gargoyle cat woman. His hair stood out from his head like he’d tried pulling handfuls of it out, and his face just looked...done. This man looked 100% done.

“Bucky!” she squealed with glee, prancing towards him. “Toss me the Cocoa Puffs!”

“No. What did you do to that lady?”

She blew raspberries at him, sliding her sword into a sheath strapped to her back. “I helped her out. Look at her!” The wrapping paper tubes bounced animatedly as she waved an arm at Audra. “Young kids at home. Spouse is a cop. Back is hurting. Needs toilet paper.”

Audra was getting a headache. Oxygen seemed important, but she couldn’t figure out how to get it inside her body. “How did...what...you…”

Ninja gargoyle cat woman glared at the Winter Solder as she raised her hands, ticking off items on her fingers. “‘Paw Patrol’ fruit snack wrappers hanging out of her purse. Last year’s ‘NYPD’ tshirt under her sweater. Can’t stand fully upright, probably because she’s lugging laundry hampers or babies around. Toilet paper, Barnes! I’m doing a public service!”

“Not her, you idiot! I saw all that on the cop’s wife, too. Her! The one that’s crying on the phone that now she’s got the virus!” Avoiding the bobbling wrapping paper tubes, the Winter Soldier leaned in close, vein in his forehead bulging as he jabbed a finger down the aisle towards aforementioned crying woman. The growling returned as ninja gargoyle cat woman narrowed her eyes, jabbing one hand towards the Winter Soldier. An audible snap accompanied the bright blue spark that crackled out, sending the man crowhopping backwards and dumping the flour and cereal to the floor as his metal arm went limp.

“You just - you just tased my arm! What the hell?!?”

She primly ignored him, scooping up the box of Cocoa Puffs and crooning to it sweetly before she turned a fierce glare upon him.

“Six feet back, motherfucker.”

Audra couldn’t stop her flinch when the woman flounced in her direction, all toothy, bright-eyed smiles.

“You good, mama? You need me to get you some diapers? Please can I go get you some diapers? I saw a skirmish of a couple of dads over there!” she batted her eyes pleadingly, clasping her hands together like she was begging for ice cream instead of another chance to...Audra wasn’t sure what to call it. Help? Terrify? Mutely, she shook her head. Her saviour huffed, shrugged her shoulders, and then yelped when one of her wrapping paper tubes was ripped off her body. The Winter Soldier bashed her over the head with it, then threw it all the way down the aisle. The precious box of Cocoa Puffs went sailing in the other direction before he hauled ninja gargoyle cat woman over his shoulder. Ignoring her screeches, he looked at Audra with serious grey eyes.

“You good? Seriously? Want me to go with you to the register?”

Warmth filled Audra at their genuine concern for her. She found a smile for him as she shook her head.

“I’m good,” she assured, gesturing to her cart bearing milk, Goldfish crackers, diapers, and baby wipes. The Soldier smiled and nodded, then turned as the woman started grappling for her sword.

“All right, Barnes! You called down the thunder and now you’ve got it. Run, you cur! You tell ‘em I’m coming, and Hell’s coming with me, you hear?”

The Winter Soldier rounded the end of the aisle, out of sight, but you could still hear the exasperated sigh he gave.

“We get it. You’re a goddamn action hero. Is this my set of throwing stars? Why are you like this?”

#chaotic dumbass reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #very tired bucky barnes #shy vy writes #coronavirus #covid19 #the last action hero

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breadcaaat · 5 years

Text

part five

Jeongguk x hybrid!reader

Words: 5.4k

Genre: action, fluff, angst, violence... eventual smut

Warnings: buckets o’ blood, more nudity, foul language, discussion of human trafficking

Jeongguk was on his knees, face mask and headband on, fat yellow sponge in hand, surrounded by rosy suds. He already knew he’d be throwing these clothes out at the end of the day. That was fine. He could buy new ones, especially now that he was financially set for the next few years.

Yes. You read that right.

On Y/N’s flight from the auction center, she’d crawled out a vent she had hid in to escape the guarddogs and dropped into an office, where a woman had been running cash through a money counter. One choke to unconsciousness later, and she’d packed away a full cargo of pure, fat, dirty cash from the sales that night into the backpack Jeongguk had spotted on the floor earlier.

“We can’t use this,” he’d said.

“Why not?”

“Because people were sold to make this money.”

“Not people; person, singular. About one moderately-priced hybrid.”

Jeongguk looked at her uneasily.

“Aish,” she muttered, “ - doesn’t matter. Think of it this way: we’re keeping their sellers from making profit and supporting one - ” she’d pointed at herself “ - of their products. Consider it ironic. And you can finally quit that job at the moving company.”

He still wasn’t sure where he stood on that topic, but for now his focus was simple. Leave no trace.

There was blood on the tile (thankfully no more than a few spots on the carpet) but it hadn't dried yet and so was relatively easy to mop up. His biggest concern wasn’t the staining, though. Y/N had told him that most all these hybrid crime centers had guarddogs: dog hybrids with sharp noses that made sure nothing unauthorized left any of the sites alive. His tiger girl had left a big, fat, smelly trail leading down the streets, up the walls of his building, and straight into his apartment through the balcony, so if they had any chance of remaining undiscovered they needed to blast any and all traces of smelliness to the fucking exosphere.

So, while he scrubbed away, she ran to a convenience store (clean, not covered in blood anymore, with her hood up and some sunglasses on) with a fresh wad of cash to buy four big jugs of bleach.

By the time she returned, he was already packing away all the towels and the sponge he’d used to mop everything up into a trash bag. They worked quietly, efficiently. Next, the bleach.

His most immediate concern was the apartment and any smelliness that lingered about it, so he as he bleached down their living space, she climbed down the piping she’d clambered up in the first place and bleached away all traces of blood and any previous scent-markings. (She’d pouted a little at this, knowing it was necessary but mourning the loss.) They decided to work on the alley together.

It was about five o’clock - an hour and a half later - when she deemed the apartment sufficiently un-smelly, so Jeongguk packed up the trash bag with all the unsalvageable, bloody materials and packed it down to the alley.

Halfway down the first flight of stairs, he sighed and noticed something not totally interesting, but notable. It was fucking late. He’d been up late before, of course, with long work hours and everything, but never this late. Walking down the echoey, concrete stairwell made him feel like the only man on earth and it wasn’t… a bad feeling. He was starting to understand the appeal of late night walks. Maybe he should join her on her next one.

When he got down there, he could already smell the bleach. She’d uncapped a jug and was currently splashing it along the apartment-side wall, getting rid of any blood-smells or previous scent marks. He caught her attention by setting the bag near the dumpster and scooping up a jug for himself.

“We’ll have to burn that. I can smell us both on it. Ever lit a trash-fire?” she asked, and he found himself chuckling despite everything.

“Sure, I’ve lit things on fire. Most boys do.”

“Good. Dump it on top of that drain instead.”

He did, and it landed with a thump and a squish, which made his stomach twist a little. “Ew,” he muttered. Y/N handed him a matchbook and pulled out a tube of firestarter.

“It’s going to rain in the morning.” She uncapped the tube and doused the garbage bag.

“When?

“I’d say in the next hour or so.”

He nodded. That saved them from hosing away the bleach. It’d also - presumably - wash away any obvious bleachy or burnt scents left behind by their cleaning.

Finished with the tube, she tossed it on the pile. “Before we light this, I’m gonna clean up my trail back a couple blocks. We still have two and a half jugs and that should be enough.”

“It’d be good to burn the jugs too, is what you’re saying?”

“Exactly. Be right back. Check for any details we missed. The bleach is stinging my nose and I can’t smell anything.”

He nodded, and she lugged off the remaining jugs of bleach to clean the rest of her mess.

🐯

Jeongguk got the honor of flicking the match onto their little trash fire, and it took quickly. Unbidden, a sense of relief flooded him. This should be the last of it. All we do now is wait for the rain.

Y/N sat next to him, stripped down to her skivvies once again. Her clothes were in the pile right now. “They smell like I just cleaned up a crime scene,” she’d told him when he’d asked why she was stripping again. He’d decided to just shrug it away this time. It was alarming how quickly he was becoming desensitized to nudity and blood.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked. The sounds around them were almost ambient; like a campfire near a road. Except this was an alleyway and the trash fire was lit to destroy evidence. Potato, tomato.

“No. Why?”

“You’re good at it.”

She scoffed incredulously. “I just crawled into your apartment early in the morning covered in blood - which I know makes you nauseous - after having committed three gruesome murders in which I tore two victims open by the rib cage and used their entrails to kill the last one, then also a major robbery of an organized crime syndicate and - ” she tipped her head to look at him, eyes gleaming with the peacock sheen of her cat’s-eye night vision “ - you commend me on how good I am at concealing the evidence?”

He scratched his nose. It did sound a little ridiculous. I’m probably in shock, so. “... Just thought it was clever how you burnt it over the grate so it doesn’t leave any ashes. I wouldn’t have thought to do that.”

She giggled. “You’re the ride or die type, huh?” There was a shuffle as she shifted to lean on him, tucking her head between his shoulder and neck. “I know I’ve put you through a lot of shit - and I’m sorry - but I’m glad it was you in the restaurant, and I’m glad you fell in the river.” She nipped at the column of his neck and he had to remind himself that It’s platonic, she’s part animal, animals nip at each other platonically. “I’d probably be dead of fever in an alleyway had you not taken me in.”

She wrapped her arm around his, and they stared down at the trash fire as it died away, burning away quickly.

“Thank you,” she finished with a murmur.

He didn’t answer, but set his head on top of hers. She chuffed, and a little purr rumbled up through her chest.

🐯

“I’m sorry Mrs. Gim,” Jeongguk rasped “ - but I can’t come in today.” His voice sounded downright pitiful. It might’ve been the fake coughing or the toilet paper stuffed up his nose that had her convinced and already fussing, but that’s not important. Was he actually sick? Absolutely not. Tired? Absolutely.

In order to wake up early enough to make this call and skip on his morning shift he’d had to set NO MORE than eight alarms, each two minutes apart, and really they hadn’t been what’d woken him up; Y/N had by biting his ear with a growl that’d rumbled through his skull, just hard enough to make him yelp.

“ - Should I bring you some soup? You weren’t out in the rain last night, were you? Tell me you didn’t go outside with an umbrella or so help me - ”

Jeongguk latched onto that last bit and faked a nervous laugh.

“Jeongguk,” the woman hissed, and he almost felt sorry for himself.

“I can call in Jaesoo to cover?” he whimpered, and Sunghyun hissed again (Aish! Sure. Stay in bed and don’t leave it.)

A few goodbyes and reassurances to take care of himself later, Jeongguk hung up the phone call, picked out the toilet paper, and flopped back into bed.

“Is Gim’s your only shift today?” Y/N asked.

He grunted a negative, voice rough in the morning-time.

“What else then?”

“Night shift at Gloss. Then I gotta go deposit the money so it can rack up interest, pay off our rent - and that’ll take a couple different accounts, maybe banks.”

“Why not just one?”

“That much cash is suspicious.” He giggled then. “It’ll look like I robbed an organized crime syndicate or something.” She growled and jabbed at his ribs, and he giggled a bit more before quieting down again.

More than anything, he wanted to go back to sleep. The past few weeks compounded upon last night had exhaustion dripping off his every bone and pore, but realistically he knew there were errands he had to run today. Last night’s trash fire wasn’t the end of their clean-up, though it’d felt like it. His sense of caution still flared. There were loose ends that needed clipping.

The money was probably the biggest. With his situation, there was no way he could’ve acquired it in the eyes of the bank without having robbed a place, and revealing Y/N’s existence was out of the question completely. He needed a good excuse. And better clothes.

An idea flickered to life, but he rushed to tamper that flame before he did something impulsive.

It was no secret that Yoongi - his boss and friend - had connections underground. Though Jeongguk hadn’t seen it with his own eyes he knew his hyung had done plenty of gang tattoos, and he was many a kingpin’s go-to. Gloss was not only neutral ground in all the territory-mongering that went on, but also Yoongi’s pseudonym. None of his clients knew his real name and that was for safety. That was the type of crowd he’d been surrounded by since fourteen, when he’d done that first tattoo.

He must’ve learned something through by osmosis through all those - what - eleven years? If Jeongguk confided in him, he could learn how to go about this clean-up neatly.

On the flip-side, Yoongi might also fire him and cut ties. Another safety precaution. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - blame him for it. That was Gloss’s tried and true method for making sure his shop stayed neutral through all the crime and conflict of Seoul’s underground, and he’d kept it up for his whole career.

There was a shuffle in the sheets beside him as Y/N shifted to look at him. She was laying on top of the covers - too hot - and he’d zoned out on her tail as it had curled up and thumped idly on the duvet in a steady rhythm.

“You’re juggling something.” It was an observation, not a question.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

“Penny for your thoughts then?”

“I was just thinking about all I have to do today.” He stared up at the ceiling, hand on his chest and index finger tapping a quiet beat.

“We,” she murmured quietly, and he smiled.

“I don’t know if you can help me in what I have to do. It’s all legal and money stuff. I’m just trying to figure out where to start, I guess.” They were silent for a moment as he debated telling her about Yoongi.

Well, what’s the harm, huh? “I know someone that might be able to help us. Just, advice-wise.”

She hummed and fluffed her pillow. “Tell me about him then.”

“His name’s Yoongi, but at the shop he’s called Gloss.”

“You work there, right?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty much run the place since he was a kid. Dropped out of high school to do it. Since he wasn’t trained professionally his tattoo operation is underground and I mean, the guy’s been tattooing gangsters since forever. He must know something, you know?”

She nodded thoughtfully, and her eyes drifted shut after a moment. “I bet you he’ll still know something in a couple hours so… it won’t hurt if we sleep a bit more.”

“Yeah, good idea.” He yawned. “I’m exhausted. Gotta call Jaesoo first…”

🐯

It was about ten now. An hour ago, he’d written up a resignation letter and had just delivered it to the moving company, now meandering his way over to Yoongi’s shop to start up what would probably be a fucking monumental disaster. He was having Y/N meet him in the alley near there, both having decided their story would probably be more believable with her presence. He just hoped things would go well. Jeongguk knew he was putting a lot of trust in Yoongi telling him all this - he’d have to rely on Gloss’s neutral nature to not let on about him to anyone who came asking, which was a risk.

“There it is,” he murmured to himself as he spotted the storefront, and drew in a deep breath, adjusting the strap of the back pack on his shoulder. Shit, this is making me nervous. He let the breath out as a loud sigh, not too unlike a war cry. Let’s go. We got this! Yoongi’s my friend and he’ll handle it somehow. We’ll be fine.

The bell jingled as he marched in.

Yoongi was currently at one of the stations giving a client a trim, and he looked up at the kid with the usual greeting for customers on his lips, fading off the moment he saw his face. Curiosity replaced it.

“Jeongguk?”

“Can we talk?” His eyebrows were furrowed and he looked like he was hyperfocusing on something.

Didn’t even say hi. “Mm. Sure. Meet me in the back, I gotta finish up here first.” This’ll be interesting. He turned back to the client.

Jeongguk nodded, and briskly strode into the hall at the back of the shop, eyebrows furrowed cutely. Yoongi idly counted his footsteps, only to hear a little screech of rubber on tile as Jeongguk stopped and skidded back into the main area. “Hi hyung!” A little wave, and he disappeared again. Yoongi smiled faintly and shook his head.

Down the hallway, Jeongguk bypassed Yoongi’s office and scooted further down the hallway to an iron door. It provided access into the alley out back and could only be opened from the inside. He pushed it open and ducked his head out.

Y/N was nowhere to be seen. Good. She’s stayed hidden.

Jeongguk whistled a small tune.

A shadow dropped down from the fire escape, near-silent, and slid past him into the building. “Good to see you. On the left,” he murmured, and she disappeared into Yoongi’s office right as the man turned the corner, wiping his hands after a quick wash.

Seeing Jeongguk, he asked, “Why are you here so early?”

“I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh? Are you quitting?”

“What? No.” He shook his head, opening the door for Yoongi who moved past him to his liquor cabinet, not noticing the figure lounging on his couch. “You might understand better why it is I took on a fourth part-time, though.”

“Oh yeah? Shoot.” He pulled out a crystal decanter of bourbon and poured them both a glass. “Two pinkies or three?” He didn’t notice how tense it was Jeongguk got then, or if he did, decided not to comment.

Jeongguk’s hand tightened around the strap of his pack. This is it. Tell him everything. He decided to just act first before he chickened out.

He unzipped it and upended the contents on Yoongi’s desk. Actions do speak louder than words, right?

Yoongi paused his pour.

He may have had his back turned, but the sound of tumbling money is something he’s familiar with. He decided to knock back the glass before pouring another refill. “That better not be what I think it is Jeongguk. That better be you spilling a stack of flyers for a poetry slam or some shit.” He knocked back the second glass and poured another. “Two or three pinkies, you goddamned punk?”

“Two please.”Jeongguk murmured.

Yoongi kneels and pulls out a second glass from the liquor cabinet. Y/N chooses then to speak up.

“I’ll take two also.”

There’s a clatter as he bangs his head on the cabinet, spinning around with the widest eyes Jeongguk’s ever seen on him. “Who the hell - ?”

“I let her in,” Jeongguk murmured, shifting to stand in front of the door to block Yoongi from making a run for it. “She’s a friend of mine. Yoongi, meet Y/N.”

There’s silence for a moment. The tiger girl sits soundlessly on the couch, completely covered from head to toe in clothing - her face is even concealed by a dark pair of shades and a face mask. Besides her name and voice, there’s little to differentiate whether she’s a boy or girl. Yoongi recovers his composure quickly, standing up from the ground and picking up two cups as he does.

“Alright, two pinkies each and four for me. Why’s she here Jeongguk, and who is she?”

“Well, uh, her name’s Y/N - ”

“We covered that already. Who is she, Jeongguk?” Finished with his pours, he handed him their drinks and took his own, sitting down at his desk. Jeongguk sank into the cushions next to Y/N and handed her her drink. Surprisingly, she decided to take charge of the conversation.

“Do you know what hybrids are, Mr. Yoongi?” Idly, she took a sip of the alcohol and grimaced, thinking better of it and handing to Jeongguk.

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankle over one of his knees. He sipped at his drink. A tense moment passed.

“Sure. I heard of ‘em.”

Jeongguk blinked. “You have, hyung?”

“Yeah, people talk. I keep my nose out of it though, and that’s for safety.” He sipped at his drink again, then narrowed his eyes a bit. “Why are you asking?”

“Well - ” she started, taking off her shades, face mask, and hood. “I am one.”

Yoongi’s face remained impassive, masked, calculated. It was his business face, the one he used with customers. Neither removed or engaged. He nodded, but made no effort to continue the conversation.

Y/N took the lead.

“I’ve been… this, for about four years now. Started out as a pet whore then demoted to a cagedog. You know what cagedoggers are?”

Yoongi nodded again, and Jeongguk felt the hair at the back of his neck prickle.

“So, I did that for three years. In the last four months before I got out of it - the cagedogging, I mean - I purposely lost fights so I’d get resold and resold to the cheapest cagedoggers. The last deal took place at night in a restaurant Jeongguk was eating at, and he helped me escape.”

“That was the day I broke up with Bora,” Jeongguk interjected, and Yoongi nodded thoughtfully. He didn’t really know exactly when that was since his presence in the kid’s life was minimal outside of Gloss - but it gave him a rough timeline. A little less than six weeks ago.

“ - Right,” she continued. “So, after that night I didn’t really have anywhere to go, so I just kinda…” a little blush, and her ears fluttered back, “... followed him around for a day. Figured I’d return the favor somehow, and I wanted to thank him but he’s so goddamn busy all the time it’s hard to get a word in.”

Yoongi chuckled a little, tipping back the rest of his drink.

“So then he fell in a river, and - ”

Yoongi choked on his drink. “What did he do?”

Jeongguk grimaced, and picked at his bangs guiltily. “Uh.”

“When did it happen?”

“A day after I escaped.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes at Jeongguk, who avoided making eye contact like the plague. Y/N rushed to move on with a heavy exhale before Yoongi started wasting time scolding him.

“Anyway,” she continued. “He fell in a river and I saved him. Brought him back to his apartment and ended up staying the night. We’ve been denning together since then.”

Jeongguk giggled a little. Denning. What a cute word choice.

“How’d you know where he lives again?” Yoongi asked, and Jeongguk perked up a little. He should’ve asked that question before and hadn’t, somehow. God, that’s such an important detail. I hope I haven’t skipped over anything else like that. He bit his lip in nervous thought, spaced out and distracted for a second.

“I’d been following him around, remember? The night at the restaurant, I circled back and made sure he got home safe. That’s how I learned where it was.”

Yoongi nodded a bit, satisfied.

“So,” he drawled, leaning forward to ruffle through the pile of cash on his desk. “Where the fuck did you get this?”

“I revisited an old auction site.”

“You’re talking abandoned storage auctions or slave auctions?”

“Slave auctions. Specifically hybrid.”

“Ah. Continue. Also, why?”

“I needed closure, I guess. It was the one place I solidly remember the location of.” She picked at the elastic strings on her facemask, uncomfortable showing any measure of vulnerability to someone not-Jeongguk. It’s okay, she assured herself despite wanting to swallow those words back up. He trusts him. I can trust him. Move on.

“So - ” she forced herself to look up, “ - there was a situation, and I hurt a few people and had to escape.”

“Y/N, you killed three people. They didn’t scrape their knees because you pushed them,” Jeongguk murmured, and Yoongi was surprised to hear the words come from his mouth more so than the fact Y/N had killed someone - he’d made a comment about murder so… casually.

“Right. Yeah. And, uh, on the way out I grabbed this. Now we’re here.”

There was silence for a moment as everyone digested the situation. Yoongi picked at the rubber band circling one of the cash bundles, evaluating the figures in front of him. Y/N sat still as a shadow, eyes on him. Jeongguk fidgeted with his bangs.

Yoongi took a deep breath.

“Why’d you come here?” he asked.

“... I’m in over my head, hyung.” Barely a whisper. Jeongguk wouldn’t meet his eyes, face flushed in shame. This isn’t going to work. I’m going to lose a friend today. “You’re the only person in Seoul I trust that can help us.”

Yoongi looked at him thoughtfully, poker face on in force. Jeongguk felt like he was being watched by a cat.

Finally, he let up with a sigh.

“Clean this up.”

Jeongguk’s heart sank.

Silently, and with a burning face, he scooped the cash back into the bag. Some of Yoongi’s sketches got pushed off with it and he scrambled to pick them up. “Ah - “ he put them back, disorganized, on the desk, “ - I, uh, sorry hyung. We’ll just… get going.” He zipped the last of it up.

“Alright,” Yoongi murmured. “Gimme that before you go.”

Unbidden, a small, suspicious growl crawled its way up from Y/N’s chest. Jeongguk, confused, asked, “Hyung?”

Yoongi sighed and took it from his hands, ignoring the snarl shot at him.

“I can tell you have no clue how to launder money, so I’m gonna do it for you. Can’t leave loose ends in business like this. Sloppiness’ll get you killed.”

She stopped snarling abruptly, and Jeongguk froze in surprise. “Hyung?”

Yoongi smirked, soft and a little bitter like he wanted to swat a younger sibling over the head for doing something troublesome. “I’m older than you, so it’s my job to take care of you. Pull some stupid shit like this again, though, and I’m tossing you in a closet or something.”

Wow. I honestly thought we were gonna get booted to the curb, Jeongguk thought. He was too speechless to say thank you, but Yoongi could see it in the way his eyes twinkled, watery at the edges.

Taking the bag, he made some space in his liquor cabinet and stashed it away. He’d deal with it after hours.

Still turned away, he said, “Go on, git. Don’t you have work, punk?”

“No. Off day.” Jeongguk paused, overcome with this immense sense of gratitude - he was so goddamn lucky to have the people in his life that he did. “Can… can I come in early?”

“Sure,” Yoongi grunted, with a soft smile. I hope this shit doesn’t get him killed.

“Now git.”

They gitted.

🐯

The police station was having a quiet day, which was honestly the worst in Hoseok’s opinion. It made him jumpy and restless. He sat at his desk, tapping his pen across a notepad and bouncing his knee. And - with a glance at the clock - he realized it wasn’t even lunch time yet. He had a whole two hours until he could - what, eat more and get more energy? Run a lap around the station? Offer the chief a lap dance, just for the exercise?

Hoseok tossed the pen away, buried his head in his hands and moaned, blowing a long sherbert into his palms. The office remained not-busy - probably out of spite.

“You know, Jung - “ his partner commented idly from where he sat across from him, feet propped up on the desk with his nose buried in a racy hentai - some shameless tentacle number; “ - usually, it’s a good thing when we’re not busy.”

Hoseok moaned into his hands again.

Officer Ri Doyeon’s thin eyes flicked up at him over the rim of the book in his hands, and Hoseok started to make little tooting noises. A piece of Doyeon’s soul leaked out and slithered away when he recognized the tune as Darude’s “Sandstorm.”

“Dude,” he whispered in exasperation.

The tooting morphed into what sounded like “Fur Elise,” reaching a grand, existential crisis-inducing crescendo before fading off into one positively grand finale of a sherbert.

Doyeon was overcome by the impulse to choke out his partner with the tie around his neck. “Are you done?” he asked.

Hoseok didn’t answer, head still in his hands. Doyeon returned to his manga.

“Ri-sunbae?” Hoseok murmured after a moment. Doyeon hummed.

“Do you think kazoos like getting blown?”

“Out,” Doyeon hissed. The book in his hands clapped shut with the finality of a man driven to the edge of sanity. “Get - get out. Go take a smoke or a run or jack off in the bathrooms - whatever the fuck men in their twenties do - I don’t fucking care just burn some of this goddamn energy you fucking middle-schooler.”

“So that’s a no?”

Doyeon belted the book at poor, bored little Hoseok who broke the silence of the office with a yelp, scrabbling out of his chair. “A smoke, Hoseok!” Doyeon barked.

“Got it, got it,” he placated, retreating from the office. His grumpy partner huffed and circled the desk to snatch his manga back up from the floor, returning to his earlier position.

Hoseok wandered through the station, looking for something to do. Lately, this is all work had been for him. Boring. Unsatisfying. Unrushed.

The KNP's (Korean National Police’s) Sex Crimes Division was not a good place to work for someone like Hoseok because it was - due to multiple factors, none of them good - not very busy. The situation was not nearly as optimistic as Doyeon made it sound. There are still plenty of sex crimes in South Korea. So many it’s downright shameful. But this is a culture where we don’t talk about those things. No one reports anything, he thought sadly.

His mind wandered back to a case he’d been forced to drop last week. A woman, at a company dinner on her second day at a new job, had been lured away by a supervisor, raped, and then subjected to revenge lawsuits on the charges of defamation when she’d spoken up, yelled and worn into dropping all charges. Yesterday, he’d learned that she’d lost that job. Life ruined in a week. And he couldn’t help. I don’t blame them, I guess. The law doesn’t exactly do much to help. The thought was a bitter one.

His wandering lead him to the roof, and he stepped out with a sigh. I thought I’d be able to help more with this job.

I feel more useless than ever.

He gazed over the balcony, propping his elbows up on the railing. Maybe a bit lonely, too.

All his friends were busy and his family was based back in Gwangju, so he didn’t really get to socialize much anymore. Most of his time was spent with grumpy, middle-aged Doyeon, who was so inclined to social reclusion and coping with all of his failed marriages through nasty hentais that he wasn’t that fun to hang out with.

When was the last time Jeongguk and I hung out? As thoughts turned to his best friend from college, he flushed a little in guilt. Five weeks ago, Jeongguk had broken up with his girlfriend of a year and called him at midnight to cry and babble for a bit, only to hang up a few minutes later because he “... Gotta go, wan’ ramen…” (Sniff.) “Gunna get ramen… bye Hobi-hyung.” Those had been the last words he’d heard from him since - not counting the odd text here and there. I should be a better friend, sheesh.

“Let’s call him,” he murmured to himself, and pulled out his phone.

Jeongguk picked up after three rings. “Hyung?”

“Hey Ggukie!”

“Oh, hey! Haven’t heard from you in awhile.”

“Yeah, sorry for checking out as long as I did. Thought I’d check up on you.”

“Ah hyung, no worries. Seoul’s a busy place to live. Where are you?”

“The station, as usual. You?”

“The station.”

Hoseok perked up. “Wait - really?”

“Yeah, the train one.”

“Oh, you little pest. I got excited there for a second.”

“Aw,” Jeongguk bit out cheekily, and Hoseok could picture so clearly that competitive and endearing little smirk. “Has hyung missed Jeonggukie? Lil’ ol’ me, tiny little Ggukie? Bunny-boy Guk?”

“Oh shut it - I miss kicking your ass in Smash Bros, that’s all.”

“Aish! Shut up hyung - you literally only ever play as Waluigi or Kirby and I always win.”

“I love Waluigi and Kirby more than I love you.”

“Well then I’m a slut for Link. Glad everything’s in the open.” A giggle. “Love me a man in a tunic.”

Hoseok laughed, and they both relaxed into a comfortable pause - softly tuning into private thoughts and the sounds of each others’ environment.

“We should have a tournament again, me an’ you. Waluigi and Kirby vs. Link,” Hoseok joked. Opposite to what he expected, Jeongguk sighed in response. “Hey,” Hoseok murmured, brows knitting. “What’s up?”

“I had to pawn off my PlayStation last month for rent.”

There was a pause again, not as comfortable as the last. Hoseok frowned watched the street down below. He was realizing how far they’d grown apart in this last year, as he’d invested his time in becoming a policeman and Jeongguk had dropped out of college to escape the relentless, malicious rumors targeting him. Touchy subject, that last one.

The world is full of injustices.

By the day, Hoseok’s starting to feel more and more powerless to fix any of it.

“Hobi-hyung…” Jeongguk started, soft voice drawing them both out of their melancholy daze before they sank any further. “We can grab drinks later? If you like?”

He’s such a sweetheart, Hoseok thought.

“Sounds great, Guk,” he hummed. “Usual place?”

“Usual place.”

“When are you free?”

“Tomorrow night?”

“Works for me; text me when. I’ll see ya, Guk.”

“See ya then, hyung.”

They hung up, and Hoseok put his phone away to gaze at the skyline for awhile.

A/N: i have three-ish weeks until i disappear into the wilderness of alaska, so either i finish it in that time or organize an adminship with someone to post my updates. we’ll see

also, thanks for all the support!! yall’re lovely 💞

Taglist: @feed-my-geek-soul @starryannaaa @not-novoa @astronomyturtle @anoushe01 @seokchella @dinorahrodriguez @mischiefmakerliesmith5

Taglist Glitches: @infiresssnct

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reddeadinmybed · 6 years

Text

Doubts & Anticipations (M)

The road was quiet. All that could be heard was the crickets around us – which masked the sound of my breathing – and my horse‘s (Boadecia - my thoroughbred) hoofs making contact with the ground.

I had named my horse Boadecia because that was the name of Arthur’s old horse. He said he loved that horse and that they had a special bond. I couldn’t help but feel like I had a special bond with my horse so I named it Boadecia, in memory of that horse.

I wasn’t around when Arthur had Boadecia so I never met that horse. He likes to talk about her when we are both just sitting by the campfire, or in our tent. Arthur didn’t like to talk about his past much but Boadecia, he would talk about her any day.

I breathe in the fresh air and smile. This is living. Freedom. The ability to get on your horse and just ride. I have never been the girl to stay at home and cook for her husband and three children. I know that’s what Abigail wants but I just couldn’t live like that. I needed freedom, Arthur was my freedom.

It’s not strange to me that he once was in love with another girl. A girl named Mary. I had heard about her from Hosea. He had given me the details about her when Arthur and I had just started to show our feelings publicly. Hosea warned me that there could be even the slightest possibility that Mary would come back and...I can’t even bear to say it. That she would try and make Arthur change.

The thought of Arthur being a boy who isn’t free makes me want to be sick. Arthur is practically Dutch’s son, why would he leave them? Why would Mary even come back?

Not only that but I had felt a bit scared that Arthur would just pack up his things and go after this Mary girl. She was his first love and my Mamma used to tell me that it was always hard to fall out of love when they’re your first. That’s why my Mamma used to tell me to try your hardest to stay with your first love.

Arthur was almost my first everything. My first friend. My first boyfriend. Even the first to take my virginity.

There is one thing for certain, Arthur is two-sided. On one side he was the fluffy boy who was the most awkward person to ever live and then there was his other side; a complete badass. I found that this side was the side he showed when on “official business” as he likes to call it. This side of Arthur sure knows how to use his hands, I mean he knows how to work his gun so it was only natural.

The way that Arthur makes me feel, it’s indescribable. What he can do with those hands, he brings me to my knees. He’s so gorgeous and I’m so in love with him.

I had received a letter from Mary. She had asked to meet me in Valentine. Well a little outside Valentine in this house at the back. I remember telling the camp that I would be back soon and that it shouldn’t take a day at the least.

Then I had started my journey. When I approached the door, it had opened slightly and a gun was pointed in my face. This had surprised me, I had not expected to come face to face with a gun. I had asked for Mary and soon after I had finally seen her face.

She was gorgeous. I knew in that instant that any man would feel lucky to have a girl as beautiful as her. It was no wonder Arthur would come running back to her. Hell, if I was a man I would go running back to her. All this had me feeling self-conscious. She was beautiful and I was...me. I wouldn’t have no man come running after me because of how I looked.

When she saw me, her face distorted. She had the look of disdain on her face. Her eyes travelled from my face all the way down to my toes. Our attire was completely different. She was wearing a – no doubt expensive – dress and I was wearing black pants with a red button-up shirt (to which I always kept a few buttons undone in the cleavage area – just for Arthur) and my boots. I had my holsters on and a black cowboy (or in my sense, cowgirl) hat on. I had let my hair be free, the H/C (hair colour) waving gently in the wind.

“You must be Miss L/N.” She kept her voice brief but sharp. It had appeared as if she didn’t want to see me at all. So why did she write the letter to ask to go see me?

“That I am.” I had replied with. It had appeared this was a waste of time. I could have been at the campfire with Arthur and the rest of the gang but instead, I was here looking at Arthur’s first love which looked at me as if she hated me.

“Well I can see why Arthur chose you, you definitely wouldn’t change.” That irked me. She assumed that I wouldn’t change. Arthur and I had this discussion already. We discussed that when the time is right, we will eventually get married and have children. We wouldn’t leave the gang, the children would grow up in it. They were like family, we couldn’t ditch them.

The whole conversation didn’t go down well. Mary and I ended up having a fight about Arthur. Mary called Arthur a few names (to which she said “it’s because of you, you’ve brainwashed him”) and me a few names. Then she said this one thing that really got to me.

“He might have been you first but remember I was his first. There is no beating that.”

I had left her shortly after and didn’t bother coming back to camp. I didn’t want to go back for the first time. I couldn’t bear to see Arthur knowing that what she said was right. I wasn’t a first for Arthur. Everything that I have with Arthur, I wasn’t his first. She took everything.

I had camped out for around two days before I had finally decided to come back. I had realised that I was running from my problem which was causing the gang to suffer. The gang didn’t deserve me running from them, neither did Arthur. Mary had so easily run after realising the dangers of our way of living. Why would I do the same? It took me a while to realise that I was the first to stay with him, the first not to run away from him.

Now here I am, near the entrance of our camp. I was excited but mostly nervous to see Arthur again. What would he do? Would he be mad at me? I promised him I would not take a day but instead, I took a whole two days. What would he think?

“Who goes there?!” Bill shouted out and I let a small grin escape my lips. I had missed the sound of Bill’s paranoia when on guard duty. He sounded very paranoid that anything could happen. He was probably drunk as a skunk. Don’t know why he’s on guard duty.

“It’s me, Y/N,” I called out to Bill. In the dark, I could still see the surprised look that clouded Bill’s face. Was it really a shock for me to be gone that long?

“Well look what the cat dragged in.” I rolled my eyes at him and carried on walking towards the hitching post.

When near, I hitched Boadecia and gave him a few carrots. Boadecia loved carrots. He didn’t like anything else. I also gave him a brush, getting all the dirt off of everything.

Kieron will clean my saddle tomorrow hopefully. I mean, it is his job after all. People always give him shit for being an O’Driscoll, it was funny sometimes but most of the time I felt sorry for the poor sod. Arthur still gives him shit here and there but I usually smack him after causing him to mutter an incoherent apology.

Speaking of Arthur, where is he?

Two arms snaked around my waist and pulled me back towards its chest. The action shocked me, causing me to drop the brush. I then felt someone’s breathing on my neck, as their face got closer to it. The person then kissed my neck and brought their mouth up to my ear.

“I missed you darlin’, why were you gone for so long?” It was Arthur. I knew it was him all along but it was clear now.

“I-I had some business to discuss.” I stuttered and Arthur chuckled. I could feel the chuckle resonate through his chest as his chest rose up and down.

I turned around in his grip and leant my head forward, to kiss him. It was only then that I saw Pearson had laid out food for us all. It looked appetising and I was very hungry.

My stomach rumbled and Arthur looked at me with his eyebrow raised.

“Somebody’s hungry.” He said and I looked down on the floor, a blush apparent on my cheeks. He chuckled once again and pulled away, grabbing my hand and leading me to Pearson’s pot. He grabbed a bowl for himself and me before we walked towards the table and sat down.

It was quiet for a moment and all I could think about was telling him why I was gone. He deserves to know that I met with Mary. He deserves to know what happened.

“Arthur,” I called out to him. He looked up from his plate and shyly looked at me. God, he was gorgeous.

”Yes Y/N?” He scooped some stew on his spoon and brought it to his mouth where he ate the food. I gulped, this was harder than I thought it would be.

“When I left two days ago, I met up with Mary.” I blurted out. I watched all the colour drain from Arthur’s face. His shoulders became tense and he dropped his spoon into his bowl. He looked up at me and I have never seen him so uncomfortable in my life.

Maybe telling him was a bad idea.

“You...what?” He asked and I almost didn’t want to reply. Why was I so scared?

“I...met up with Mar–”

“I know what you said.” Arthur cut me off and I placed my hands between my lap. I fiddled with my fingers, trying not to look at Arthur.

Time went by slowly and he sighed.

“We’ll talk about it later, keep eating your food.” It was then over, Arthur had literally skulled his food down. I didn’t touch my food, my appetite had completely dissolved. I was stuck in my own thoughts, I didn’t even realise that Arthur had stood up and had been holding his hand out for me to grab.

I hesitantly lifted my hand up to gently place mine into his rough hands. He then helped me out of my chair and walked us to the campfire where everyone was sitting at. Micah wasn’t to be seen but that wasn’t a surprise. I had always gotten a weird feeling from him. I feel as if he’d snitch the first chance he could. Dutch wasn’t at the campfire either, he was in his tent with Molly O’Shea. They were probably talking, Molly loves to tell me everything they talk about - which might I say is completely boring.

Arthur sat down on a chair and pulled me down on his lap. He was tense and it made me feel awkward. I understand that me meeting his first love must make him feel tense, I just need to tell him what I really feel. I need him to know what Mary had said and I need him to know that I feel self-conscious.

For the rest of the night, Arthur and I had not said much. We made a few comments in the gang's conversation here and there but that was it. Even though Arthur was being tense, he was still really clingy. Everywhere I went, he followed with either his arm around my waist or with his hand intertwined with mine. I appreciated his clinginess but I still desperately needed to tell him how I felt.

Eventually, it was time for Arthur and me to go to our tent. I was sweating profusely and I was fidgety. Arthur noticed this and wrapped me in an embrace. He must have had a bath because I could smell the soap on him. The closest bath was Valentine and I’m surprised he didn’t run into me within those two days I was gone, I was still in Valentine. I couldn’t completely run from the gang’s hideout.

“What is it darlin’?” Arthur asked, his head still resting in the nape of my neck and shoulder. Every now and then, I could hear him breathing in my scent. I probably smelt like smoke, I was in front of the fire and almost completely blocking Arthur from the smoke. I was like a shield to him, causing me to be the bad smelling victim, not Arthur.

“I need to talk to you about why I met with Mary.” I started off. Arthur pulled away slowly and looked me in the eyes. I could tell he was uncomfortable with the idea of his current girlfriend meeting his ex-girlfriend. I completely understood that.

“Okay.” Was all he said. He sat down on the bed and looked up at me.

I nodded and sighed. It was now or never Y/N.

“She sent me a letter. She had asked me to meet up with her outside of Valentine. That was why I left. I didn’t expect to leave for a whole two days, I thought that this was going to be quick.” I paused to look at Arthur. He had his hands in his lap and his hat was off, placed on the bedside.

“When I met her, she treated me disdainfully. When I met her, I felt self-conscious. She was absolutely gorgeous and I’m just me. There was one thing that she had said and that was why I had not come back for the two days.” Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed and he wiped his hands on his pants. I could tell this was hard for him.

“She had told me that...that you might have been my first but she will always be your first and that had me feeling really unsure of myself. I felt unworthy of having you, I felt as if I didn’t deserve you.” I felt the tears coming up and I hated. I had never been one to cry, it made you look weak and Dutch didn’t like us being weak. He wanted a strong gang that could handle even the toughest times.

Arthur stood up and his hand came up to cup my cheek. He guided my head up so I could make eye contact with him. He had gentle eyes and he moved his head so that we were almost kissing.

“Listen to me girl, I will always love you. I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. Don’t ever feel like that, you hear me?” He asked and I nodded, wanting to look away from him. I still felt self-conscious.

He wasn’t having it because he made me look at him again and this time, his lips crashed onto mine. His lips moved against mine, moving in sync with my lips. His lips were rough but at the same time soft as they moved along with mine. I could never get enough of Arthur’s kissing. It had me addicted and I know I could kiss his lips forever.

He pulled away, panting only a little. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

I gave a little nod of my head before his lips were back on mine. The kiss was somewhat gentle and it almost made me dizzy. Those lips of his would be the death of me. His tongue swiped along my bottom lip, begging for entry. I graciously allowed him entrance, opening my mouth enough for his tongue to explore.

The kiss deepened and I didn’t even try to dominate the kiss, there was no point. Arthur was always the dominant one in the relationship. I just obey everything he tells me to do.

Arthur’s hand gripped my hips and he turned us so that I was facing near the bed. He then moved us forward so that my legs hit the bed, causing me to fall onto the bed. Arthur stayed standing. He grabbed both of the overall’s on his shoulders and pulled them down. He then proceeded to unbutton his shirt. I just laid there and watched him. When his shirt was completely unbuttoned, he took it off and looked at me with a smouldering gaze.

He was so good looking, I was so lucky to have him.

Arthur’s hands trailed down to his boots. He somehow managed to take them off with lightning speed and had managed to unbutton his pants along with pulling the zip down. All he had to do was pull those pants down and he was fully exposed while I was fully dressed.

Finding it unfair, I had decided to unbutton my shirt. I had lent forward to completely take the shirt off. Arthur helped me, taking off my boots. He then leant over me, both of his hands on either side of my head. I could tell he didn’t want to put his weight on me and I appreciated that but we were not close enough.

Arthur’s had managed to unbutton my pants and undo the zipper whilst I was distracted looking at his beauty. He then pulled them down, leaving me only in my underwear. I grabbed his face, making him look at me before pressing my lips against his. Arthur liked my bold move and continued to kiss me back. Becoming lazy, Arthur rested on his arms, causing him to be lowered. Making it easier to kiss.

Arthur’s right hand travelled down my neck to the valley of my breasts. He growled when feeling the cloth in between my skin and his hands. He grabbed my waist, pulling me up. He then moved his other hand to grip the clasp of my bra, ripping it off. No doubt breaking my bra. He pulled the bra off and broke the kiss to look at the now exposed flesh.

His eyes showed admiration and I felt my cheeks heating up. I had never felt so flustered around a man before.

His hands came down to rub my nipples gently. His thumb flicked over the right one, a gasp protruding from my mouth. He looked up at me with a small smile on his face. His head went into the crevice between my neck and shoulder. His lips made contact, kissing here and there. His lips then travelled down to my collarbones. He sucked for a few minutes before moving back down to my left breast. He sucked on my nipple causing me to throw my head back in pleasure. Arthur flicked from left to right, rotating three more times before getting bored.

He moved down my body, his lips coming in contact with my belly and slowly gliding down. His finger hooked in my panties and ever so slowly, pulled them down. He looked up at me and gave a light kiss to my belly, his hands holding my hips so I was restricted with movement.

“I love you so much Y/N.” He whispered and I shuddered.

When my panties were finally off, he lowered his head.

He licked up my slit, a moan slipping from my lips. His tongue met up with my clit causing my hands to automatically grab his hair, pushing his head closer to where I needed him most. Arthur’s hands were still gripping my hips and still restricted me from bucking into his mouth. My legs wrapped around his head.

Arthur rotated his tongue against my clit and I bit my lip to hold my moans back. Arthur didn’t seem to like that as he growled and brought his right hand down only to insert his pointer and middle finger in my pussy. A load moan managed to escape and I gripped Arthur’s hair even tighter. Arthur’s tongue continued the ministrations on my clit and the same with his hands.

A tightening formed in my abdomen and I knew I was getting close. Arthur sensed this too and completely pulled back, causing me to whine at the loss of pleasure and contact.

“Sorry darlin’, I can’t wait any longer.” Arthur’s hand trailed down to his pants and pulled them down, exposing me to his pulsating cock. It was hard and ready and I was beginning to be impatient. I wriggled in his grip but it only seemed to get tighter.

Eventually, he lined his cock up with my entrance. He looked at me as if waiting for my permission to get what I’ve been almost begging for. I nodded and he gave me a little smirk before thrusting in slightly.

His girth had caused my walls to stretch but it made the pleasure increase. As he continued to slide in deeper, I felt fuller than ever. When Arthur’s cock was fully inside of me, he waited until I gave the signal to go ahead. His cock inside me had my stomach tingling.

I arched my back forward, letting Arthur know that I am ready for whatever he was going to give me. Arthur understood and pulled out. I whined at the feeling of being empty. Seconds later Arthur’s cock plunged back into me hard and rough. I moaned loudly as I wrapped my legs around his waist, allowing deeper access.

Arthur continued thrusting into me, placing all his frustrations into the thrusts. He was being rough and hard but it was still sweet. The pleasure pulsated through my body and I moaned loudly, not giving a fuck who heard me.

“Yes Arthur, yes, yes, it feels so good baby!” I moaned aloud and he grunted in response. Arthur’s thrusts accelerated and with every thrust, I was being jolted forward.

Arthur’s hands travelled from my waist to my thigh, picking the left one up and throwing it over his shoulder. The stretch of my legs caused Arthur to have more access, causing me to scream in pleasure.

“Yes! Yes! Right there, Arthur! Yes, you fuck me so good.” I screamed out. Arthur’s lips kissed my jawline and sucked, definitely making a bruise there the next day.

A coil in my stomach was forming, along with a tightness and I knew I was close to orgasming. Arthur picked up on this and dragged his hand down my body to my clit. His thumb pressed on it, gyrating it in circles. Jolts of pleasure shot down my abdomen, only causing my moans to increase.

“Arthur, baby, I’m gonna cum. Yes, keep going baby, I love you so much!” My words were rushed, my panting causing my words to be broken. I was so in love with this man and I was so stupid to doubt myself.

Arthur’s lips made contact with mine and that was when the coil snapped. My body jolted forward and I broke the kiss to throw my head back as pleasure spread through my whole body. My body shook and I could feel my nails scratching down Arthur’s back, no doubt leaving scratch marks tomorrow. I screamed Arthur’s name making sure the whole camp knew who was making me feel this good.

Arthur brought my jaw down to kiss me, his thrusts still continuing at the same pace. Arthur’s thrusts helped me ride through my high and eventually I knew Arthur was gonna come.

Arthur came with a loud groan, his seed spilling in me. Arthur’s thrusts stilled as he dropped every drip he had into me, causing a strange tingling in my body. The mere thought that I could carry Arthur’s baby had me excited. I knew we talked about it, I knew he wasn’t planning just yet but it still excited me.

When we both came down from our highs, Arthur pulled out and laid down beside me. We were both panting and our chests were rising up and down rapidly. We looked at each other and I could tell he was observing my face.

I giggled and kissed him on the lips. “I love you so much, Arthur Morgan,” I whispered against his lips.

He smiled at me, kissing me once again.

“I love you more Y/N, I always will.” It was then that I realised, I didn’t have to worry at all. As long as I had Arthur and Arthur had me, we could conquer the world.

Thank you for reading.

- REDDEADINMYBED

#Red Dead Redemption 2 #red dead redemption x reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan imagines #arthur morgan #Red Dead Redemption smut #Dutch Van Der Linde #red dead redemption imagines #red dead

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master-sass-blast · 6 years

Text

Salt of the Earth

Well. Hello. Welcome to my salt.

So, this is a fic that definitely fits into the series and everything, but it is also a direct byproduct of my salt at Netflix cancelling “The Punisher.”

It’ll make sense once you read the fic.

Rated T for: Multiple injuries, car accident (singular), kidnapping, mentions of child abuse, and just angst in general.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader (and kinda sorta Frank Castle x Karen Page; it’s not outright stated, but it’s very strongly implied that they like each other).

Song lyrics are from “Zombie” by Bad Wolves; bible verse is Matt. 5:13.

@marvel-is-perfection

“It’s the same o-ld thing/ in 2018/ In your head/ in your head/ they are dying…”

You sing along with the music blaring through the store speakers under your breath as you glare at the stack of sketchbooks sitting on the shelf in front of you. You’re at an art store in the small town area Piotr likes going to for outings –the very same place the two of you had your first date, in fact—and you’re trying to pick out a good birthday gift for your dearly beloved boyfriend.

Because Piotr is, without a doubt, the world’s most fantastic boyfriend, and you are not about to be shown up by your own partner.

You know, not to mention the fact that you want to get him something good. Something he’ll like.

So, first step. Art store. Always a good place to start, considering that Piotr is an artist and loves getting any art related gifts.

And, bonus! You can get there legally, without Piotr’s help, because you have a driver’s license! One hundred percent legally obtained! Go you!

The money in your bank account that will be used to buy the gift/gifts isn’t legally obtained, because it’s a mix of funds from Wade and your uncle, but the cashier isn’t going to know that and you know Piotr isn’t going to berate you for it because he understands that your situation’s a little –a lot—fucked up to begin with.

Anyway. Back to the point

You’ve made it to the art store. You are currently in the art store. You are exactly where you need to be –which, if it wasn’t clear, is the art store.

Unfortunately, there are no steps after “get to the art store” because you have no idea what you’re doing.

Yes, you do art; you’re not on Piotr’s level, but you hold your own –and, dare you say it, but you’re improving!

But Piotr’s always handled the ‘supply buying,’ as it were, and now that you’re staring down what seems like thousands of options, you’re completely lost at sea.

Okay, you tell yourself. Think. What does he need replaced?

Pens. He’s always burning through pens –and erasers, come to think of it—with how regularly he uses them.

You smile to yourself as you dart over to the proper aisle. I’m gonna own the fuck out of this.

Once you get your footing, you nail the shopping session. You’re gonna have to hide the receipt from Piotr because you definitely went a little nuts, but he deserves and you have more than enough money so why not?

You hum happily along to the pop song of the moment as you drive back to the mansion, gifts safely tucked in the shotgun seat of your car. You’re flying down the highway –not literally, in the sense that you can actually fly or the sense that you’d be speeding—and—

There’s not a single other car in sight.

And that’s… a little weird. It’s early afternoon on a weekend. You’d think you’d see more travelers on the road.

Before you have too much time to overthink it, a massive black SUV comes up on your tail out of nowhere.

You yelp and lay on the horn when it rams into your bumper. “What the fuck, asshole?” You wrench the wheel, trying to stay on the road, and press the gas pedal down harder.

The SUV keeps pace with you, barely keeping off your back bumper as it tails you down the empty road.

You honk again and shift into the other lane before slowing down.

The SUV simply speeds ahead –and spins so that it’s sitting across both lanes of the highway, right in your path.

You shriek as you stomp on the brakes, but it’s too little, too late.

Your car slams into the side of the SUV, and everything goes dark.

The first thing you register is pain. So much of it, everywhere. Your head feels like it’s been put in a vice until it cracked, and your ribs ache with every breath you take.

The second thing you register is that you’re laying on your side in some sort of cramped, stuffy compartment. You can’t sit up, can’t really even move without bumping into a barrier of some sort.

The third thing you register is that whatever you’re in is moving.

Oh, dear sweet Cthulhu have mercy, I’m in the trunk of a car. You groan as you check your pockets for your phone and swear when you come up empty handed. “Shit! Okay, taillight. Find one of the taillights.”

It takes forever, between the pain you’re in and the cramped quarters, but you manage to find one of the taillights. You rip the carpet covering it away, then use your powers to punch it out.

You’re in a city, which is better then being on some backroad in the middle of the woods. City means people, which means phones, which means you’ve got a shot at calling someone and getting back to the X-Mansion. You suck in the fresh night air –you’ve been out for a while, which isn’t good—and try to formulate some sort of a plan. Maybe they’ll hit a light soon, and then I can break the hood open and get out—

The sound of tires screeching fills the air, followed by a heavy burst of gunfire.

You suck air through your teeth –part in surprise, part in pain—as the car comes to an abrupt stop.

“The fuck was that?” one of your abductor’s voices shouts from the cabin of the car, muffled but extremely pissed off.

You know about as much as they do, it would seem, and while you’re not fond of getting out of the car while there’s active gunfire, you know you’re not gonna get a better chance.

You slam the hood of the car open, sending it flying into the air, and bolt for the nearest alley before your kidnappers can react. You barely make it two feet into the shadows before you collapse against a wall, head spinning with blinding pain. Fuck. I think some of my ribs are broken. You pant and gasp through the waves of agony, trying to keep from vomiting.

“Where’d she go?”

“She won’t have gotten far. Find her!”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuckuckfuck—

You grit your teeth and fly up to the nearest roof top. You do actually vomit –and almost pass out in it—once your feet hit the flat, paved surface. You collapse to your knees, arms shaking, and groan as you force yourself to your feet. Push through it. Come on. You need to find a way to call Piotr.

You manage to run across the roof top, away from the sounds of your kidnappers’ voices, tears stinging your eyes at every jolt your body takes. You round a corner, hoping to find some sort of door inside—

You run into a black clad figure –literally, full body contact and everything—and scream as the two of you go down together. Adrenaline surges through your system, and you lash out at the person wildly.

“Woah –woah! Hey!”

You stop with a gasp when you see Frank Castle’s face –a little bruised and bloody, but not too much worse for wear considering his line of work—staring down at you. You groan and go limp. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“The fuck happened to you?” he grunts as he scans your various injuries.

“Car crash. Kidnapped.” You wince. “You know, the usual.” You flinch when you hear the voices of your abductors shouting –they’re getting closer—and shoot Frank a desperate look. “I need help. Please. I lost my phone, I can’t call anyone for help—”

He pulls you to your feet and hooks one of your arms over his shoulders so he can support some of your weight. “I’ve got a van in an alley nearby. Let’s go.”

You do your best to keep pace with him and look over your shoulder jerkily when you hear more gunfire. “The fuck is that?”

“I made some friends,” he grunts as he guides you across the dark rooftop. “Left.”

“Sure sounds like it.” Gunfire pierces the air again –closer, you’re both being closed in on—and you shift your arm so that it’s around his waist and squeeze him against you as much as you can. “Which way’s the alley?”

“West, two blocks –Christ!”

If you were feeling better, you’d smirk at Frank’s exclamation when you launch the two of you into the air. As it is, you grimace and focus on not crashing into anything or dropping your only ticket out of here –here being Hell’s Kitchen, apparently.

You manage to find said alley and van –both of which could be charitably described as ‘creepy looking.’ You and Frank tumble to the cracked pavement, and then you’re retching against the dirty asphalt like a cat trying to hock up the biggest hairball of its life.

Frank gets you up on your feet an into the passenger side of the van in a matter of seconds. He mumbles an apology as he buckles you in, then gets into the driver’s side equally as fast and starts the engine.

“I’m gonna apologize in advance,” you gasp. “In case I throw up in your van.”

Frank makes the grunt equivalent of a shrug as he peels out of the alleyway. “Not the worst thing it’s seen.”

He stops behind a massive apartment building about fifteen minutes later, cutting the engine as he unbuckles himself and opens the door.

“What’re we doing?” you mumble. Now that you’re sitting down and not actively working on getting away from your kidnappers, exhaustion’s setting in. Fast.

“Can’t use my car to get’cha where you need to go,” Frank explains as he unbuckles you and half-drags, half-scoops you out of your seat. “We’ll need to borrow a ride. That, and you need some first aid for your head faster than you need a ride home.”

You frown as you touch your head, then blink when your hand comes away red and sticky. “Oh. Party.”

Frank chuckles as helps you stagger towards the fire escape. “Always is.”

“Wait, you’re gonna make me fucking climb all that?”

“Guy like me can’t exactly use the front door.”

“How high up are we going?”

“Floor fourteen.”

You give him a flat look. “I hate you.”

He chuckles again. “That how you thank all your rescuers?”

“It is if they make me climb up fourteen floors after going through a car accident.”

“Suppose that’s fair.”

You wince as you hook your arm around his waist again. “You’re gonna have to count; I need to focus on not dropping us.”

You manage to get up to the correct floor without dropping Frank once. He does, though, have to practically drag you to the right window. You whimper as he sets you down and taps on the glass pane.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Hang in there.”

You can hear movement inside the apartment, and then the window opens.

A slim woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and wide blue eyes gives the two of you a horrified look. “Frank –what the fuck?”

He jerks his head at you. “She needs help.”

You stick out your hand –it’s not like you’ve got any better options. “I’m Y/N.”

Karen shakes your hand before backing away from the window so Frank can lift you inside. “I’m Karen Page. Let me grab my first aid kit.”

“I’ve got it,” Frank says as he shuts the window. “She needs a phone to call her boyfriend.”

“I lost mine in the car crash.”

It says something about Karen that she doesn’t even blink at your comment. Instead, she digs her phone out of her purse, unlocks it, and hands it you. “Here.”

“Sorry if I bleed on it,” you mumble as you dial Piotr’s number –you mentally thank your uncle for making you memorize phone numbers from an early age on—and try to avoid smearing Karen’s phone with blood as you lift the speaker end to your ear.

“It’s fine.” Karen nods in the direction that Frank went. “I guarantee you he’s done worse.”

The phone rings a few times before Piotr picks up. “Ya sluchu vas.”

You start crying; after the day you’ve had, hearing his voice is the best damn thing in the world. “Piotr?”

His reaction is immediate, relief so evident in his voice you can practically see the expression on his face. “Y/N, where are you? I have been trying to reach you all day—”

“I got in a car crash; some chickenshits tried to run me off the road, and then they threw me in the trunk of a car, and—”

“What? Slow down. Wait, are you safe? Where are you?”

You groan as Frank and Karen help you sit on her couch, then laugh when you realize how fucking ridiculous the story you’re about to tell is gonna sound. “Yeah. You’re not gonna believe who I ran into.”

Frank takes over the phone once you’ve recapped everything for Piotr and reassured your darling boyfriend that, yes, you’re as okay as you can be and you’re in a safe place; he works out the details of how you’re getting back to the mansion while Karen works on getting you relatively cleaned and patched up.

And Karen, to her credit, doesn’t seem all that alarmed by your –or Frank’s, for that matter—injuries. Concerned, yes, and maybe a little strained, but not scared.

She smiles weakly when you remark as much. “Yeah, well, you can’t really let all this freak you out to much if you associate with him.” She nods at Frank again.

“I didn’t think the Punisher had associates,” you mumble as she applies another bandage to what seemed to be a nasty cut on your forehead, if Frank’s and Karen’s reactions were anything to go by.

She huffs out a laugh at that. “I didn’t either, until I realized that I was one of them.”

“Yeah… yeah. No, we’ll get ‘er to you. Probably safer that way… nah, I’m sure. We’ll finish getting ‘er stable, and then I’ll drive her out. See you in a bit, Rasputin.”

You peer up at Frank as he ends the call and hands the phone back to Karen. “How’re we getting out of here?”

“I’ll drive you back once you’re patched up.”

Karen snorts and gives him an incredulous look. “I don’t remember saying you could ‘borrow’ my car. Again.”

“I’ve got a ride—”

“What, your murder van?”

You giggle; it’s an apt description, really.

The corner of Frank’s mouth turns up –and holy shit the Punisher is actually smiling. “What’s wrong with it? It’s got four wheels, it drives, it brakes, it steers. What more do you want?”

“Upholstery that doesn’t have bloodstains on them?”

“Aw, c’mon. It adds character.”

And, even with your probable concussion, you can tell that Frank and Karen are flirting. Hardcore flirting, even.

And that’s… interesting. You knew that Karen had to be someone that Frank trusted to even go to her in the first place, but you hadn’t banked on him liking her, too.

“Frank, you won’t be in Hell’s Kitchen. If you drive Y/N to the X-Mansion in your murder van, people are going to call the police. We’ll take my car.”

“‘We?’”

Karen shoots him a defiant look. “You aren’t ‘borrowing’ my car again, Frank.” She moves out of the way so he can take over your ‘patching up’ and disappear somewhere out of your field of vision.

Frank crouches in front of the couch, still grinning as he rifles through Karen’s first aid kit. He pauses for a minute –and you recognize the look on his face as the ‘I’m about to be a little shit’ expression, which you’ve learned to identify from spending so much time with Wade—then says “Technically, I didn’t borrow it the first time.”

“Not helping your argument, Castle.”

You bite back a smirk as Frank huffs out something that, on another person, might be a chuckle. Very interesting.

Once Frank declares that you’re unlikely to bleed on the interior of Karen’s car, she and Frank help you down to the parking garage of her apartment building. Frank crawls into the back with you –to make sure you don’t fall asleep, given your probable concussion and whatnot—while Karen gets into the driver’s seat and turns the car on.

You wince as you try to sit in a way that doesn’t hurt, then give up on it and settle for letting your head rest against the car door.

You’re tired. Now that you’re not running for your life or in the warm glow of Karen’s apartment, all you can process –feel—is your exhaustion. You haven’t eaten since breakfast, you’re uncomfortable, and every single tiny move you make hurts.

You are, however, wearing one of Frank’s hoodies; Karen had produced it from somewhere in her apartment –add that to the list of interesting details about whatever dynamic Frank Castle and Karen Page have going on—and wrapped you in it to hide the worst of your injuries from any passersby. It’s ridiculously soft, funnily enough, and is only adding to the exhaustion weighing down on you. You nestle yourself in as much as you can to the back seat of Karen’s car and make to close your eyes.

“Hey. Hey, hey! Do not fall asleep right now!” Frank grabs your hand and squeezes hard enough to be uncomfortable. “Keep your eyes open, you hear me?”

“Fuck you, I’m tired,” you whine. You open your eyes anyway.

“How’d you end up running into Frank?” Karen asks from the front seat as she carefully navigates out of Hell’s Kitchen. “You said something about crashing your car?”

“I didn’t crash my car,” you grouse. “Some assholes pulled out in front of me on a highway and stopped.”

“And no one called the police? Or an ambulance?”

“I’m pretty sure it was all planned ahead of time. The highway was dead empty just before it happened.”

The car goes silent for a moment, and then Karen says in a voice that’s just a little too steady “I knew working with the X-Men could be dangerous, but I didn’t think things were that crazy.”

“I don’t think it had anything to do with them,” you admit. “I’m not really an X-Man, either.”

“But you live at the mansion. And you’re a mutant.”

“I am, but being at the mansion is more for my own safety,” you say with a bitter laugh. “I, uh, grew up in an anti-mutant home. Left once I figured out there was a place that would accept me.”

“You think it had something to do with your parents?” Frank asks.

“I mean, they’ve sent bounty hunters after me before,” you grumble. “It’s not like it’d be the first time.”

Frank tenses next to you. “Who are you parents, ‘xactly?”

You don’t have to guess about why he’s suddenly so uptight. This is the man that spends his life gunning down gangs and crime families and other scums of the Earth; if you were him, you’d be worried about what sort of shit the person you randomly helped save might drag into your life—

Or the life of someone like Karen Page.

If there’s really something going on there, you muse, he’s gonna be protective of her. “They’re no one. Just a couple of assholes who didn’t want their kid when she was growing up, but now that’s she gone they’ve figured out they don’t want anyone else having her either, much less for her to have a life where she’s happy.” Tears start stinging your eyes, and then they’re trickling down your cheeks as you start crying. “They used to lock me in my room –my dad would beat with a belt when I had trouble controlling my mutation—” You choke back a sob, then pain racks through your body from the movement jarring your ribs.

There’s the click of a seatbelt unbuckling, and then Frank’s sliding over so he’s next to you, holding your shoulders steady so you don’t jerk yourself around unnecessarily. “Hey, hey. Deep breaths. Easy.”

“I can’t ‘breathe deep,’ asshole,” you say with a choked laugh. “Ow.”

“Is abuse really all that common towards mutants?” Karen asks from the front seat. “Not that I don’t believe you or believe it happens, it’s just… disheartening to think about.”

“Unfortunately, it is,” you say as Frank slides back to his seat and buckles himself in; you’ve calmed down again, which means you don’t need to be restrained. “There’s obviously the good families, but we’re kind of scum to society. Freakish abominations.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with you,” Karen insists. “You’re just people.”

You let out a dark laugh. “Tell that to the founders of Harmony.”

Frank’s eyes are on you again. “What?”

“An anti-mutant settlement about an hour from Xavier’s. They actively kill any mutants they can get their hands on; they’ve got a compound out in the middle of the woods where they do it.” You go quiet for a moment. “They would’ve killed Piotr, if we hadn’t rescued him.”

“I didn’t realize things were that bad,” Karen says softly after a moment. “How are people even getting away with that shit?”

“How do people get away with committing atrocities anywhere? They think they have a right to hurt people, and others agree with them. Unfortunately for us, the ‘others’ who agree with them happen to be the people in power.”

The car goes silent again, and something tells you that the wheels in Karen’s head are turning. You don’t know her that well –don’t know her at all, really—but something tells you that the woman that Frank Castle is –seemingly—interested in isn’t the type to roll over all that easy.

Then, Karen clears her throat. “Who’s Piotr?”

You smile softly. “He’s my boyfriend. He’s the one I called at your apartment. I was actually out getting him some presents for his birthday today.”

“That’s sweet. What were you getting him?”

“Art supplies. He’s an artist, so I like to help keep him stocked up.” You blink owlishly when you realize that the bags with everything you’d bought are probably still in the wreckage formerly known as you car. “I’m gonna have to rerun that errand. Right after I get a new ride.”

“It’ll all work out,” Karen reassures you. “How long have the two of you been together?”

“Uh…” You try to figure it out, even going as far as to count it out on your fingers—

“She’s concussed, Karen. Maybe don’t make her do math,” Frank says with a chuckle.

“It’s been longer than a year,” you add. “Definitely longer than a year.” You think for a moment, then let out a soft laugh. “Y’know, I never thought I’d find anyone. I grew up thinking I was unlovable.”

“Anyone can be loved,” Karen says.

If it were any other situation, you’d write it off as a supportive statement.

But Karen’s voice is just a little too pointed, a little too intentional, and Frank suddenly gets very interested in staring at his shoes.

Probable concussion or not, you know you’re not seeing things. But, there’s nothing you can do or say now that won’t make things awkward, so you tuck it all away for later, for when you can dish it all out to Ellie, Wade, and Yukio to get their opinions on it all –which, to be clear, you’ll only do because you know they’d never blab about it.

But yeah, later. Right now, all you want to do is get back home to Piotr.

Karen keeps you talking for the rest of the ride, asking questions about Piotr and your new life at Xavier’s until she pulls up the gravel drive of Xavier’s Institute for Gifted Youngsters.

The front door opens before Karen even puts the car into park and then Piotr’s sprinting out towards you, followed by a couple of healers.

Frank gets out and directs him to the side where you’re sat—

And then the door’s opening, and Piotr’s there next to you, and you’re both crying.

A couple that cries together, stays together. Isn’t that how the saying goes?

Frank helps Piotr unbuckle and get you out of the car, and then you’re being made to lay down on a stretcher by one very blue, very furry Dr. Hank McCoy.

“Hey, doc,” you manage. “How bad do I look?”

“I’ve seen worse,” he says with a small smile. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

You can breathe without your ribs hurting.

It’s the small things in life, really.

Lucky for you, aside from the fractured ribs –and the concussion; you did, in fact, have a concussion—there weren’t any other major injuries. The healers fix you up, Hank checks you over, and then you’re being discharged with a meager amount of painkillers to help with the stiffness and soreness that’ll linger for the next few days.

It could’ve been worse. It could’ve been so much worse.

Piotr sticks by your side for all of it; he holds your hand, lets you squeeze his when you need to, and offers encouragement when he can.

Hank leaves so Piotr can help you get dressed in clean clothes, and you start crying as soon as the door closes.

Piotr’s by your side in an instant –not that he had wandered far from it in the first place. “Moya lyubov’, what is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

You mash your face against his shoulder and sob. “I’m sorry –I’m sorry that I didn’t call, and that I worried you, and that—”

He’s quick to shush you, gentle and loving as he rubs soothing circles on your back with his hands. “Nyet, nyet, nyet. This was not your fault, myshka.” He kisses the top of your head. “Let’s get you dressed, and then let’s get you food. Da?”

You sniff loudly and nod. “Yeah, okay.”

He kisses each of your eyelids. “What sounds good?”

“I want a burger. With fries.”

He chuckles and kisses the bridge of your nose. “Khorosho.”

“A lot of fries. Like, a metric ton of fries.”

He laughs again and helps you start changing out of your shirt. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Karen and Frank, surprisingly enough, are still around when Piotr walks you over to the main side of the Institute. Karen’s talking to Professor Xavier while taking notes in a little notebook, while Frank just generally looks uncomfortable and seems to be set on finding the best places to stand that’ll draw the least amount of attention to him.

He also looks a lot better, too, which means the healers must’ve gotten a hold of him.

Good.

Karen looks shocked when she sees you. “Oh, wow. I didn’t think you’d be walking at all.”

“I’ve always bounced back quick,” you say with a shrug. “But having healers that can literally make your wounds close themselves by touching you doesn’t hurt things either.”

She nods. “Yeah, I bet they don’t.”

Frank rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifts in a grin anyway.

You manage to make eye contact with him –no small feat, since he seems hellbent on memorizing the grain of the wood flooring—and nod in greeting. “Thanks for helping me out.”

He nods back. “Any time.”

“You guys alright? You need anything to eat?” You point in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m gonna have a burger—”

“Actually, we should probably head out,” Karen says. “I’ve got work tomorrow, and I still have an article that I need to wrap up before morning hits.”

The relief on Frank’s face at being given an out is palpable, so you drop it. “Alright. It was nice to meet you. Thanks for letting me bleed on your couch.”

Karen laughs and nods. “No problem. It’s definitely not the worst thing that couch has ever seen. Hopefully, if we run into each other again, it’ll be under better circumstances with less blood involved.”

“We can always hope.” As you watch them leave, an old memory flashes into your mind’s eye:

“You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has become tasteless, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled under foot by men.”

Normally, any memories from your childhood are liable to send you reeling –especially any that connect to the countless times you were dragged into your town’s church and told, over and over, how you were a perversion of God’s creation.

But now, instead of panicking, you can’t help but regard Frank and Karen in quiet contemplation as they walk out the front door of Xavier’s; the two people that, without really knowing you or having any investment in your wellbeing past the general goodwill that decent humans possessed, had spent the past couple of hours helping you get to safety.

After a life of being beaten down –specifically by non-mutants—it’s an interesting turnabout.

You smile to yourself, just a little, as you watch Frank open the door for Karen and usher her out into the night. Salt of the earth indeed.

You wind up on the couch, nestled against Piotr’s side, happily munching on your burger while the two of you watch old Mythbusters reruns.

(You did, in fact, get a small mountain of fries –and decent servings of fruit and vegetables, because Piotr made your plate for you.)

“How are you feeling?” he asks, voice soft as he kisses the top of your head.

“Sore. Tired. Hungry.” You set your burger down. “I’m gonna need a new phone. I lost mine in the crash.”

He rubs a hand up and down your back. “We’ll get it figured out.”

“I’m gonna need a new car, too. And to replace everything in my purse.”

He wraps his arms around you as you start shaking and presses his lips against your shoulder. “Breathe, myshka. Everything will be taken care of.”

Your lower lip trembles and you squeeze your eyes shut. “I had presents for your birthday picked out and everything. I lost those, too.”

He kisses your temple, then your forehead. “I would rather have you than presents.”

“Yeah, I get it, I just—” You sniffle and rub your hands over your face. “I’m just upset about it. I get it’s not even that big a deal in the grand scheme of things, but I still just—”

He gently settles you in his lap when you start crying and rocks you back and forth. “It is okay to be upset. You had upsetting day.”

“I was just really happy with what I picked out, and now I’m not gonna be able to leave the mansion again until we figure out who went after me and why, and I really just want to be able to buy you a birthday gift, dammit.”

“I am very flattered, myshka, but trust me when I say it does not matter to me. I will not be hurt if you cannot get me gifts.”

“I know, but it matters to me.”

He goes quiet at that, opting to just hold you and rock you back and forth while you cry.

It’s been a shit day. Your car was totaled, you were kidnapped after being forced into an accident, you had to spend over an hour in the medical bay at the mansion to get your ribs patched up, and now you’re down a phone, an ID and debit card, a car, and your gifts for Piotr.

You know that you’re lucky. That things could be much, much worse. That if you hadn’t run into Frank on that rooftop, you’d probably be in the trunk of another car right now.

You’re alive, you’re healed, and you’re back with Piotr. You’ve got a lot to be grateful for.

And, in the morning, you will be grateful for it.

But it’s been a shit day, and right now all you want to do is cry over the fact that you can’t buy your boyfriend a damn replacement birthday present.

So that’s what you do. You’ve earned it.

Crying’s healthy, anyway.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #frank castle x karen page #tw: child abuse #tw: kidnapping #tw: car accident #tw: injuries #this has a happy ending #it's just a very emotional fic #with lots of pain #but everything works out in the end #also frank castle DESERVES FRIENDS DAMMIT #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction #punisher fanfiction

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this-lioness · 5 years

Text

Feeling a little overwhelmed.

The kitchen cabinet doors still need to be done. This is taking a lot of time because they have to dry pretty thoroughly between each coat, and each one needs 3 coats + a light touch-up. Then we still have to do the edges. This is not helped by the fact that Marc didn’t sand the primer coat before he started painting the first side (which was supposed to be the “front” of the doors), meaning that with each coat of paint on top all the goopy drips and imperfections became more and more obvious. So now I’m going super slow on the other side so that it will be nice enough to be the display side. I’m not mad I’m just disappointed.

We have a gala coming up in two weeks, and I still haven’t sat down to design / paint the mask I’m supposed to use, nor put together any of the little details. We are doing a 5k in a couple more weeks that we are only now starting to “train” for. I’m less stressed about this than it sounds, but it’s still frustrating.

Both of my parents have birthdays coming up, and an anniversary. And my stepfather really wants to get back out to the lake in time to see the colors in what he personally considers “prime time”, and I don’t know what the fuck he’s really looking for, because yesterday everything looked beautiful to me? And if I take him too soon he’s going to be disappointed, but if I take him too late he’s also going to be disappointed, and my mother is just 100% disappointed with everything 100% of the time.

Marc asked me about five times what I was planning on doing for my Halloween costume until I was finally like, “I’m just going to wear the “candy witch” costume I have up in the closet. And I think he’s disappointed, because he loves Halloween (so do I!) but I just do not have the bandwidth to come up with and assemble a costume this year, just to stand around and hand out candy to kids, and also it’s going to rain on Halloween. I sense he’s disappointed that I’m not as “into it” as in previous years.

I am excited for the holidays, but can I just express how much I hate the huge pile of empty decor boxes that sits behind the couch for 3+ months until they’re all over? I fucking hate living around the clutter of holiday decorations PLUS the clutter of the boxes that the decorations are stored in.

We also still haven’t done the photo for our Christmas card this year, and we need to get on that SOON. Not only does the photo need to be staged, but we need to be sure we have our outfits, and then there is a LOT of digital editing that needs to be done afterwards. Like a good couple hours, at least.

I also have 4+ design commissions that I haven’t even STARTED on! And I’m running out of things to tell these people that aren’t, “I PHYSICALLY CANNOT.”

Oh hi, Thanksgiving is also coming up. His Mom will be coming over the night before, and my mother is pretty much only able to eat liquids and gruel, and then afterwards we like to be “those people” and go out for Black Friday. I NEED to have the kitchen done before all this.

Because the kitchen and dining room is complete fucking disarray I have not been able to clean the house! And a messy house is a huge, huge stressor for me. I was going to try to do laundry yesterday, but the guy was doing the furnace, and so clearly I couldn’t occupy the same space. I am thinking of skipping the gym tonight just so I can put a dent in the huge pile that is accumulating in the bedroom.

Marc has not paired socks in like three weeks? Despite the fact that he knows this must be done regularly, like every time I do the laundry? But it just keeps piling up and piling up and piling up, and no matter how many times I’m like, “SOCKS????”, he’s just like, “Well, I didn’t know where you put them!” (1. They are in the same place they always are and even if they weren’t 2. You could ask) or the excuse is, “I didn’t know they needed to be done, you should have put them where I can see them? (1. You are a grown ass man who wears socks EVERY SINGLE DAY AND WE HAVE BEEN MARRIED FOR ALMOST FOURTEEN YEARS. YOU ARE FULLY AWARE THAT SOCKS MUST BE PAIRED AND THAT IT IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. 2. Last time I put the overflowing box of unpaired socks immediately onto your side of the bed, and you MOVED IT TO THE FLOOR AND BLISSFULLY CONTINUED LIVING A LIFE OF UNPAIRED SOCKS.)

We also have THREE events coming up: an author expo, a Christmas craft fair, and A SECOND Christmas craft fair. The summer fair at the cemetery was SO GREAT because people bought a ton of stuff, but this means that I need to rebuild my inventory. And “rebuilding my inventory” isn’t just hopping online and buying shit! I need to design it, and craft it, and then finish it, and do I have enough materials on hand to do it all?

The garden still has not been put to bed for the year, and I don’t know when the hell we’re going to have the perfect combination of time and weather!

Also, I still have two fucking bags of clothes that I need to stage and photograph so I can post it online!

And I haven’t even S T A R T E D photographing my own jewelry to create an online store! Nor do I have any idea when I’m going to have the time to do it!

Also, I would like to be able to draw and paint!

Also, I was supposed to write 10k words in September, and I didn’t fucking write ANY, because how??? Even if I can work up the momentum to finish this goddamned book, when the fuck am I supposed to do it?

And Rosie is getting fixed at the end of this month, and Bones needs to go back to the vet for bloodwork next month to make sure his kidneys aren’t failing and he hasn’t lost any more weight.

So yesterday, on the way home from the gym, when I’m like, “I cancelled the second Christmas fair, the one at the school. It’s just too much for me,” and he’s like, “It’s too much? Are you kidding?”

And I swear to God... I swear to God I would take a bullet for this man, I would literally murder people for this man, and he has my whole heart, but I may have never wanted to fucking strangle him so much as I did right then.

JESUS EFFING CHRIST DUDE. Y’know, I would also like to spend twenty minutes twice a day sitting on the toilet and browsing my phone. I would really also like to check myself out of all responsibilities every time there’s a football game on TV that I want to watch. It would be really great to never have to fucking think about HOW EVERYTHING IN OUR LIFE OPERATES ON TIME AND WITHIN BUDGET AND HOW LITERALLY EVERYTHING GETS DONE, except I CAN’T DO THAT. Last night when we were supposed to be “relaxing” in bed, I sat there sorting through mail so that everything would get paid / done on time, while you sat there scrolling away on your STUPID PHONE THAT I HATE SO MUCH.

He has a bare minimum of responsibilities:

1. Take the garbage bins to the curb and back again.

2. Feed the cats (I occasionally help with this)

3. Do the afternoon litterbox scoop (this frequently gets “forgotten”)

4. Load / unload the dishwasher, hand-wash anything that cannot go in the machine (this maybe gets done once a week, it frequently goes until the sink is so filled with shit that I cannot prepare meals)

5. Take the trash out to the bins (this has been known to sit WAY LONGER than it should)

6. Clean the bathrooms (There are 3 -- 2 full and 1 half. One of the full baths does not need to be regularly cleaned because it’s only there to hold litter boxes, we don’t actually use it. That leaves 1 full bath and 1 half bath, the latter of which is STRICTLY HIS.) The bathrooms are cleaned maybe once a month.

7. Clean the floors (vacuum and mop). This ONLY gets done when guests are coming over, or when I complain that the floors are disgusting and they REALLY need to get done. Half the time he will vacuum (and not thoroughly), and then say, “I’m going to hold off on mopping until right before X gets here, that way they’ll be fresh and clean”, and then will conveniently forget to mop at all.

It’s not as if he’s not aware. We have talked about this. He FREQUENTLY AND WITH HEARTFELT SELF-DEPRECATION will confess that he is terrible about keeping up the house, and promise that he will get better, and it takes everything in my power to say, “No you won’t. Can I just stop pretending that I believe you when you say that, because you clearly do not actually mean it or, if you do, you have no intention of putting forth the physical and mental ambition to follow through.”

And you know what? I DON’T CARE! I love my house and I love taking care of it. I married him knowing these things about him, and he is such a good partner otherwise that I was willing to overlook it, and we laugh about it most of the time and it’s fine. It’s actually fine! I’m not just saying that!

What gets me -- what borderline made me want to murder him -- was the incredulous, “Really? The second craft fair is too much?” last night, and I think the dark depths of my silence afterwards must have clued him into the fact that he had been a Dumbass Supreme, and he spent a good 20 minutes reminding me how awesome I am.

Yes. Yes, I know I’m fucking awesome. Sometimes I just want you to be a little fucking awesome too. PLEASE.

#oc #ugh

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ambroseblack · 5 years

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In continuation of my improvised story/ first attempt at something horror-paranormally, here is chapter 2 to whisper. If you haven't read the first chapter, you can read it here now!

Stay spooky beloved friends!

Love and Peace,

Ambrose

Chapter 2: Daylight

I woke up with my face nearly glued to the wooden table in the dining room. I apparently had a fair amount of liquid in my body at one time, being that my face was surrounded by a pool of drool and sweat. My mouth was terribly dry, making my tongue feel like a cat's, as I licked my lips with no apparent gratification.

The soft gray light of a rainy fall morning drifted through the half-open burgundy curtains that the previous owner had left on the main floor. They were much nicer than anything I would have bought. I would have been happy with some sheets to be honest. But they did give the large house a touch of grandeur. It was fitting, being that the house was so old and well maintained. A museum of sorts. Walking through the front door was like walking into a different time.

The soft tapping of pouring rain echoed throughout the house. I always found the sound to be soothing. It was a sound I had missed in my apartment in the city. It reminded me of rainy days when I was a kid. The kind of days where one is at peace just laying in bed thinking, as the cool water pours down around the world outside.

I looked at the laptop that was resting untouched in front of me. The screen was still up at attention, but black from not being used.

I must have dreamed everything. The shadow. The whisper.

I chuckled to myself as I stood up from my seat to go make coffee in the kitchen. My knees ached quietly. They probably just hurt from being bent all night long. At least, that is what I told myself. It's always far easier to write off the truly unexplained. We are always happy remaining ignorant.

I slowly trudged into the kitchen. My crocs quietly squeaked on the tile floors. They were horribly ugly things to have on your feet, but goddam...they were comfortable. Besides, I was a writer. I had nobody to impress.

I grabbed the tarnished silver teapot that sat on the stove and filled it with cold water from the tap. The teapot, just like the drapery in the house, had been left by the previous owner. In fact, there were a lot of remnants left behind. A large grandfather clock that rang out in the most frightening of ways. An old, apparently never touched couch in the front room. A baby grand piano in the foyer with worn keys. I felt like I was living in someone else's house, being that I had barely unpacked any of my own belongings. I kind of liked it, to be honest. It was like I had stepped into the story where another left off. Or died off...I had no idea. Who really cares?

I placed the teapot on the stove and lit the burner. Bright blue flames licked the bottom of the silver, slowly tickling the water held within. I fumbled through the cabinets looking for the coffee and french press. I had still not really organized the cabinets, so I would always find things in different places each day. At last I found my treasures next to a half-eaten box of frosted flakes. The box itself wasn't eaten, however the cereal inside was. Next to the box was a gallon of milk that I must have put in there by mistake. What can I say...I enjoy frosted flakes after indulging in some fabulous things. The kind of things that open your mind up to be able to do things like write. For all you know, I'm eating frosted flakes right now as I type these words. You don't fucking know. I mean, I'm not. But I could be.

I unscrewed the cap to the milk and took a faint whiff to see if it had gone sour. It was fairly decent. Could have been worst. I took a nearly-clean bowl out of the sink, poured some of the thickening milk into into it, and sprinkled some of the flaked cereal into it. I thought about finding a spoon, but who needs a spoon when you really don't give a shit. I would slurp it like the animal I was.

The teapot began to whistle its horrible song as steam spewed out of the spout like a stoner exhaling at a Phish concert. I scooped some coffee grounds out of the bag with my hand and poured their fragrant particles into the french press. I used to use a coffee pot like a normal person, but once I found the french press I never looked back. Very honestly, it's a completely different coffee experience. Like the difference between having sex when you are a teenager versus sex when you have an understanding of what the clitoris is. Or prostate. Whatever tickles your fancy, really. Like mind-blowingly different. I'm not sure "blowingly" is an actual word, but I guess it is now. Never mind...it is...I just googled it. Feel free to use it.

The smell of coffee began to fill the kitchen immediately after I poured the steaming water into the glass beaker. The smell brightened the gloom of the gray filtering in through the windows from the outside. I was beginning to feel better. The nightmare was slowly slipping away from my thoughts.

<<<:>>>

I half-hazardly carried the bowl of soggy cereal and the mug of piping hot black coffee into the dining room. Splashes of both semi-cold milk and scalding liquid both found their way onto the flesh of my hands. On one hand, it hurt. On the other, it didn't. Pain and indifference, really. The joys of life.

I sat down at the table and coaxed my laptop to wake up with a gentle touch to its mouse pad. I nearly spit out the mouthful of cereal I had just poured into my mouth from the bowl when I read what was typed in bold capitals on the shit story I was working on. There, in the middle of the screen of the electronic page were two words.

KEEP WRITING

"Fuck man..." I quietly said out loud to myself. Even though I convinced myself I must have just written that as a message to myself in my sleepy/high state the night prior, it still gave me chills. I thought back to the dream. The sharp whisper I had heard. There it was again; that unsettled feeling in the bottom of my stomach. But that too could be explained away by the half-spoiled milk I was consuming.

I had to get out of that house for a little while. I felt like I had given myself cabin fever.

<<<:>>>

I found my old black boots by the front door and rummaged through a box to find my long black rain coat that was still packed away. I opened the large oak door that squealed when moved and was smacked in the face with a brisk wind. Deciding that I needed to re-think my outfit (which included dirty sweatpants, a faded Tenacious D t-shirt, the boots, and the coat), I made my way up the wooden staircase to find an outfit better suited for the elements. I had also worn the same sweats and t-shirt for over a week... if not, longer. Thinking about it, I had not really left the house for probably two weeks. That is just sort of my brand of a writing lifestyle I guess. Disgusting? Absolutely. But it bought the house and the things I needed just the same.

I pulled a tattered black sweater over my head and over the Tenacious D t-shirt. The fabric of the sweater was stretched in odd places, but it was comfortable and warm. I pulled off the stinking black sweat pants as well as the crispy boxers. I thought for a moment about showering and then decided against it. What good was deodorant if it couldn't cover up the smell of filth? Besides, the cigarette I planned to smoke when I got out on the porch would provide a strong enough fragrant blanket to cover up the sweaty ass smell. And if it didn't...so be it.

After completing my outfit with a fresh pair of boxers, stained jeans, thick wool socks, long striped gray scarf, and an olive-green knit hat, I was ready to be off on my way to do whatever I was going to do. I didn't really have a plan. Maybe a walk to the tiny downtown. Anything that would get me out of the house. I couldn't bring myself to really care.

As I turned to leave the enormous bedroom my eyesight caught something on the wall just above the headboard. There, on the white wall it looked like a symbol was leaking through the paint. You know how when your paint a lighter color over a darker color and sometimes it kind of comes through? It's always faint, yet always noticeable.

It was hard to see, but it definitely wasn't my imagination. A red symbol shaped like an eye was coming out of the white. Just enough to be seen by me at that moment despite the depressing light filtering in through the wall of windows.

I felt myself want to approach the wall to examine the symbol more, but found myself caught by a momentary feeling of fear and hesitation again. I couldn't stand there any longer and ponder its meaning. I had to fucking get out that house just for a little bit of time. It wouldn't take long for me to recharge.

Get out of the house.

I nearly tripped down the staircase as I feverishly fumbled to slip on my coat to get out of that prison-like space. I yanked open the heavy oak door with haste and nearly let out a scream as I found myself face to face with a tiny old woman. She let out startled gasp at my rapid presence. She was standing on my porch nearly lost within a bundle of winter coat and scarf. She had a plastic bag over her hair which I found both funny and alarming. I assumed it was to keep her hair dry. Or, at least I hoped.

"I am so sorry for startling you honey," the woman said with a sweetly calm voice.

"Uh...yeah...likewise..." I said in an almost whisper. I was internally trying to convince my heart to stop beating itself to death.

"My name is Emma," the woman said with a smile, "I live just across the street." She pointed to the historic home directly across from my house. It was in pristine condition. The beam across the woman's face as well as the intricately manicured landscape across the front of her yard revealed that she was proud of her dwelling. "I've lived there over 50 years. My husband and I..."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Ambrose," I said, cutting her off. I said it in a pleasant tone, but I secretly wished she wasn't there. I needed to get the hell away from that space. For the love of God, I silently thought, shut the fuck up...

"Oh Ambrose, what a pretty name..." Emma said with a smile.

"I thought so too when I picked it out..." I said. Annoyance peeked through the pleasantry of my tone. I needed to work on conversation and people skills. My response obviously confused the woman. She didn't know Ambrose wasn't my real name. How would she? And I wasn't about to explain how I was a writer who came up with some bullshit of a name to write under. It was far more humorous to watch her try to work it out in her head how I had named myself when I was a baby.

"I hate to rush you," I said while coaxing myself out of the door and onto the large porch, "but I'm running a bit late for an...an appointment. Big client. You know...things to do and places to be."

The woman's smile faltered for a second and then found itself back; stretched across her face as if hiding a grimace.

"Oh, I'm sorry honey. I won't be keeping you," she said while patting my hand with her pink gloved hand. " I just wanted to pop on over and introduce myself real quick. I figured you have been here long enough to settle in. I didn't want to come over prematurely...didn't want you to think you were being watched or anything...."

The way she said "watched" was horrifying, because what she really was saying was that she had been watching me. Lonely old hag just watching the new guy. Trying to spy and see what he was up to. Nosy bitch.

I faked a smile.

"Well, it was great to meet you Emma. Thank you for stopping by. Maybe one day soon we can sit down for some coffee or something. It would be great to chat with you...I'm sure you have a lot of stories of this town that I would absolutely love to hear!" I lied.

"Oh of course, of course sweetie!" She said with that same forced smile and overly sweet tone. "I brought you a little house warming gift...nothing big...just something I think everyone needs..." Emma reached inside her cartoonishly large flower-print purse and pulled out a neatly wrapped gift. It was complete with a large pink bow on top. Fucking gag.

"Oh, you didn't have to do that," I said, faking surprise and gratitude. I know she was being nice and all, but something just felt off. Like when a dog growls at one person but not the next.

"Oh, it's nothing my dear. I just hope you get some use out of it," the old woman said, handing the wrapped gift over to me. Immediately when my hands held the package I could tell it was a book. A fairly large one. My curiosity was momentarily tickled as I pondered what book it could be.

And with that, the woman was off. Not in a speedy way. She was old as shit. But at least she was making her way off my porch to leave me in peace. Wrapped book still in hand, I pulled a cigarette out of the pack that was nestled in an interior breast pocket of my rain coat that I had found earlier. I lit it with the tiny green bic that I kept in the mailbox attached to the brick by the front door. I breathed in that familiar smoke. The smoke that reminded me I was alive, even if I sometimes wished I wasn't.

I looked at the gift Emma had given me in my hand. The paper wrapped around was perfectly pressed and folded. It was a print of lavender bunches, all repeated over and over. The bow wrapped around it had been painstakingly tied. Almost too perfect. Like something a robot would do.

I exhaled a puff of smoke through my nose as I fumbled to untie the artwork. I couldn't see her, but I imagined the old woman was watching me through one of the windows of her house. I imagined her beady little eyes watching my every move. Just the thought made me shudder a little, despite the warmth of my attire.

And then there it was.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." I said out loud to the rainy world around me as I realized what the gift was. "A fucking bible?"

Yep. A bible. And not like the little orange ones the weirdos try to force in your hands at festivals. No, it was a big-ass one bound in soft brown leather. It seemed to be fairly new; the pages still stiff. I opened the front cover and found a note perfectly written in black ink on the first blank page. The letters were scripted in cursive; beautiful calligraphy etched on the paper.

The Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen you and protect you from the evil one.

2 Thessalonians 3:3

My heart skipped a beat when I read "evil one". Those two words were written thicker than all of the other words, making them bounce off the page and into my face.

"What....the actual FUCK!?" I whispered in horror out loud to myself.

The rain continued to pour as I stood on my porch with the half-smoked cigarette hanging out my mouth and leather-bound bible in my hand.

Maybe moving there wasn't the right decision after all.

#prose #writers #writers on tumblr #spilled words #literature #my writing #short fiction #short story #horror #thriller #paranormal #halloween #all hallows eve #improvisation #demon #detroit

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pearsquare · 5 years

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Day two

So we wake up super early to make sure we feed and walk this dog at the times she is used to. Disappointing because I have to wake up early every day for work and I really look forwards to sleeping in a bit on the weekends. But it has to be done. As we’re getting the dog out of her crate my housemate comments on a smell coming out of her crate but on quick glance didn’t see anything. I take a quick sniff and don’t really smell anything but my nose is also a little stuffed up from being sick. We don’t think anything of it and take the dogs for a walk.

We get back and my housemate is wide awake but I am still pretty sleepy so I go nap for about half an hour while she keeps an eye on the pets. I come back downstairs and my housemate tells me that she inspected the crate further and noticed that the dog threw up in there overnight. She cleaned the bit that was on the outside of the crate and on the floor but said she couldn’t bring herself to clean the rest that was on her bed (again she has a crazy fear of throwup) so okay nbd I got it. I also wanted to do my laundry that day so I decided to wait to clean the cage until after then. So I eat breakfast, have a coffee, do my laundry and then get down to business cleaning out her crate.

I could see the little bit of throw up on her bed just by looking in. It didn’t seem like that much. Probably going to be an easy clean I thought. I reach in to grab her bedding to inspect further and as soon as I grab onto her bed my hand is soaking wet. Her bed, her blanket and the crate was soaked with pee. I was immediately upset of course. I decided I need to get this bed out of the crate and get the crate out of the house. I didn’t want to drip pee through the house from the bed so I just took the whole crate into the garage where the washing machine was.

From there I pulled the dog bed out of the crate to discover that there was not throw up on her bedding but diarrhea. It was everywhere. On her bed. Underneath her bed. On the crate on her blanket. You name it. (But surprisingly none on her? That we saw anyway) I. Was. Piiiiiiised. I then brought the crate outside in the freezing rain and hosed it off in the backyard.Then after a lot of stressing and getting emotional I scraped the poop off of her bedding as best I could and put it in the wash. I had to put this stuff through two heavy soil cycles to get them clean and then I ran a sanitary cycle with nothing in it to be safe.

My housemate and I are pissed. And here’s a little side note. Both of us, before moving here to Alaska had family dogs that were both about 16 years old. We both went through horrible experiences with them in their final years due to their age and deteriorating health. It was awful. I can’t even tell you how many times we’ve cried to each other on the phone while scrubbing dog shit off the floor. In March we put my dog sam down. Last October she had to put her dog down. It was the hardest and most painful experience that we both went through together. The death of our pets saddened us to our core and still saddens us today but it was an enormous weight lifted off of our and our families shoulders. We didn’t have to be prisoners in our own homes because we had to worry about the dogs. We didn’t have to dread coming home to dog poop and pee everywhere every day. We didn’t have to miss out on seeing friends and family because the dogs can’t be left at home alone for too long. It was freeing and sad and a blessing and pain. Still fresh in our memories and hearts. Good and bad.

So anyway we have errands to run and want to hang out and get a coffee because we are people with lives? (Whaaaaat?) so we close the barricade to the kitchen and keep the dogs in there while we’re gone. I think we were gone maybe two hours. We get home and notice the pantry was open. Okay we expected that. But there’s no food on the bottom anymore anyway so she didn’t get into anything obviously. WRONG. This bitch popped open the other dogs CLOSED CONTAINER of food and ate who knows how much of it. We are pissed. And our actual housemates dog is super nervous all the time and with us scolding the other dog all day he was even more nervous because he could tell we were angry and thinks we’re angry at him. So not only is this dog ruining our weekend but it’s ruining the dog that fucking lives here’s weekend too.

We take the dog outside to see if she’s feeling sick or to try to get her to poop or SOMETHING so we don’t have anymore accidents in the house. We bring her back in and start watching tv because we’re too angry to try to go anywhere. It’s at this point that we realize we forgot to feed the cat this morning. (The cats food/water/and littler have been moved upstairs away from the dogs so like out of sight out of mind ya know?) so my housemate gives her a quick scoop of food and apologizes to her.

This dog starts sniffing like a mad man all around the living room and pacing because she can smell the cat food and is trying to find some for herself. When she relishes the food is out of her reach what does she do? She pees on the carpet. This is it. This is the final straw with her freedom. We decide she can’t be trusted anywhere there is carpet anymore because she’s had too many accidents and we’re not taking anymore chances. So we put her in the kitchen and barricade her in. We move all of her stuff in there. She’s only coming out when we have to take her outside now. And honestly. I don’t even feel bad. Ya blew it, pup.

We ended up staying up pretty late that night because hey it’s a Saturday on a long weeks we’re gonna fucking stay up. I think we finally went to bed around 1 or 2 am.

#my posts #day two #this dogdamn dog

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ladyseaheart1668 · 6 years

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Endless Summer Book 4 : Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 31)

Description: Before he can make his next move, Caleb must face the leader of his new gang. Meanwhile, Alodia and Tahira make Thanksgiving plans.

Tagging: @xo-endlessmayhem-xo ; @princesstopgun ; @mysteli ; @endlesshero1122 ; @whatmcsaid

Chapter 31 : Lines of Loyalty

Caleb

The next phase of my plan requires finesse. Precision. It requires subterfuge, which I am not a fan of. I recognize the necessity of it sometimes, but it always feels dishonest. I mean, subterfuge is always dishonest, that's the whole point. But what I mean is that it feels like a compromise. Playing by the rules of the corrupt system, even if I'm privately defying them. Letting them believe they have my support, even if it's only temporary. I would much rather come storming in and make a bold statement. I want them to know why their shit is falling apart in front of them, and I want them to know right away. I want them to know it was me.

Gigi would argue that you can still get all that same satisfaction from subterfuge if you do it right, but I'm still skeptical. Speaking of the psychobitch, if I'm gonna do this subterfuge thing right, I have to keep her from getting suspicious. I've been making sure to check in with one of her spies on the edge of Bayside every couple of days, but I know that I can't stay in Northbridge indefinitely. The longer I delay going back to the squatter nest and giving her something concrete, the more suspicious she'll get, and the more likely I am to end up neck-deep in particularly rancid shit. The closer I get to the probable deadline, the faster I go through my Camels. I make what I estimate to be my third stop at that convenience store to stock up for the road with a six-pack each of beer and generic cola, a fresh pack of Camels, and a couple of those burritos—which I think actually has to be laced with crack or something because convenience stores should not have burritos this good.

Just like the last two times, the dark-haired kid is behind the counter, and his grizzled old biker manager rings out the beer and smokes before slumping back to the storeroom. I cast a critical eye over the kid while he finishes ringing up the cola and burritos. I find my gaze drawn to the racks of candy under the counter and impulsively grab a bag of gummy bears to toss on my pile.

“Those too.”

“Sure thing.” The kid scoops up the gummy bears, scanning them and dropping them in the plastic bag with the rest of my shit. He gives me my total and I pull out a slim wad of bills from my pocket, peeling off a twenty. I hold it out to him, reaching into the bag to pull out the Camels.

“So...do you live here or something?” Tapping the pack against my palm, I read the nametag pinned to the front of the kid's polo. “...Dylan?”

Dylan plucks the twenty from between my fingers, looking reproachfully at me. “Of course not.”

“So, I look back in that storeroom, I'm not gonna find your four kids and a dog?” I pull the tab on the cellophane cover. It crackles angrily as I tug off the top half. The heat in the store is on full blast to combat the cold November air constantly streaming through the doors, and the dry air makes the cellophane stick to my hand more than usual. Dylan eyes the pack in my left hand as I shake my right furiously, trying to dislodge the clear wrapper.

“Those things'll kill you, you know,” he mutters.

I roll my eyes. “Oh, golly gee, will they? I didn't know that because I've lived my whole life in a goddamn cave, and I can't actually read this warning label right here on the pack! Fuck off. Unlike you, I'm an adult.”

Dylan grumbles a reply that sounds like a warning not to light up inside, and jabs a button on the cash register. I grunt and stuff the pack in my pocket with the inner foil still sealed, giving my cellophane-draped hand another shake. I hold my left hand out for my change, and Dylan grudgingly counts it out into my palm, dropping the coins on top.

“Hey, you know what else'll fucking kill you? Skipping lunch near daily. Probably at about the same rate as smoking. I dunno, I'm no doctor.” I finally paw the cellophane off on the rim of the plastic bag and grab it by the handles, dropping the handful of coins and singles back on the counter. “Keep the change. Buy yourself one of these crack burritos. Seriously, convenience store food has no business being this good.”

Before he can reply, I stalk out the door and into the biting cold, the door's tiny brass clapper bell trilling behind me.

* * *

Traffic is bad getting out of the city, so the whole drive to Squatterville takes over an hour. Enough time for me to puff through half the pack. I'm driving a junker of a minivan that's at least as old as I am, so old that it doesn't even have a CD player. Just a cassette slot. But I did manage to find an old-fashioned cassette adapter and portable CD player last time I went looking for the kind of obsolete electronics that a guy in my position can actually afford. I put on a burned CD of a bunch of songs from a bunch of those rock metal bands out of northern Europe, the ones with the female lead singers and their reality-defying powerhouse voices ringing out over electric guitars, drums, and epic orchestras. I turn the volume up as much as I can stand, put the heater on full blast, and lower the driver's side window. I spend the journey smoking, tapping ashes off the end of my cigarette through the open window, and tossing the butts out onto the road. In between cigarettes, I scarf down two burritos and guzzle three colas. I toss the wrappers and empty cans into the dark space behind the front seats, where I rarely look. The nicotine coursing through my blood keeps me calm enough on the drive, but as I get closer to Squatterville, closer to Gigi, I start wishing I'd bought another pack.

Gotta keep sight of the goal. The goal right now is to buy myself some more time. I need something to tell Gigi so she'll let me go back to Northbridge for awhile. Something close enough to the truth to be convincing, but far enough that she won't get wind of what I'm really doing. Something to grab her interest enough that she'll let me go on with it, but not enough that she'll want to come along for the ride. Squatterville is fast approaching. I may have to wing it a little.

I turn off the main road onto a quiet side road. The side road turns to crumbling pavement, then gravel, dirt, and finally nothing more than a grassy path cut into the trees with two long barren ruts permanently worn into it by countless tires passing over. I park on the side of a hill and tuck the half-empty pack of Camels in the inner pocket of my jacket, zipping up against the chill. I shove the gummy bears into one hip pocket, and all the cash and change I have on me into the other. Unable to put it off any longer, I climb out of the car and make my way up the hill into the trees.

The sun is already starting to sink in the sky, and the trees make long, stark shadows that obscure the uneven path. I step carefully, not quite willing to use the emergency flashlight that dangles from my keyring. One of the other squatters will spot me and let Gigi know I'm coming, if she's at home. No need to alarm anyone. If someone particularly twitchy is on guard, startling them could mean I end up with a knife stuck somewhere in me or worse.

I can make out a few signs that she's home as I trudge toward the abandoned houses. She's got her own little code of symbols and signs that she'll trace in the dirt or spell out with sticks or pebbles to let us know where she is. I also hear movement in the trees that I'm pretty sure isn't being caused by animals. It's almost dark by the time I reach the cluster of abandoned houses. A small campfire burns in the small no man's land between the treeline and the edge of the nearest house. Gigi stands beside it, watching me approach with a smirk on her pretty face.

I gotta be real, Gigi is...unfathomably good-looking. She's got this creamy, pale skin, these full, pouting lips that she emphasizes with deep red lipstick, clear blue eyes, and long waves of silky auburn hair. How she stays so flawless is a mystery, living the way we do, but I'm guessing she spends at least half the time she disappears working on her appearance. ...Or maybe she just has good genes. However she does it, she at least knows how to use what nature has given her. She wears form-fitting black clothes that hug the curves of her hourglass figure, and heeled boots to emphasize her shapely calves and ass, as well as add a couple inches to her height. She looks like the kind of woman you know you shouldn't tangle with, but you kinda want to anyway. You wanna know what makes her tick, even if you don't think you'll like the answer, or the experience of finding out.

She licks her lips in a way that reminds me of a hungry wolf. She's got the large split ring on the end of a teddy bear keychain around her index finger, and she twirls it around her finger as she watches me approach.

“Well, well, well. Look who the cat dragged in. Welcome back, Pyro.”

I exhale slowly. “Hey, G...how's tricks?”

She pulls a face, pushing her lower lip into an exaggerated pout. “Aww, Pyro. You know by now that I don't turn tricks. I don't need to.” She grins, catching the teddy bear in her palm. “Step into my office.”

She leads me into one of the old ranch houses, into the master bedroom, which she has claimed as her space. Besides a queen-sized mattress on the floor, she also has a beat up old office desk and swivel chair. The desk is metal and tends to give electric shocks in the winter. She flips a switch on a portable generator. Light from the work lamps mounted on the walls floods the room. She turns to face me.

“Arms out, Pyro.”

I sigh, grudgingly holding my arms out to the side. I've gotten used to this routine by now. She approaches and pushes her hands into my hip pockets. She pulls the money out of my left pocket and throws it on the desk without looking too hard. She's found the bag of gummy bears in the other pocket, and her face has lit up with glee. She pulls out the bag and rips it open, digging out a small handful. For a moment, she just gazes down at the colorful pile of candy in her palm, a wolfish grin on her face. She selects a green bear and sniffs it before putting it to her lips and sucking it into her mouth. I watch for a minute or so while she savors each chewy little bear.

“Uh...can I put my arms down?” Gigi holds up one finger, slowly chewing. I sigh, rolling my eyes. “G, come on. My shoulders are getting sore.”

Gigi finishes the handful and sticks her hands into my jacket pockets. Finding nothing in the outer pockets, she searches the inner ones and comes up with my cigarettes. I close my eyes, trying not to audibly groan.

“Camels?” At the sound of her voice, I open my eyes to find her arching an eyebrow at me. “You know I prefer Winston's.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, G, well you know what? I prefer Camels, and I didn't get them for you.”

She chuckles, pulling one out and sticking the filtered end between her teeth. For a moment, she looks at me, and I know she's debating whether or not she should make me light it for her. Apparently deciding against it, she produces a lighter printed with images of the Powerpuff Girls from her jacket pocket and lights up. I should have bought a few more packs, stashed them in the dark in the back of my van. But I know the one time I do will be the one time she decides to send one of her broken goons to search it. So now I'm watching her puff through my nicotine stash, and I don't even know if she's gonna let me go to get more any time soon. She exhales a pungent cloud and leans back against her desk.

“So, where have you been, Pyro? It's been awhile.”

I take this as a cue that I can finally put my arms down. “Northbridge. Didn't Roach tell you as much?”

“Of course. But you were extremely vague about what you were doing. Enlighten me.”

Okay, Caleb. Here goes nothing. “I was looking into the Prism Crystal. You've probably heard that Dragonness and Silas Prescott have both returned alive.”

“I had heard that, yes. What's it to do with you?”

“G, I can conjure flames because I came in contact with the Prism Crystal. I've heard speculation that injecting himself with liquid prism has given Silas Prescott a brain tumor. I just want to know if that's gonna happen to me.”

She regards me critically for a moment, taking another drag on the cigarette between her teeth and exhaling the smoke. She moves around the desk to sit on the other side, propping her feet up on top of it.

“What did you find out?”

“Not a whole lot.” I shove my hands in my pockets, choosing my next words carefully. “...Except that I think the Prism Crystal might be linked to the Island's Heart.”

Gigi glances up sharply, icy blue eyes narrowing. “...Of course they're linked. I know they're linked. I've always known. ...Are you saying you have proof?”

“Not on me. But yeah. I saw an old security video inside one of Prescott's facilities. From like, twenty-five years ago. He let it drop that the prism crystal came from La Huerta.”

“...But you didn't take the tape?”

“Well, no. I was in a hurry to get outta there. But the important thing is that we know, right?”

Predictably, she scowls at me. “No. Of course that's not the important thing. For all I know you're lying to me. And if you're not, Prescott or one of his loyal dogs could have erased that footage or destroyed it.”

I sigh, trying to arrange my features into something contrite. “...You're right. I fucked up there. But I think I know how to set it right.”

“And how is that?”

“Dragonness. I worked with her once, and I met with her again while I was in Northbridge. I think she's got more information on both the Prism Crystal and the Island's Heart. Thing is...she's not really feeling all that trusting toward me right now since I didn't stick with her little gang of corporate tools once the dust had settled.”

“And...what do you suggest?”

“Let me go back to Northbridge and work her a little while. I save a few kittens from trees, help a few old ladies cross the street, get back on her good side...”

Gigi snorts. “And you assume she's just gonna spill on everything then?” she sneers. “No. No way it's gonna be that easy.”

“Okay, probably not. Might take awhile. But I think she knows something about Alodia Chandler.”

Once again, Gigi rises to the bait, narrowing her eyes at me. “...Like what?”

“Like why Rourke was so crazy obsessed with her. What she's got to do with the infamous Island's Heart.”

Gigi is silent for a long time. I watch the Camel get shorter between her lips. This is a particularly dangerous bluff. I don't know if Tahira actually knows shit about Alodia. I have a suspicion she does, but that's all it is.

“...Alodia Chandler is the one who killed me.”

“I know. You told me.”

“...But why should that matter to you?”

This question I can answer honestly. “It doesn't. What matters to me is figuring out the Prism Crystal. I am hoping that the chance to find some shit out about Alodia is appealing enough to you that you'll let me off the hook for awhile so I can play the hero in Northbridge and gain Dragonness' confidence.”

“Let you off the hook,” she drawls, tapping an ash off the end of the cigarette. “But I assume you want me to keep you on the payroll.”

“I get how that could be a damned inconvenience. But it would be appreciated if you were able.”

“If I were able to keep paying you for jobs you aren't actually contributing to? If I were able to go out of my way to arrange for payments to be dropped while you play errand boy to a bunch of superpowered busy-bodies?”

I ignore the jab, spreading my hands in a pose like surrender. “Like I said. I get how it could be a damned inconvenience. I can make my own way if necessary.”

Gigi is quiet for awhile, considering. Then she shakes her head. “No. You work off my payroll, there's no guarantee you're not aiming to break with me.”

I can't help smirking ruefully. “Break with you, G? Never.”

She ignores me, pinning me with an ice-blue glare. Her gaze doesn't leave my face as she snuffs out the Camel on the surface of her desk with over an inch left before the filter. Watching it is almost physical agony. She must realize it, because she smirks.

“We'll arrange a drop. But you get half your usual cut, so you better make it stretch.” She drags the bag of gummy bears toward her and pierces one with the nail of her index finger, bringing it to her mouth. “I'll let you do your thing, Pyro. But you better deliver. Fire magic or not, I can make you sorry if you cross me.”

I nod. As completely batshit cracked as it may sound, I believe her. I totally fucking believe her.

Alodia

Not long past noon on Tuesday morning, I'm enjoying a leisurely lunch at the kitchen table, flipping through a dance magazine, when my phone rings. Michelle's name flashes on my screen. I tap the phone a couple times to put her on speaker.

“Hey, Michelle. What's up?”

“Hey, Alodia. I just got home from work, and I wanted to check up on you before I get some sleep.”

I feel a frown crease my brow, and I'm glad we're not video chatting. “Okay, I know I said I was okay with you being a little alarmist about my health, but I also happen to know you work twelve-hour shifts. I promise you, I can wait until you've gotten some sleep.”

“And I happen to know that you trust me more than your own OB-GYN, in spite of the fact that my speciality is neurology. We'll both feel better if you just tell me what she said at your appointment yesterday.”

“Well, she agrees with you that it's probably nothing to worry about, just the uterus pressing on the nerves, all very normal. She ran all the tests she thought were necessary and nothing unusual is going on.”

“And the baby's healthy?”

“Well, she didn't take an ultrasound or anything. Mostly because I feel confident saying that River's alive and enthusiastically kickboxing in there. I've got the big ultrasound scheduled for after Thanksgiving, and that's when we'll learn the sex.”

“Well, that's exciting. Are you going to tell us when you find out? Or are you gonna let Raj and Craig grow the pool a little more first?”

I laugh. “Of course we'll tell you all. At some point, they're gonna have to start betting on when I deliver, aren't they?”

“Almost certainly.” She pauses for a moment. “Are you cleared to travel for Thanksgiving then?”

“Yeah. But that doesn't exactly stop Jake from being nervous about me traveling on a public airplane while pregnant. Says they're flying cesspools, especially when they're packed with holiday travelers.”

“He's not wrong, you know. Why not just get a charter flight from Aleister and Estela? You know they'd be happy to arrange it. They do have other pilots besides Jake and Mike on their payroll.”

“Because his parents are going to be picking us up from the airport, and I want everything to feel as normal as possible when I first meet them. I mean, our whole situation is going to be hard enough for them to swallow without adding in that we have powerful friends who can arrange charter flights right off the bat.”

“The strangeness of your situation won't matter so much once they meet you,” Michelle declares confidently. “They're going to love you. Especially when they realize how much you love their son.”

“Aww, thanks. How is everything on your end?”

She is quiet long enough that concern stirs in my gut. Finally, she sighs. “Oh...you know...”

“That...doesn't make it sound like things are going well.”

“It's nothing serious. I'm just a little burned out right now. ...Burned out and bummed out...”

“What's going on?”

“It's really nothing. I've been switching shifts and covering shifts like crazy to get the time off to come to California for the New Year, and then to actually get married in March, so I haven't had a lot of time outside of work.”

“Well, that explains the burnout. But why the bum-out?”

“Well, both Sean and I have to work on Thanksgiving. The Condors have the Thanksgiving game again, and Tricia's going to be going to watch, and I'm working from noon to midnight, so there's not much chance the three of us will get to share Thanksgiving as a family this year. Plus, you're in California with Jake and Diego, Estela and Quinn are in San Trobida, Craig and Zahra are having Thanksgiving with his family, Raj is in Rome, Aleister and Grace have gone back to London...”

“So, you and Sean are the only Catalysts in Northbridge for Thanksgiving?”

“Exactly. I guess I'm just feeling lonely. I miss you all. ...I guess that's the one thing I'll always miss about La Huerta, is having everyone right there.”

“I know what you mean. I'm really looking forward to New Year's Eve and having all the Catalysts back together, even if it's only for a night.”

“But that's more than a month off yet...” The weight of melancholy in her voice makes my heart squeeze. She sounds exhausted. Dispirited.

“Aww, Michelle...”

“Don't you start worrying about me, Alodia,” she chides gently. “You look after that baby of yours.”

“I'm gonna take some time off in January or February to come to Northbridge before the wedding,” I promise. “If only to get properly fitted for my dress. And I'm already making plans for your bachelorette party in March.”

“As long as those plans don't involve you drinking, I look forward to them.”

After a couple more minutes, we say our goodbyes and hang up so that Michelle can get some rest. I sit at the table for awhile, staring at my phone. The conversation has left me...unsettled. I'm not worried about Michelle per se. At least...I'm not worried that she's falling into an emotional pit, or that she's suffering anything more insidious than a combination of burnout and disappointment at having to spend the holiday apart from her family. Still, I don't like hearing her sound so tired and unhappy.

I have no idea what Sean's training schedule is going to be like right now, but I take a chance and call him. He picks up.

“Hey, Alodia. What's up?”

“Hey, Sean. Hope I'm not interrupting a practice or anything?”

He chuckles. “Trust me, if you had called during a practice, I wouldn't have answered because I value my life. I'm actually just at the grocery store. ...Is everything okay?”

“It's all okay on my end. But I just spoke to Michelle.”

There's a pause. “Yeah...?”

“I don't know. She just seems...really down right now. She was talking about how you both have to work on Thanksgiving, and how she's covering a lot of extra hours to be able to come for New Year's...I guess I'm just kinda concerned.”

He sighs. “Yeah. I don't really blame you. You know how she is when she's got a goal. She doesn't give herself nearly as much slack as she should.”

“Not unlike you in that way,” I quip.

I can practically hear the wry smirk in his voice, “Hey, there's a reason we connected at Hartfeld. Two aces at the top of our respective games, biting off way more than we could chew...many a romantic evening we spent pulling all-nighters together.”

“But you've learned to give yourself some breathing room at least...to give yourself credit and not carry the burden all on your own...”

“So has she,” he says gently. “You know her, Alodia. You know what she needed most back then, what her biggest weakness was.”

“She didn't trust people. She wasn't willing to need anyone.”

“Just the fact that she told you she was feeling upset shows how far she's come, doesn't it?”

I am quiet for a moment, thinking this over. I suppose it is encouraging that even though she called to check up on me, Michelle did not require a lot of probing to admit that she was feeling under pressure herself.

“You're right. It does.”

“But you're also right. Michelle has been working way too hard lately, and I know not getting to spend Thanksgiving together is a major disappointment. Don't worry, though. I have a brilliant plan to make it up to her.”

“Good.” I exhale slowly, feeling myself relax. “You've gotten...really insightful in the last five years.”

“Yeah, well...I ended up going through some therapy after graduation. It helped clarify a lot of what was going through my head after the island. ...Helped me deal with the trauma and the grief, not just from what we went through, but everything before the island, too. Everything with my dad and Michelle. Even though she and I were friends again, it took awhile for me to feel like I could be worthy of her again. Therapy helped with that, too.”

“I'm glad. And I'm really glad you two have each other. Your weaknesses are kinda similar, but you're both strong enough that it's more of an advantage because you can keep each other in check with empathy.”

He laughs. “And you're calling me insightful. ...I gotta admit, I'm weirdly happy that you called me about this.”

“Really? Why?”

“I guess...you could say it's a relief to have you call because you're worried Michelle might be stressed and disappointed over having to work on Thanksgiving. It feels very...everyday?”

“I think I know what you mean. ...It's a taste of normal that's can be little hard to come by for our family.”

“Exactly. Hey, I should hang up and finish shopping. ...Are you guys gonna watch the Condors' game on Thanksgiving?”

“From what Jake's told me, there will definitely be a game on at his folks' place. I'll see if I can convince them to make it yours. I'll tell Diego and Varyyn to tune in here, too.”

“Good. I'm gonna need all the good vibes you can send me.”

“I'll rub my belly during the game for good luck.”

He laughs. “What, are you Buddha now?”

“What, lucky belly rubs are only for Buddha?”

“Pretty sure. But what the hell, it couldn't hurt. Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving if I don't talk to you before then. And I'll see you guys on New Year's Eve.”

“I'll see you then, Sean.”

Tahira

The biting November breeze trails chilly fingers over my face, tugging at the dark tendrils of hair that have escaped the headband I've put on to keep my ears warm as I wander through the park with Grayson, my fingers laced with his. It's mid-afternoon, but the recent end of daylight savings time means that dusk is rapidly approaching. Not that it's all that easy to tell with the sky so heavily clouded as it is today. By now, the trees are completely bare, and their skeletal branches stand out starkly against the dappled sky. The fallen leaves have all been cleared away, which somehow makes the world seem quieter and more dead in this moment than it will in a few weeks when the snows start falling. It's like looking at a body freshly dead as opposed to after it's been embalmed and dressed for a final viewing. The thought is morbid enough to make me shiver.

“You cold?” Grayson takes his hand from mine to slip his arm over my shoulder and draw me closer to his side. I smile, letting my head rest lightly on his shoulder.

“I'm okay now. Why, are you cold?”

“A little,” he admits.

“Wanna head back towards your place? We could go inside and get warm.”

He nods, kissing the top of my head. “Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that.”

I wind my arm around his waist. “So...how was your dad today?”

“I...didn't say?”

“You haven't said much of anything all afternoon. ...If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay.”

“No,” he sighs. “I do, kind of. Dad is...well...the doctors think that physically, he's okay. But his moods are...all over the map. He's angry, he's depressed...and then there are moments when he's almost manic and he seems hyperfocused on...something. ...No matter what, he still barely speaks to me. I know he's hearing me, but...it's like he can't say anything of any substance to me. Like he's hiding something. I've tried confronting him on what he did. I try asking gently. I even tried asking if he did it to bring Mom back. ...Nothing has gotten him to talk about it. And then out of the blue today, he says we should have Thanksgiving dinner together.”

“...How do you feel about that?”

“...He's my dad, Tahira. I don't want to leave him alone for a holiday...”

I sigh. “...I want to offer to go with you for moral support...but...”

He shakes his head fiercely, turning toward me and drawing me into his arms. “No. Absolutely not. After what he did to you, I don't want the two of you anywhere near each other.” He sighs. “...I feel like I should refuse him. I feel...like I'm being disloyal to you, still worrying about him.”

I feel my heart twist at his words. Pulling back, I take his face in my hands and meet his eyes. I hold his gaze for a moment before leaning forward to gently press my mouth to his. I feel him respond and I kiss him again and again, slow and tender. Finally breaking, I let my forehead rest on his.

“You're not being disloyal to me, Grayson. Any more than you're being disloyal to your dad by kissing me. You love us both, and it isn't your fault that any of this happened between us.”

He closes his eyes, his breath shaking. “I...just want you to know that I'm on your side. Really know it. ...If it comes to it, I'll support you over him. I promise.”

I wind my arms around him and rest my chin on his shoulder. “I am grateful to have your support.” I murmur in his ear. There aren't many people in the park with the weather being what it is, but I still keep my voice low. “...But if it comes to battle between me and your father again, I need to know that you'll be safe more than anything else.”

“...But...”

“Promise me, Grayson. Promise me you'll protect yourself. I'll have allies to rely on in the fighting, allies like me.”

I feel Grayson hesitate for a moment before finally nodding against my shoulder, wrapping me in his arms.

“You're right. I have to get used to the idea that my girlfriend has superpowers and doesn't need me to be the macho man.”

I laugh. “I wouldn't need that from you anyway. That's not who I fell in love with. Just stay my smart, compassionate, courageous, loyal Grayson.”

“All right, enough flattery,” he quips. “You're already getting a raise with the new year, what more do you want?”

I draw back to look him in the eye, grinning. “I could tell you, but it might be a little indelicate for a public park.”

“Ohh, so it's like that, is it? We'd better hurry back to my place, then. I want to see what you're thinking.”

We start walking again. We're moving faster now, though I'm not sure how much of it is eagerness to fall into bed together and how much is because it's quickly getting colder.

“Hey...Grayson?”

“Hmm?”

“Even if I can't go with you to your dad's...there's no reason you can't join me and Mom for dinner afterwards, right?”

“Two Thanksgiving dinners? I probably wouldn't eat much at the second one...”

“That's all right. Mom and I always spend Black Friday dishing out our leftovers at the soup kitchen in Bayside anyway. And you know we'd love to have you.”

He exhales, and there is relief in the sound. “...I would love to be there. So...so much...”

“It's settled then. Our first official holiday as a couple.” As an idea occurs to me, I turn to him with a grin. “...And to celebrate this approaching momentous occasion...” I take his hand, dragging him towards a rock shed on the edge of the park.

“Woah! Tahira, where are we going?”

I stop just long enough to whisper in his ear, “Somewhere I can get changed. Dragonness is going to fly you home.”

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chelrose · 6 years

Photo

Let me tell you, this past week has been a scene out of a bad movie where the main plot is to showcase how unlucky of a human bean I am.

You know what though, I’m trying to be grateful that it wasn’t worse than it was.

Between last Tuesday evening and Wednesday, my sweet Gideon managed to get outside. Now, I have two kitties. Albus and Gideon.

Albus, was named after Professor Dumbledore, obvi. He is grey and white, 5.5 years, with a glorious mane and flowing long hair that is nothing less than high maintenance. He’ s an attention whore that likes to bite at hair, and assert his dominance over his much younger companion/brother/lover. Albus is more likely to be the one to make a great escape, it’s not his first rodeo outside and he thinks that grass is the coolest thing in the world.

Gideon, is 1.5years old, training to be a ninja, and a master of camouflage. His full name is Jon ‘Gideon’ Snow, named after the King of the North and Gideon from Criminal Minds. He is sleek, black, with a black nose, and only one tiny white patch on his tummy. During his time with us, he has shown his independence, and protectiveness. Like his Momma, he’s a little anxiety baby with some sensory issues. He doesn’t like to be held, but would be very pleased to be two feet away, in the best position to see everything to protect his family.

I don’t know what happened, he may have been hiding out as my roomie babysat, high energy overwhelms him, he’s very skittish. It was normal for him to keep it low key while baby was here. I respect that. During the day of Wednesday, my mirror fell to the bathroom floor. He likes to sleep on the bathroom rug, so this could have scared him enough to try to escape.

I wish I knew the answer, so I could figure out what happened to him.

The chaos and utter defeat I felt after realizing he was missing was beyond me. I felt weak, and pathetic. I was responsible for this living being and I failed him. I started to call dispatch, animal control, the humane association, online local groups, people were sharing and looking out for my little black kitty.

I was compulsively and obsessively searching for him. Walking outside in freezing weather, just determined to find him. Tracking paw prints that I had no idea if they were actually his or not.

Knowing to put his litter box outside, I also kept fresh water, food, and his favorite blankets outside in case he made his way home. I wanted this sweet little lovebug of mine to know that I missed him, that I wanted him home.

I went out multiple times around the block, shaking his favorite squeak toy, and calling his name, stopping in the snow so I could hear if he was crying out. I couldn’t walk doing it, the snow was too loud as I walked. Crunching and muffling out quiet noises.

He was gone for about a week, and I had some suspicions he was near, I just couldn’t find him. There were paw prints everywhere, some dog, some possibly cat, some possibly a swollen paw.

I was laying on my head, with the window open in the middle of winter to listen for him. I knew if he thought I was near, he would cry if he heard me, or try to follow my voice home.

I thought I heard something, but it was probably Albus, I kept thinking to myself. Trying not to get my hopes up. It was so cold, if he hadn’t been found or stolen, he was out in the bitter cold and I was loosing any hope that I had been desperately holding onto.

My depression was pretty bad, and my attitude was dwindling to straight bitch. I wouldn’t have wanted to be my friend with the mood swings I was having. Shoutout to the homies dealing with my difficult ass, I’m trying to handle myself better.

I wasn’t taking care of myself, worse than before he went missing, which was already pretty poorly. I was tormenting myself with thoughts of the worst.

Thanks Anxiety! *fist bumps anxiety*

Monday took a turn for the worse when I was so ready to go to therapy but didn’t have enough gas to make it there and back. I called the clinic I receive treatment at and they told me if I could make it there (30 minutes away), I could get a gas card to help me get home from their clinic.

“Fuck it,” I said to myself. I got in my car and started to drive. I shit you not, I was not even five minutes away when I ran out of gas. My estimate was just shy of what Lorelei, my jeep-jeep, could travel with the amount of gas we had been working with.

My phone was at 9%, I didn’t have a jacket, no money for gas, and about two seconds away from an emotional meltdown on a highway five minutes away from my therapist.

When I heard her voice on the phone, she helped me rationalize that I was okay to call my mom or Grandpa. They would help me. She had no idea how spot on it felt when she said, “When It rains it pours.”

It just feels like it never ends, my string of bad luck seems so out of this world. But that’s okay, because with bad luck, you learn who in your world is truly there for you.

My beautiful mother and gorgeous sister came to my rescue, and my Saint of a grandmother does everything she can to help me. My grandfather helps me have a safe vehicle to travel to and from my appointments and drive safer in an SUV. With the crazy amount of snow we get here in Northern Wisconsin, I cherish everything they do for me.

When I got home, I was exhausted and pissy. Sulking in my room like a hormonal teenager. That was when I made plans to go get a friend to hang out with instead of sitting in my own puddle of self loathing.

Well, I went out the front door to go pick up a friend on Monday night, and on a whim I grabbed Gideon’s squeak toy as I was walking out the door. I stopped on the front porch, and shook his toy, calling his name shortly after, “Gideon!”

“Rrrrheeeeoowwww.”

I froze. Listened to make sure that it wasn’t Albus behind the door crying because I left him inside. I shook the toy and again, “Rrrrrrheeeow.”

Slowly I turned, and prayed that I wasn’t hearing things. There he was, staring at me, crying, in his box with his favorite items. I scooped my sweet, freezing cold baby boy up and brought him inside.

Guys, I ugly cried holding him in my arm in a towel. His poor back paws have sores and they were swollen from the cold. It’s been two days, and I’ve cleaned the wounds with cat friendly products and advice from my Vet-in-training pal on how to care for him to bring him back to health.

While I am concerned, I do not think he has anything life threatening. I think that given time he is going to heal. The paw does not smell rotten, it is healing, and he is slowly gaining back his energy.

I am stressed due to the financial issues that may occur for vet bills I cannot afford. I hope that I can be successful in helping him get back to full health without complication. I don’t know what I’m going to do to afford it, but I’ll figure it out. :) He comes first.

Real talk, though.

When we were up in my room, and I was rocking him in my arm, quietly crying and just showering him with love. He looked at me and his eyes watered. I felt this deep look of love and trust and joy. He knew he was finally safe when he was in my arms and it was the most overwhelmingly sweet moment I’ve ever had with him. He’s generally not very affectionate, preferring to show his love at a distance.

I am so incredibly grateful that he is home and now recovering. My two cats are so important to my mental health and I just pray that I do not have to ever lose them to something other than old age.

The lesson I took away from this week is perception and gratitude can turn bad luck into a learning experience and a story to share.

I hope you’re all having a much more agreeable week than I am!

ily silly <3

Dean Winchester photobombed our family photo. XD

#writing #my writing #story #story of the week #lit #literature #kitty #cat #gratitude #grateful #unlucky #luck #gideon #albus #my week #blog #blogger #lifestyle #my life #wtf #fml #crazy days

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