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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

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Sunrise (Dean/Cas coda to 15x19 “Inherit the Earth”, 1.7k)

(ao3 link)

Dean and Sam were free. Finally, unequivocally, free.

But this wasn't the happy ending Dean had expected. Maybe in the past, having Sam in the passenger seat tearing across an open stretch of highway as the sunsets, it'd be what he wanted. But that was years ago. He's not that man anymore. Dean's tired of sunsets, of saying goodbye. He yearns for a different ending. One that's less of an ending, and more of a beginning. A sunrise instead of a sunset.

Sam has his. Dean lost his. Despite this setback, he won't stop. He'll live in memory of his sunrise.

Except, what can he do when he feels those rays on his face again?

Early morning sunlight streams through half-closed motel window blinds, striking Dean directly on his face. Stir him from unconsciousness, shuffling Dean out of his dreams. Warm blue and familiar stubble replaced with an ugly, orange patterned wallpaper that makes his stomach unhappily flip. Groaning, he turns. Hopes he can reclaim his quickly fading fantasy. It escapes his grasp, Dean left in the loneliness of reality.

Truly. He checks Sam’s bed, finding it unoccupied. “Figures…”

They crossed paths with Eileen coincidentally. Not like Sam’s pointed questions and giant thumbs hid his intentions. Even his terrible acting (“Eileen? What are the odds of you being here?”) couldn’t throw him off. Dean played along, however, letting them think he was in the dark. Knew exactly why his brother and his brother’s girlfriend hadn’t told Dean about this. Salt only hurts a wound that’s fresh and open. While badly healed, Dean’s grown numb to that missing chunk of his heart. More pained that his sadness made his loved ones go behind his back, act in guilt.

Sam and Eileen don’t deserve shadows because of his pain.

Which is why he’s happy for them. Left the bar so they can chat without his presence. Catch up, let Sam tell her about those kitschy tourist traps they’ve been hopping between since Chuck’s defeat. Show pictures of Dean in an upside-down house, Sam’s head peeking out from corn fields. Hold hands. Sit on the same side of the booth. Kiss, without worrying if Dean is steadily killing his liver at the bar because of them.

Drinking lost its flavor anyhow.

Free from Chuck’s influences, Dean decided he might cut a few more strings. Namely beer. He’ll enjoy a bottle every now and then but, reflecting on it, booze never offered comfort he really needed. Only aggravated a different sort of hurt, distracting him for a while. He abandoned those distractions. Instead of asking their bartender from last night, with his tanned skin and wavy, blond hair, for whiskey, neat, until he dropped, Dean stood from their table and paid his tab. Carried his longing out the exit, drove with it, laid down in his bed and held it close. Hugged it, imagining his arms. Praise whispered in his ear, about choosing a different way. A better way. A healthier way.

Cas would be proud of him. Prouder than he already is. And Dean… felt the same.

Rising, Dean stretches. Winces as a new disc pops and cracks in his back, “Motels ain’t what they used to be…” He throws his legs over the side, scrunching his toes in the shag carpet. Smiling, “But at least some things’ll never change…”

It’s going to be a slow morning. Dean doubts Sam will swing by before noon, meaning he has hours to kill. First, he leisurely showers. Scrubs at his scalp with gentle scratches, humming Zeppelin under his breath. Keening ‘A Whole Lotta Love’s chorus, coming into his hand. Lets that melody fade while water makes his come sluice off his hand, into the drain. He switches tracks, dries himself while softly singing ‘Going to California’. Thinks about their next destination. All those beaches he and Sam plan on visiting. Finally making good on their promise.

Not how he always envisioned it, but…

Dean drapes the towel around his neck, staring at his reflection. Marks new wrinkles he hadn’t noticed, gray hairs where dirty blond were. Sees how small his eyebags shrank.

Sleeping was surprisingly easy. Some days Dean wished it weren’t. Others, it’s his only chance at being with him again.

“Nope,” he says, leaving the bathroom. Jumping out from the mirror. “Not going there… not this early…”

He bides his time dressing, debating where he should get breakfast. Wonders if a diner they passed entering town might serve pie as he hops into his jeans. Waffles between a t-shirt or purple-and-blue plaid while rubbing deodorant on. Then, tugging his tee’s thin fabric over his head, he decides he isn’t that hungry. Can eat later, Sam driving so he can attack snacks he squirrelled away when they last stopped for gas.

Knock Knock Knock

“Sam?” Dean asks, glancing at the door. No one answers. “Sam is that you? You forget your keys or…” He checks his phone. Nothing.

Knock Knock Knock

“Sam, if that’s you – this isn’t funny.” He grabs for his socks, sitting on the end of his bed. “Pulling a poor joke on your brother, leaving your girlfriend alone in bed… shame on you.”

Knock Knock Knock

Dean squeezes his socks, glaring at the door. His irritation fades, weirdly, the longer he stares. Replaced with a different feeling, comforting. Without needing to, Dean guesses it’s not Sam on that other side. Tossing his socks, Dean stands and slowly inches forward. Drawn by gravity, a name perched atop his tongue. Waiting there, scared of being spoken. Of being wrong. He doesn’t feel wrong.

Is this still a dream, he asks himself. Did I actually wake up? Dean waits, hovering near the doorknob. Remembers rushing last time, what waited there then. What he almost threw himself onto. Cycles through who might be waiting now. Something worse, a more terrifying monster. Or maybe mundane, like the motel manager. He’ll never know if he drags it out. Whether that’s motivation or warning, Dean can’t decide. What he does choose is flinging open that door and facing whoever was there.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas -?” Dean gasps, knees buckling. Laughing, he leans his weight on the door. Grins wide enough his cheeks must splinter, twin tracks of tears already spilled over. “Cas, is that…” He coughs, wiping at his mouth. “Is that really you?”

Like nothing happened, Cas crosses the threshold. Dressed spectacularly… normal. Trench coat, suit jacket, and white button-down paired with his crooked blue tie. Dean’s hand drifts close but can’t touch. Not yet. “It is me,” he tells Dean, “you… probably have a lot of questions. About why I’m here, and – and what was said when the Empty…”

Of course, there are questions. None were as important as Dean snatching Cas’s tie, dragging him into a heated embrace. “Later,” he promises, closing the door. Guiding Cas onto his bed. Falling, his angel’s body collapsing atop his. Weight proving further and further how real this is.

He’s back!

“I can’t believe…” Dean kisses along Cas’s neck, threading his fingers through hairs resting at his angel’s nape. Feeds a fire burning across his body, flames roaring with a desire for more. “Can’t believe I could be this lucky…”

Cas chuckles, “Good things do happen, Dean.”

“Never to us.” Pausing, Dean tears his eyes from the dip of Cas’s collarbone and to his face. “I searched, Cas. I did. Back when it was me, and Sam, and Jack, I did everything I could but I… there wasn’t any lore. Nothing about contacting the Empty, breaking through I – how?”

Shifting, Cas rolls off Dean and onto his side. No sooner than it started, those flames eating at Dean’s insides tempered. Became a more manageable heat, containable. Dean tucked himself against Cas’s chest, hearing his heartbeat. Awed from that simple rhythm it gives. Lulls Dean with a gentle song. “Jack,” Cas explains. Rubs Dean’s shoulder, along where his handprint was. Teased the edges of his tee, part of his memorial tattoo revealed. Cas traces his palm outline. “In fixing Chuck’s mistakes, he… he mounted a rescue mission from Heaven.”

“For you?”

“For everyone.” Cas kisses Dean’s crown, continuing his story. Whispers it into his head. “All the angels. Jack rescued us all.”

“Everyone?” Dean asks, “Meaning… Michael? Gabriel?”

“Uriel, Balthazar, Anna, Hannah, Metatron – even Lucifer.”

“What the hell?”

“He was fixing what Chuck wasted. Saved Heaven,” he says, “Gave everyone a second chance, to do right by humanity. Be its guardians like we were supposed to be. And…” Cas lays his hand where it belongs, Dean shivering from contact. Wraps his arms tighter around his angel’s waist. “Jack offered me all my powers back, and then some. Said I could be his archangel… second-in-command, in all of Heaven.”

Dean lifts his head, frowning. Studies Cas with a suspicious wrinkle creasing his brow. He deflates somewhat, disappointment rocking into him like heavy waves. Routine. Expected, since Cas was exactly where he wanted. But then, isn’t that answer enough? Dean asks regardless. “Did you take it?”

“I thanked him for the offer,” Cas says, “however my place was elsewhere, here on Earth… with you.” His hand moves, cupping Dean’s cheek. Thumb brushes his lip. “And when our time comes, I’ll rejoin Heaven at your side.”

Cas’s heartbeat makes sense, now. It never did that before.

“We’ve got a long time before we croak, Cas,” Dean jokes, crawling higher up his bed. Enough that he can press their foreheads together. “You think you can handle it?”

“I waited millennia to meet you, and then years just so I can hold you like this.” Cas closes the distance, capturing Dean’s lips. “I’m hoping our future is excruciatingly slow.”

“Our future…” He relaxes, allowing a few more kisses before he starts again. “Y’know, I… I thought I’d never get to say that. Figured, after Jack took the reigns from Chuck, this was all we’d get and – and having everyone back was nice. But you weren’t there, and I hurt. When you died, I wanted to sit there and let myself waste away and join you. Except if I did, you’d be so angry and – that’s what’s been keeping me going. You loved me so much – and were pained whenever I was… I couldn’t do that to myself. Punishing myself wouldn’t be fair. So I thought about my future, how I can live it for those I loved. Be there… the person I’ve become, and not who I used to be. But now…”

“Now you can be a little selfish,” Cas says. “We can be selfish.” He tickles Dean’s chin, hands roving across his body. “What should we do, for the first day of the rest of our lives?”

Dean doesn’t dawdle. “I want to lay here,” he says, “Lay here the whole day, in your arms, telling you how much I love you.”

“…I don’t see any problems with that.”

Neither did Dean, which is why he suggested it. They fix themselves, first. Cas sheds most of his outer layers, leaving himself only in his boxers. Dean hurls his jeans off fast, jumping under the covers. Giddy as Cas joins him, both men facing each other. Hands joined above their sheets, Cas’s palm fitting perfectly.

“Well?” Cas arches his brow, “How much do you love me?”

Dean kisses him, ruining it by smiling too hard. “I love you too much, and not enough.”

#supernatural #spn #spn15 #15x19 #15x19 inherit the earth #15x19 coda #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic

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keelywolfe · 3 years

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FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.17 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Look, getting into the woods wasn't the difficult part and neither was getting out. Dealing with the aftermath? Yeah, let's do that.

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Read ‘Law and Order’ on AO3

Read it here!

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When Stretch woke up the next day, he hardly felt like he’d slept at all, every bone in his body aching and the inside of his skull felt like a dull and muzzy gray.

No surprise there, not really, he hadn’t exactly snoozed peacefully. Probably would’ve been more concerned if he’d had; somehow, having troublesome nightmares after almost getting eaten by horrifying eldritch beings seemed like the healthier option than sleeping like a baby. A few mental scars after something like that seemed more than reasonable.

Wasn’t time for a trip to a head shrinker right now, though, he had a job to do and he was gonna do it. So he put the mental brakes on dealing with everything that happened the day before--

(and holy shit, so much happened, how did he even start processing all this shit, how--)

--and crawled out of bed. He pulled on his last pair of clean clothes, made a mental note to beg Red for the use of his washing machine, and stumbled downstairs to open the shop with the dog at his heels.

Stretch winced away from the bright morning sunshine that streamed in when he pulled the cord to raise the shades, wishing deeply for a cup of coffee, even one of his brother’s that always managed to taste sort of like dirt and rancid tree bark had a coffee bean baby.

Red had a coffee maker in the kitchen, but he didn’t want to risk waking him up sneaking into his apartment. He told himself it wasn’t because of last night’s unintentional adventure, nope, he definitely wasn’t trying to keep from talking about it with Red as long as possible. A long, furious chat about meeting Miss Bone Cruncher U.S.A. and Smaug's undead cousin were the last thing he wanted right now.

Maybe he could head back over to Miss Maggie’s this afternoon and see if she had a cheap coffee maker he could keep behind the counter. Had to be at least one old Mr. Coffee buried in all that junk. But something about going back into the thrift shop made him uneasy and he shook it away, focusing on getting the store opened up.

Mutt was underfoot the entire time, nearly tripping him more than once, and maybe Stretch should have rethought taking in this dog because it was starting to look like it brought a daily murder attempt along with him like a special toy surprise. Snagging a can of dog food from the shelf and dumping it into the plastic bowl Red scrounged from somewhere was less about providing a nutritious meal and more self-defense. Once Mutt was fed and snoozing, though, it was easier to get into the swing of things.

Stretch was buried in the inventory book, contemplating whether to merge the ‘monthly crotch rags’ and ‘cooter plugs’ into one listing to make them slightly easier to find, when the bell ringing over the door made him look up. His greeting faltered when he saw the Sheriff stalk in. Hat nearly brushing the top of the door, still wearing those mirrored aviator sunglasses, and his heavy cowboy boots clomping on the wooden floor as he came directly to the front counter and propped both ham-sized fists on his broad hips.

“Morning!” Buford boomed out cheerfully. A greeting that bright didn’t make it seem like he was here in an official capacity, hey, guess even the fuzz needed to buy toilet paper. It still took a minute for the knee-jerk dread at the sight of that uniform that settled in Stretch’s non-existent stomach to fade.

Buford wasn’t like the cops back in Ebott, Stretch told himself, this was Backwater. If the town was a little weird and had ghosts and sentient scarecrows, plus kept horrible creatures out in the woods with plagues dripping from the needle-sharp teeth they used to eat the souls of the unwary, then at least the Humans here were generally very nice.

Besides, if Buford were meanspirited today, he could always tattle to Granny Collemore when she came in for her next toilet paper run.

Stretch swallowed hard and tried a couple words before finally managing a simple, “morning.”

From Buford’s broad grin, a person would have thought Stretch offered some philosophizing to rival Socrates. “Morning, yes, it is at that.”

Stretch nodded. His relief at that smile made him weak, his skull bobbling unsteadily on his cervical vertebrae like a dashboard ornament. “can i help you find something?

“Naw, came by to see how you were doing.” Buford hitched his pants up, settling his saucer-sized belt buckle under the soft push of his belly. Reflected in the mirror of his sunglasses was the space behind the counter, Stretch and the register and the small row of cleaning supplies, distorted like the other side of the looking glass and he did not want to be thinking about other Universes right now. "Saw ya had a little trouble out in the woods.”

Stretch faltered, briefly speechless. His tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth, too dry as he fumbled out, “wha…how did you…?”

"Eh, a lawman’s gotta know what's going on in his town,” Buford leaned down and poked through one of the little wooden half-barrels filled with penny candy that lined the front of the counter. He picked one of the sour balls, unwrapping the shiny green foil and popping the small candy into his mouth to tuck into the round of his cheek. “Sent a little help your way when I saw what was going on, glad to see he got there in time." Buford shook his head sadly, “Nasty things out there in the woods this time of year and that’s the truth.”

“he…he did,” Stretch said, helplessly. No point in lying about it, but how could Buford possibly know? And he’d sent that strange bone dragon creature to help him, but how could he have sent a warning? The idea of that skeletal creature fumbling with a cell phone in its claws was nearly ridiculous enough to pry a hysterical giggle from Stretch’s clotted throat. Were there cameras in the woods, was the creature summoned from a portal in Buford’s basement? So many hows and wheres and whys, there were questions piling on top of questions, cluttering up Stretch’s already overstuffed mind, but only one managed to bubble through to the tarry surface. More demanding than he’d meant, Stretch asked, “how did you know?”

Buford stood up straight, broad shoulders squaring. The change in posture seemed to bring on a transformation, from a Rosco P. Coltrane to a more of a Rick Grimes. From the top of his hat to the golden star on his chest, and his perfectly ironed uniform leant him an aura of competence. It still put him as shorter than Stretch, but somehow made him bigger than life. There was no bumbling, jovial small-town sheriff here, this was a lawman, and there wasn’t so much as a hint of a smile as he said, "I see everything, son." And tipped down those mirrored sunglasses.

In the eyes that lay beneath them were pupil-less, the sockets filled with orbs that were the milky-white of severe cataracts, crisscrossed with thin, fleshy threads like cobwebs.

Stretch barely had time to register what he was seeing before Buford settled his sunglasses back in place. He swallowed hard against the dryness in his throat, strange thoughts of demons and bargains with the devil like their own trash tornado in the back of his mind. "are you…here for something, then?"

Buford only chuckled and the sour ball clacked against his teeth as he rolled it to the other side of his mouth. "Just to check on ya. You might be a city boy, but I’ve taken a liking to you, son, and I ain’t the only one. People in Backwater take care of our own.” There was a strange solemnness to those words, almost a pact, then Buford’s mouth quirked up on one side beneath his bushy mustache. “Though I might as well help myself to a Pepsi-Cola while I'm here." He leaned in, conspiratorially, and it was easier than Stretch thought it might be to keep himself from leaning away. Buford smelled faintly of cherries and tobacco, and his teeth were a clean, even white. "Don't tell the missus, she don't like me having too much caffeine."

Stretch nodded and said in his own whisper, "tell her what?"

Buford roared a laugh and grabbed his hat to slap it against his knee, hooting out, "That's the spirit!” He settled his hat back on his mussed hair and took a soda from the cooler, tossing a buck on the counter as he called back, “Take care, son."

“i will,” Stretch said, softly, but it was only for the tinkling bell above the door as Buford strolled back out.

He was still standing at the counter, the dog snoozing at his feet, fidgeting with the pen on the counter and not writing a single damn thing when the door opened again. Stretch could only stare back at the intense crimson eye lights that latched onto his own as Edge walked through the front door and for once, those gorgeous hips were the furthest thing from his mind.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #welcome to backwater

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thatsnotevenmeh · 3 years

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(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ you thought i was DONE? ♥

𝓘 𝓭𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓶𝔂𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼

imma just do the first 13 now, then do one a day after this heh

1: sw--260 (yes i know, fucking fatspo over here) cw--173 (still gross lmao) gw--130 ugw--110 to 100

2: Im 5′8″ and i do like it, but i wish i was taller anyway so i can look more lean

3: I have a whole folder on my laptop dedicated to thinspo but here’s what i wanna look like...although sometimes i feel conflicted. DO I WANNA BE THICC OR A STICC I DONT KNOW AHHHHHHH

I have a thing for thighs...but then again i ALSO want my leg to be the size of a monster can lmaoooo also i want a flat stomach (borderline concave, something about it justt makes me wanna NUT). I JUST REALIZED I BASICALLY WANNA BE MY OWN FAP MATERIAL AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

4: im scared of all the loose skin im gonna have, it really freaks me out thinking about it so i try my best to keep my skin firm

5: i have a few reasons, i used to get bullied about it all my life so i wanna prove everyone wrong, i wanna be skinner than my model of a sister (shes actually been offered modeling contracts and everything), i want to look good for my boyfriend, and i want to finally feel pretty in my own skin.

6: lmao i binge a LOT, i have this bad habit of craving greasy and fatty foods when im stressed or upset. Also i have a chocolate addiction so yeah trying to deal with that

7: My dad couldnt care less since i see him like 2-4 times a year, and my mom likes to sabotage my weight loss. after she noticed i started losing, she’d always buy me fast food, junk food, etc. Then she’d have me stay home while she and my sisters when to the gym ;-; And as soon as i weighed less than her, she took me out for cheesecake and wouldnt let me take it home. not fun

8: Now that im in college (and an RA), I end up walking about 5k or more everyday. But i do try for at least 6-7k a day instead. Every morning I do a April Han routine, and every night ill do the same one i did that morning. ill do stretches, jump rope, or do literally whatever whenever i just feel gross. And i go to the gym if i wanna punish myself (i have really bad social anxiety so it like a REALLY big punishment)

9: ALL THE TIME. ive been called pretty much every name in the book.

10: my dignity. I literally have a bag filled with ziploc bags filled with puke/spat out food in my room so i can avoid my housemate finding out about me purging and stuff

11: i mean, i dont really look at blogs anymore, i just go on tumblr all the time

12: NORMALLY ill eat like a normal ass student; ramen, chicken, sandwiches, bacon, mcdonalds (any fast food really) etc.

13: I dont even know anymore. Im eating healthier and working out more, but i still eat like 1000 or less cals a day. I punish myself by making myself walk more than my body can handle. I self harm if i feel like a failure (so far im a week clean, but i got 50 new razors and a full stocked med kit, and 10 different packs of bandaids). Since im fat, i feel like im being healthy. But deep down, i know that this is wrong. I know im sick, its why im here. but its an addiction. I HAVE to be thin. i HAVE to. its not a choice anymore. ill literally KILL myself if i cannot do it.

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onebigsimp · 3 years

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Juloni Fluff

I am but a simp for these two. This is a rather l o n g one, but hopefully some of you will like it! :)

Roni smiled as they finished off sewing in the stray pieces of yarn into the stuffed animal. They had been crocheting it in secret when they had spare time and Julian was busy at his clinic. It was a cute brown dog with black floppy ears and little black eyes and an adorable pink tongue that gave the impression that it wanted to lick you. They were very proud of the little plush and it made them smile to think that they could finally present it to Julian. They hoped he would love it. They'd crocheted red hearts onto the dogs four round paws as well, just to add extra love. It was a small dog, about the size of Julian's hand, but still very huggable, especially since they'd stuffed it with soft cotton, and used the softest yarn they could find.

As they waited for Julian to get home, Roni searched for a ribbon to tie around the stuffed dog's neck. They smiled triumphantly as they found a bright yellow ribbon. "Perfect!" they declared as they hurried back to the dog and quickly tied the ribbon into a stylish bow. They sat back down at their desk, finishing off the painting to go with the dog. It was a painting of Julian and Brundle. He'd explained exactly what she looked like long ago, and Roni had memorized every detail of the dog and sketched her out on paper the minute they got home. Julian had been improving and growing so much lately, drinking less and learning to treat himself with more care. He seemed to care not just for his loved ones, but also about himself now, and the growth was a wonderful thing to watch. Roni believed he was beginning to forgive himself for whatever it was that troubled him. He had nightmares less frequently, and slept for longer periods of time. He looked healthier and Roni was simply bursting with pride at his slow but sure progress.

All this within a couple years after the events of The Arcana. He had a lot to work on still, that was a fact, but he was going through significant growth and Roni wanted to reward him. They had settled on just the painting, but when they had spotted a brown skein of yarn on their secret trip to but more paint for the Brundle painting, they had to buy it. And everything came together from there, and Roni had worked quickly and carefully to complete their gifts, using any spare moment they had to put tender care into the painting and plush. Roni put the finishing touches, a hint of blush on Julian's cheeks and nose, a little shine on the slobber coming from Brundle's tongue as it lolled from her mouth, on the painting and set their paintbrush down and stretched. Julian would arrive in a couple hours, and the painting should be dried by then. Until he came home, they could clean up. They began with their paint and brushes. Julian sighed as he walked in the door, ducking under the frame. It had been a tiring day at the clinic. Lots of grumpy patients and worried ones holding him up for far too long with useless questions. "Yes ma'am, it's just a cold. Nothing fatal." "No sir, we can't give you anything stronger, you don't need it." etc., etc., all day. Luckily he'd been able to slip out as another doctor had relieved him. He'd thanked them and hurried next door, happy to be coming home to his love. "Roni?" he peeked around the corner into the living space and there they were. "Hello Julian love. How was work?" they beamed at him, ever a joyful ball of sunshine. Julian couldn't help but smile back as he entered the room and slumped onto a couch. "Tiring. But I'm ever so glad to be home, darling. I hope you didn't miss me too much." he smiled playfully. Roni laughed, one of his favorite sounds, and leaned on the doorframe. "I managed without you." Roni was just barely containing their excitement, tapping their thumb on their arm. They wanted to show him the stuffed animal and painting now. Julian seemed to sense they were a bit more excited than usual because he raised an eyebrow at them "Do you have something you'd like to say, Roni?" Roni nodded and ran past him and up the stairs. Julian chuckled, and Roni was almost leaping back down the stairs within a few moments, Julian's gifts in a red cloth bag clutched in their hand. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, panting, they stood in front of Julian, panting. They were no thin gazelle, no matter how quick they were. They held the bag out to Julian and he took it, giving them a questioning look. Roni sat down beside him and nodded at him to open it. Julian peeked into the bag, and gasped as he pulled out the puppy and the painting. He stared at the plush and smiled as he saw the hearts on the feet, and the adorable expression it wore. "Roni. You made this?" he turned to them as he stroked the pup's tiny head and they nodded and smiled again at him. "Yea! It took me a few days, but I loved making it. I.. hope you like it. It's soft! I thought you'd enjoy cuddling with it!" Julian leaned forward quickly and kissed them. "Thank you so much, Roni. I love it." He leaned back and stared at it in wonder. "So soft..." he sat the plush down in his lap and picked up the painting. "Oh..." he said softly, his eyes becoming misty as he looked at himself and Brundle. In the painting, he was laughing as he patted her big brown head and she had her mouth open like she was smiling. It was a picture of joy. "You.. Captured her perfectly, Roni. It looks just like her." he reached out and traced her wrinkly face with tenderness. He put the painting down next to him and pulled Roni to them, hugging them tightly. "Thank you so much, my darling sunshine. I love these gifts." His voice was thick with tears. "Of course, Julian. I love you. I'm so proud of you." Julian hugged them tighter. "Oh darling, thank you." he held them tight as he cried into their shoulder. The tears weren't exactly sad, but were more grateful, as he had finally found everything he needed in life. He was nearly complete.

#juloni #the arcana #julian the arcana #julian x apprentice #not me about to cry

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

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Never Gonna Be Alone: Chapter 1

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @tragiclyhip

His flight lands at JFK shortly before two in the afternoon. He’d slept for the better part of it; worn out from the lengthy hikes in the oppressive heat. Something to eat and a shower had done him some good. Easing the majority of tightness in his back and shoulders and tackling some of the swelling and pain in his right knee. It remains the proverbial thorn in his side; first replacement failing after only a year and a half and then having lengthy and painful recovery issues following the second one. He’ll never be able to fully straighten that leg or go a day without some swelling or pain. The surgeons had done the best they could under the circumstances; warning him of excessive and irreparable damage done to the surrounding ligaments and tendons and preparing him for a third surgery before he hits sixty.

While miserable and hobbling at times, it’s still nowhere near as agonizing as what he’d been living with before. Ninety percent of his nights are spent sleeping straight through; very rarely is he woken by pain, nor does he have to resort to the alternating of hot and cold showers in effort of relieving some of the suffering. And there’s been no nightmares. Two and a half years of NOT having his rest disrupted by vivid and terrifying recollections of his times in Dhaka. THAT’S more of relief than the absence of pain; the troubles with his mind finally giving him reprieve thanks to a strict regime of medications and therapies. There’s been no manic or severely depressive moments; moods managed relatively well and healthy coping mechanisms long ago replacing the damaging and dangerous behaviours he’d once turned to.

It helps to have a support system. Knowing there’s someone in your corner that will constantly cheer you on; never letting you get discouraged or allowing you to give up on yourself. Oftentimes...when things get particularly bad...willingly carrying some of the burden and despair themselves. Had it not been for her, he would have surrendered a long time ago. He would have easily resorted back to the booze and the drugs; his life empty and meaningless and not worth the effort and the oxygen it took to stay alive.

He woke an hour before landing and placed two calls. The first to Dylan’s Candy Bar; a favourite destination of the kids every time they make a trip to the Big Apple. It’s one of the places they insist on visiting at least twice. Shamelessly dropping nearly all their spending money given to them by their parents; filling their shopping bags to the brim with sweet treats and various trinkets. The order was simple; seven plastic buckets -each adorned with the kids’ favourite cartoon character or superhero- filled with their candy and chocolate of choice and gift certificates for the sundae bar. The second call is placed to the ‘go to’ local florist. Two dozen long stemmed sweetheart roses; white, pink, and purple. It makes him happy; being able to both surprise and spoil her. The latter always launches a protest on her behalf; reminding him that she isn’t a materialistic person and most certainly doesn’t expect or need expensive gifts. But he can’t help himself. While they live remarkably simple and low key in the grand scheme of things, it’s no secret that money is no longer an issue; their bank account will never run dry and there will always be cash -BIG cash- rolling in. And he feels she deserves to be spoiled and treated like a queen. Not only giving him seven kids in as many years, but staying by his side through thick and thin; never giving up on him -or the- even when things were their darkest and direst.

She’s been with him from the humblest of beginnings; when he had absolutely nothing to offer her. Money had been scarce. Nearly all their combined savings used up on a mountain of medical bills; his long and painful recovery from Dhaka making any and all employment impossible. It was worrisome; wondering how the hell he’d keep a roof over her head and food in her pregnant belly. If he couldn’t manage THAT, how was he going to be able to properly care for a kid? They hadn’t had much back then; that tiny apartment outside of Sydney filled with used and mismatched furniture and barely any clothes in their closets. But she’d hung in there. Agreeing to marry him even though he couldn’t even afford to give her a ring, let alone a proper wedding. Loving him with every fibre of her being and always looking at him as if he was the most incredible man on earth; declaring that he made her feel safe and protected and that she’d never...EVER...felt that way before.

And that’s why he does. All of that blind faith and love and trust that she’s always possessed. The chances she’s given to him; forgiving him for all the broken promises and all the lies he told -never maliciously, only as a means of keeping her safe- and the times he fell off the wagon and went back to the booze and drugs. So many times she could have walked away; taken the kids and fled the country and made sure that he would never find them. But she never did. She never let it...HIM...break them. No matter how hard it got, no matter tears she shed, no matter how volatile the arguments or how many holes he punched in the walls, she never gave up. Even when she did kick him out, it hadn’t been a sign of defeat. It had been a warning; telling him that she wouldn’t allow someone like him in her children’s lives and he needed to clean up his act. He’s still ashamed that it took as long as it had. Six months spent wallowing in his self pity and despair; twenty four weeks away from his family because he was too scared and too weak to face his problems head on and try to solve them. And she’d taken him back; a tearful phone call in the middle of the night begging him to come home. They’d stayed up until dawn; having the calm and rational heart to heart that they should have indulged in months..if not YEARS...ago. And finally he’d been ready to change; crying and begging for forgiveness and promising to do whatever it took to make things right again.

To make THEM right again.

Although Anil had arranged for a private car to take him home, he opts for a taxi instead. While he appreciates Anil's continued generosity, it’s far too ‘flashy’ for him; a black Lincoln with tinted windows pulling up into Gramercy Park will only draw attention from the neighbours. While everyone residing there is just as wealthy -if not more- things are still relatively low key; North American made SUVs and sedans in place of luxury models from overseas, no outward displays of disgusting riches and pompous attitudes. He knows he and his family are an enigma of sorts; nine of them from Australia showing up out of the blue and dropping huge cash -especially for what’s considered a young family- on a place that'd been on the market for nearly two years. Then spending an exorbitant amount of money transforming the three story townhome into exactly what they wanted. Adding a private and secluded back deck complete with a wet bar and a hot tub and an area for outdoor food prep and grilling. Blowing the one wall out in TJ and Tanner’s room; removing would have been a study in favour of turning it into built in queen sized bunk beds and enormous walk in closets with enough space for clothes and toys. And a home gym stocked with the best equipment money can buy and a top of the line sound system; ; an addition off the kitchen that had been a last minute decision. It had taken two years and a dozen trips to and from Australia and New York CIty to get everything just right. Finding joy in seeing just what all the hard work and seemingly endless shedding of blood, sweat, and tears, could actually bring to their family.

When he’s two blocks away he texts his wife, letting her know he’s mere minutes from their front gate. The three littlest love that final stretch; kneeling on the couch and pressing their noses against the living room window as they impatiently await his arrival. She’ll try to get boots and coats on them in time; more often than not chasing them out the front door with winter apparel in hand, shouting about the dangers of frostbite and hypothermia and how they don’t want to spend their entire Christmas break stuck in bed with the flu. It’s been an adventure; raising seven children. Definitely not for the faint of heart or those lacking in patience. There’s the frustrating moments; two or three throwing temper tantrums in unison, an often mouthy and rebellious pre-teen girl that makes her mother her primary target, a ten year old boy that has absolutely no fear; who indulges -and excels- in even the most aggressive of sports and gets bored and irritable if he isn’t keeping himself moving. It’s chaotic and it’s noisy. School mornings are a whirlwind of activity; breakfast for a family of nine, the oldest helping finish and pack lunches, mom and dad working on getting the less independent kiddos ready and out the door. But there’s a lot of fun under that roof; an endless supply of giggles and little arms always ready and willing to wrap you in a hug. The great times far out number the trying and exhausting ones; rewarded with kisses and cuddles and those crinkly eyed smiles.

And there’s a lot of love in that house. If the pain and the worry and the fear that his brush with death had five years ago had taught him anything, it’s that they truly are capable of getting through even the toughest of times. They ARE stronger together than they are apart; fighting through all the pain and all the tears and coming out the other side relatively unscathed. And they’ve become stronger; as individuals AND as a couple. Their marriage has never been healthier. Rational and calm discussions taking the place of often volatile arguments and taking every opportunity presented to them for ‘one on one time’; whether it be date nights or their evening walks along the beach or coffee out on the deck while the sun rises. Seamlessly and effortlessly working as a team when it comes to raising their children, but never forgetting how important it is to acknowledge the bond that exists between them. Not just as spouses and two people that made babies together, but as best friends and lovers and each other’s biggest supporters and most loyal confidants. Marriage therapy has turned out to be the best thing they ever could have agreed to; able to acknowledge their weaknesses as both a couple and as individuals. Opening their eyes to the little things that annoyed and often -unintentionally- hurt one another and tested the limits of their patience.

Things aren’t perfect. But most days they seem damn close to it.

****

Clad in a cumbersome ski jacket and a pair of heavy and clunky winter boots, five year old Takota scrambles onto the living room couch. Leaning stomach first against the back cushion, he places his elbows along the top and heaves a long, forlorn sigh. “He’s late.”

Beside him -and already bundled into her own cold weather gear- Addie casts a glance towards the clock that graces the nearby fireplace mantle. “It’s only been eight minutes.”

“Mummy said he’d be here in FIVE minutes.”

“Maybe the traffic is bad. Maybe the cabbie is a really slow driver. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

“I hope so.” Another dramatic sigh. “I wonder why daddy had to go away in the first place?”

Addie twirls one of the braided tassels on her knitted hat around her index finger. “‘Cause Kota, he’s the boss and sometimes bosses have to go and boss people around. In person. Not just on the phone and through the computer.”

“Maybe he had to go and yell at them,” Takota suggests, and pushes his beanie towards the back of his head, then uses a forearm to clear beads of sweat from his brow. “His voice is REALLY loud when he yells. I bet he scared them . Do you think they cried?”

“I would cry if he yelled at me.”

“Daddy never yells at us. He doesn’t need to. He just gives us the stink eye. You know, ‘the look’.”

“The look is scarier than when he yells, I think. He yells at Millie sometimes.”

“That’s ‘cause she deserves it. We don’t. We’re just little. She’s big and mean. And bad. Really bad.”

“Who’s bad?” Brooklyn asks, soles of her boots loud against the laminate flooring as she clomps into the living room, then squeezes her tall and slender frame between the window and the back of the couch.

“Millie,” her twin replies. “All the time.”

“That’s ‘cause she’s almost a teenager,” Brooklyn reasons. “All teenagers are bad.”

“I think it’s ‘cause she’s just a big bitch,” Addie declares.

Voices -especially high pitched little ones that don’t come with a volume switch or understand the meaning of the word ‘whisper’- travel easily through the main floor. Particularly through the open concept design that seamlessly combines living room and kitchen; high ceilings and easy to clean carpet free flooring. A definite must have with seven kids and two dogs. And as she stands at the kitchen island nursing a mug of tea, Esme’s eyebrows arch as she catches the profanity that slips from her soon to be six year old’s mouth.

“Hey!” she calls, and drops her chin to her chest and narrows her eyes. “Language. Please.”

“Sorry,” Addie gives a sheepish grin, then turns back towards the window. “It’s true though.”

“Mum,” Takota turns to face the back of the couch; a pout on his lips and his arms crossed over his chest. “You said he’d be here in five minutes. It’s been an hour.”

“It’s been ten minutes,” she informs him. “It’s snowing out. People forget how to drive when it’s snowing. Traffic is probably bad. Patience, young sir.”

“I don’t have any patience. I’m five, remember? Why did daddy have to go away again?”

“He had some business to take care of. Far away.”

“He’s been gone for like a year.”

“I know it seems that way, but he’s only been gone for four days. Five if you count the night he left.”

“Why’s he leave when we’re sleeping?” Brooklyn inquires, as she traces a fingertip along the edges of the paper snowflakes -done in various colours and sizes- that she and her siblings had created and taped to the glass the evening before. “Why doesn’t he wait to say bye to us?”

“Because most of the flights leave at night. It’s not personal.”

“He should at least wake us up,” Takota says. “I hate not getting to say bye to him.”

“I don’t know, I’m kinda of glad that he DOESN’T say bye,” Addie pipes up. “I’d cry for sure. It’s better if he goes when I’m asleep. So I don’t ugly cry.”

Their chatter turns to plans to build snowmen in the small expanse of backyard, hopes of going sledding, and excitement over the buckets of candy that had been delivered only thirty minutes earlier. The bouquet of flowers sits in the middle of the dining table; a stunning arrangement of long stemmed sweetheart roses in her favourite colours and accompanied by a card that simply reads: I LOVE YOU. While not a fan of grand romantic gestures, over the past five years he’s shown an increased propensity for these ‘out of the blue’ moments. It can be simple yet thoughtful and personal things. Her favourite cupcakes from the local bakery back home, flowers being delivered to the bookstore in the middle of the day, or him taking a break from seemingly endless hours of ‘in office’ work and showing up with lunch for the both of them. Just taking the time to be with her is what matters most to her; the affection he gives and effort he puts into making sure she realizes just how often she’s on his mind. And how much he appreciates her and loves her and truly can’t imagine his life without her.

Then there’s the bigger and more elaborate things; the desire to spoil her every chance he gets, claiming it makes him happy to do so. She always protests. Reminding him that that’s NOT why she fell in love with him; marrying him when they both had very little yet their lives somehow seeming simpler and less stressful. But it just goes in one ear and out the other. his persistence and stubbornness always getting the upper hand. Showering her with jewelry and designer clothing and accessories; surprising with spa appointments and ‘girls weekends’ away with her sister. And then there’s the twice yearly ‘mommy and daddy only’ trips he insists they take. One always to their favorite getaway in Phuket, Thailand, and the other destination always kept a secret until they actually land. He says it makes him happy; being able to just randomly treat her to things they’d never been able to really afford before. Truly believing that she deserves to be spoiled; wanting a way to show how much he appreciates her and how grateful he is for the life she’s given him. A chance to prove he CAN be a good husband and father and that his past mistakes in no way to define who he truly is. And he always talks about how fortunate he is that he found a strong woman; someone that stuck around during even the hardest and darkest of times. Always loyal and faithful. Loving him when he didn’t make it easy to.

He’s come a long way in five years. THEY’VE come a long way. Both separately and as a couple. Therapy has made a world of difference; helping them get to the bottom of both individual issues and those causing friction and tension in their marriage. It had taken him a while to accept the idea of couples counselling; afraid that needing it was a sign that things were far worse than he thought they were Slowing coming around to the realization that it wasn’t because they had serious problems that had to be addressed, but because they needed to find ways to keep those issues from cropping up in the first place. Both had needed to be reminded that their roles in each other’s lives went far beyond just being spouses and raising children together. That the bond that existed between them surpassed what most normal couples could lay claim to. Best friends. Lovers. Each other’s most trusted confidants and most loyal and steadfast supporters. Once they began taking time out to spend together, they soon learned how to nourish those very different roles in each other’s lives. Their marriage started to see the benefits almost immediately; becoming stronger and their appreciation, gratitude, and love for another growing beyond anything either of them could imagine.

“Momma?” Takota appears on the other side of the island, having to stand on his tiptoes to see over the countertop. Like his Tanner and Addie, he’s on the small side; not blessed with the tall and lanky genes that the others -including his twin sister- had been given. And like Tanner, he is soft spoken and serious; loving to spend time outdoors, yet preferring quieter pursuits. Very creative; indulging in painting and drawing and any form of craft that he can get his hands on.

She glances up from the copy of the New York Times open in front of her. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“Do you think daddy went away because he had to kill someone?”

“What?” She gives a startled chuckle. “Why would you…?”

“TJ said that daddy used to kill people. Before he became a boss. That he was a mer...mer…”

“Mercenary,” she finishes for him, then pushes the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows and moves to the stove; stirring the contents of a simmering pot. One of Tanner’s many culinary creations; a rather creative mixture of chicken, taco seasons, and various vegetables. It’s his newfound passion; cooking and baking. And he insisted that some of that day’s lunch be left over so daddy could try it when he got home.

The little things go both ways. She’s found her own ways of spoiling him and showing her gratitude and appreciation. Today it’s a warm meal and fresh, hot coffee and the hot tub on the back deck already bubbling; relief for what she knows will be an aching and weary body.

“Is it true? That he used to kill people? When he was one of those? A mercenrie?”

“Mercenary,” she slowly repeats. “And yeah, sometimes. Sometimes he DID have to.”

“Because they were bad people?”

“Very bad people.”

“Is that why he had to go away? To kill bad people?”

“I don’t know why. I didn’t ask for details. He just had to go away for a few days.” It isn’t entirely true. He did in fact head to Laos and Cambodia to do just THAT; two high profile drug and weapons smugglers with enormous price tags on their heads and lengthy lists of enemies. But he’d also said that there was ‘more to it’; things that she didn’t need to know. Details that made HIM extremely unsettled. Something THAT bad? He preferred not to place it upon her shoulders.

“Is he going to go to hell? Because he killed people?”

“No.” She scoops some of the soup from the pot and holds it to her lips; aggressively blowing on it and then checking the temperature with the tip of her tongue before offering it to her son.

Takota eagerly accepts the ‘snack’. “Are the people he killed going to hell?”

“How about we NOT talk about this? If you want to know those kinds of things, you ask daddy. He’ll be able to answer your questions a lot better than I will.”

“I think you’re just throwing him under the bus. Setting him up for failure. We BOTH know he won’t tell me.”

“You are way too smart for five. Taste good? The soup?”

“Really good. Tanner could be a really famous chef one day, I bet. I’m gonna be a lion tamer.”

Grinning, she moves back to the island and snags her mug; heating the tea with some of the remains sitting in the pot she had made earlier. “You are, are you?”

“Daddy said I could be whatever I want to be when I grow up. And I want to be a lion tamer. And maybe a dentist.”

“Both at the same time?”

“I can’t tame lions and fix teeth at the same time. That’s just weird.”

“Mum!” Brooklyn bellows from the living room, then begins pounding her palm against the window. “That weird guy is back again!”

“He’s talking to TJ,” Addie chimes in. “I think TJ is going to tell him off. TJ doesn’t like him. He thinks the guy’s an asshole.”

“Adeline! Language!” she scolds, and then turns the burner on the stove to the nearest possible setting and heads through the kitchen and out into the living room, Takota hot on her heels.

“Why is he back?” Brooklyn unlocks the latch on the window and aggressively shoves it open. “Why are you back, weirdo?! You already shovelled the sidewalk! It hasn’t snowed enough yet! Go away! Mum…” both brows are arched as she glances over her shoulder. “...TJ is going to flip out. The weirdo is asking if you’re here. He called you pretty. I heard him! TJ is pissed!”

“Hey! Hey you!” Addie yells out the window. “My brother is going to kick your ass!”

“No one is kicking anyone’s ass,” Esme says, and shoves her feet into a pair of Crocs by the front door and snags one of the many coats from the hall closet; a snowboarding jacket that belongs to her husband and is monstrous on her tiny frame. And she barely manages to get the front door open; the three littles rushing past her and out onto the freshly shovelled porch and half completed steps.

“Why don’t you just go away!” TJ is barking at the ‘hired help’; a neighbourhood kid that she’d hired three years ago to handle the sidewalk IF Tyler was away. TJ had willingly taken on the responsibility of snow cleaning their first Christmas in Gramercy Park. Happy to be in charge of keeping the walk, stairs, and porch clean, but knowing that anything past the front gate is off limits. “You already did the sidewalk! It doesn’t need done again!”

“What’s going on?” Esme wraps an arm around her son’s shoulders and pulls him tightly into her. He’s tall for only ten; less than an inch away from squeaking past her in height. Still slim yet not as lanky and awkward looking; shoulders broader and muscles in his upper body already forming and becoming defined. A direct result of his love for sports and the kid friendly workouts in the gym that his dad let’s him partake in.

“This guy…” TJ nods in the teenager’s direction. “...wants to talk to you. He called you pretty. He asked ‘where’s your pretty little mom?'. I don’t like the way he said it. And dad wouldn’t like it either.”

“Is there a fight?” Tanner inquires, as he and Declan emerge from the side of the house; hearing the shouting from the backyard where they’d been keeping an eye on the dogs and building ‘snow fortresses’. “Who’s fighting?”

“No one is fighting,” Esme replies. “Just a misunderstanding between your brother and Jacobi. I’m sure it’s nothing, TJ. Go back to what you were doing. Daddy will be home soon. It’ll be a nice surprise for him; seeing everything shovelled off.”

“I don’t like this drongo,” TJ declares, and gestures towards the teenager with the end of the shovel. “He called you pretty. No one calls my mum pretty. Even if she is.”

“Beat him up,” Delcan suggests. “Daddy would.”

“Daddy would NOT beat someone up for no reason,” Esme informs him. “Especially not a teenager. Jacobi,” she turns to the teen in question. He’s a senior at the high school only three blocks away; a nice enough kid from an upper middle class home, constantly clad in backwards ball caps, baggy jeans, a varsity football jacket. “Now is NOT a good time. My wallet’s inside and I have no cash on me and my husband’s going to be home any second and it’s going to get really crazy around here. And loud. Very loud.”

“You don’t have to pay me until next time. I was just going to ask you if…”

TJ steps in front of Esme, forming a protective barrier between her and the unwanted visitor. “My mum’s married,” he snarls. “To my dad. Leave her alone! My dad is big and he’s strong and he can hurt people. With one hand. And if he finds out you’re mackin’ on my mom…”

“Tyler..” she places her hands on his shoulders. “...enough. No one is ‘macking’ on anyone. Jacobi is just being friendly. He shovels the sidewalk for us when dad isn’t here. And takes the garbage to the curb. He’s just trying to be friends.”

“My mom doesn’t need any more friends. Especially GUY friends. Seriously, my dad will kill you. Trying to get with my mom? Yeah, my dad will lose his shit. And you don’t want him to lose his shit. He’ll break you half. With his bare hands.”

“He’s very protective,” Esme explains to the teen, and gives an apologetic smile. “When dad leaves, he takes the role of ‘man of the house’ very seriously. You’re more than welcome to come back later; you can come in and have some hot chocolate or you can stay for dinner.”

“Oh now he’s coming to dinner?!” TJ huffs. “He just wants to try and get in your pants, mum. It’s obvious.”

“You’re ten. You don't know what's obvious when it comes to those things. You need to settle down. Jacobi is harmless. He’s just trying to be friends. Wouldn’t that be nice? To have friends here? It’s always nice to have friends.”

“I have friends back home. I don’t need them here. I got Tanny and Declan. What do I need HIM for?”

“Daddy!” Addie shrieks, as she stands on the lower rung of the wrought iron fence that borders their slice of property. One mitten clad hand wrapped around one of the posts while the other frantically waves at the yellow cab that pulls up to the curb. “Daddy! Daddy’s home!”

******

Chaos erupts; the gate being thrown open and a stampede of six human bodies and two dogs trying to steamroll their way through. The pure joy on those little faces and the excitement in their voices enough to cause a lump of emotion to settle square in his throat and tears to prick at his eyes; the latter hidden behind the lenses of his sunglasses. It had taken work to get past the feelings of inadequacy. The self hate and guilt and shame that had been telling him for years that he didn’t deserve the life he’d been given; a second chance at being a husband and father. Therapy has helped him get past that; helping him learn how to forgive himself and look at everything he DOES have instead of constantly questioning WHY he does. Now all he thinks about is how damn lucky he is; to have created seven human beings and to know how much they love him and how much they need him in their lives.

He barely gets a foot on the curb before the three littlest are on top of him. Shrieking and squealing with happiness and grabbing at the legs of his jeans; all three chattering at once, anxious for his undivided attention and begging to be picked up. He opts to dropping to one knee; not caring about the snow and the slush that soaks his leg or dirties the fabric. All that matters is those kids; three sets of arms wrapping tightly around his neck and those and those tiny voices giggling and happily screeching in his ears. And he gives each one the same attention; laying on the back of their heads and pressing kisses to their lips and cheeks.

“Daddy!” Addie climbs onto his thigh and squeezes his neck even tighter. “I missed you! I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Peanut. Every second of every day. I missed ALL of you.”

“But me the most, right? You missed me more than anyone, right?”

“ALL of you. I don’t have favourites.”

“Yes, you do. I know it’s me, daddy. Everyone knows it’s me.”

“Maybe I’ve got a little soft spot for you. But you know who my absolute favourite is? My most favourite human in the whole world?”

“Mummy.”

“Exactly.” He gives her a final squeeze and peck on the cheek, gently sliding her off of his thigh and then standing; wincing at the discomfort in his right knee and the tightness in his shoulder when he slings his piece of luggage -a simple backpack often used during hiking and camping excursions with the family- up onto it. “Hey little red,” he greets Declan, and affectionately ruffles both the winter hat and the shock of red hair underneath. “What happened? Grow another foot while I’m gone? You look taller.”

“I’m going to be a giant like you, dad,” Declan declares, then stands on his tiptoes with his lips pursed for a kiss. “Mum says I might even be BIGGER than you.”

“Guess I better watch my step, huh? Treat her right? Or you’ll be kicking my ass when you’re older. What about guys?” He addresses the oldest twins, clapping a hand on the back on the back of TJ’s neck and pressing a kiss on his cheek.

Tanner...and his needs...are different. He’s the more sensitive of the two; so much like his mother when it comes to a near constant need to show and receive affection. And since his Autism diagnosis almost five years ago -high functioning, as the developmental pediatrician had called it, a term that Tyler finds gets under his skin and leaves a foul taste in his mouth- they’ve all learned just WHAT Tanner needs. Whether it be ‘sensory breaks’ when feeling overwhelmed or anxious or more one on one interaction. Today it’s deep pressure. Tyler feels his son’s need for it the second Tanner’s arms wrap around his waist. He’s struggling emotionally; likely missing him the most out of all the kids and having a hard time adjusting to being away from home and not having his usual routine. It’s been difficult to adjust to; trying to find that balance between giving Tanner what he so desperately needs and craves yet not alienating or neglecting the needs of the others.

“Hey, mate.” He presses a kiss to Tanner’s temple, then wraps both arms around his petite frame. Knowing the exact amount of pressure he needs to put into the embrace. It will last longer than what he’d shared with the others. Long ago getting used to Tanner’s ‘signs’; knowing it’s better for his son’s mental state if he allows Tanner to be the one to break contact.

The ten year old’s demeanour begins to change almost instantly; tension releasing from his body and his heart rate slowing down and the head to toe tremors disappearing. And he holds on until Tanner is good and ready to pull away, then places his hands on his son’s shoulders and crouches down to make them eye level. Smiling when his sunglasses are gently and carefully pulled off his face. That contact again; Tanner needing to be able to read the emotions and even the thoughts that he always says is ‘written in daddy’s eyes’.

“You good?”

Finally a smile. One that crinkles the corners of his eyes and creases the bridge of his nose. “I’m good, dad.”

“Good,” he leans in and presses a kiss to Tanner’s lips. “Miss me?”

The ten year old nods.

“How much?”

“Lots.”

“Just lots?”

The smile broadens. “Tons.”

“I knew it. I missed you too. Tons. I brought you something. From Vietnam. Remember how when I told you where I was going, you did all that research? Especially about the animals? What was your favorite one?”

“The sun bear.”

“Look what I found.” Reaching into the pocket of his navy wool pea coat, he pulls out a small porcelain statue of a sun bear. It had taken him two hours of scouring various markets near his hotel and in surrounding areas, but he’d managed to find one. Tanner’s obsession with studying countries and their native wildlife is no secret; postcards and other trinkets constantly pouring in from Koen and Rata and some of the other guys on staff.

Tanner’s eyes widen, and he gingerly “Just for me?”

“Just for you. I told you I’d do my best to find you something. You can add that to your collection.”

“Mum!” He excitedly turns to Esme as she joins them, cradling his gift in both palms. “Look what daddy found! Look what he got me!”

“That’s awesome nugget. Daddy never disappoints, does he.”

“Never. Thank you, daddy,” Tanner curls his arms around Tyler’s neck and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I missed you. I love you.”

“I missed you too, mate. And I love you,” he places his lips against his son’s temple. “So much.”

“Why don’t you go put that inside,” Esme suggests. “In your room. So it doesn’t get broken. You can come back out to play if you want. If not, dry socks please. Your feet are probably soaked.”

“And put my boots on the mat by the door and all wet stuff in the sink in the laundry room.”

“You got it.” She playfully tugs on the braided ties dangling from his head, then taps a fingertip against the end of the nose before he rushes off. “Hey, handsome,” she greets Tyler with a brilliant smile; one that’s a testament to immense relief his return brings. “Long time no see. Already upping your ‘best daddy in the world’ game, huh?”

“Couldn’t let him down, could I?”

“You never do. How was your flight?”

“It was alright.” He shrugs his bag further up onto his shoulders and reaches up to cup the back of her head in his palm, other hand falling on the small of her back and pulling her tightly into him. Despite the enormous difference in both weight and height, their bodies have always felt perfect together; easily and effortlessly melding into one another. He’d felt it that first day; 13 years ago in that rundown hotel room in Dhaka. She had felt amazing; soft skin and curves in all the right places, body warm and responding so eagerly and willingly to his. Everything it...about her...had felt good. It had felt right. And still does.

“I missed you.” Esme says, and perches herself on her tiptoes; the soles and heels of her bare feet lifting out her Crocs as she curls her arms around his neck.

“I missed you too. You have no idea how much.”

They both feel the stress and the worry immediately lift; her body leaning into his and her eyes closing, his hand gently pressing her head into his chest, his forearm sliding just under her ass. For minutes they stand in silence simply embracing one another and enjoying the reunion; snowflakes gathering in their hair and on the shoulders of their jackets. And when she eventually pulls away, he leans down to kiss her; long and soft and slow, palm moving from the back of her head to her cheek.

Tyler glances down, a grin playing on his lips. “What’s up with that outfit?”

“It’s a long story.” She reaches up to trace her fingertips over a handful of fresh scratches and gouges mar his face and forehead. “What’s up with these?”

“Those are also a long story. We’re missing one. There’s only six spawn. What happened? Finally have enough? Is she buried in the backyard?”

“I did FINALLY crack but she’s very much alive. She went to Alannah’s last night; for a sleepover. Alannah’s mom took them out today; for lunch and a movie and to do some Christmas shopping.” Alannah is one of the many friends Millie has managed to make during their trips to New York City; the daughter of a Korean diplomat and a former Rockette.

“She’s been THAT bad?”

“Let’s put it this way; she’s lucky she’s still breathing and I’m lucky I'm still sober.”

“Yikes. Not what I wanted to hear. Guess we’ll be talking about that later.”

“It can wait. No rush. She’ll be home for dinner. I’m sure she’ll still be in a mood.”

“I’ll handle it if she is.”

“And then I’ll get blamed for turning daddy against her.”

“Well, she’s got to learn. No one disrespects my wife. Not someone we know, not a complete stranger, not my own kids.”

“Always the protective husband. You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Tanner made some amazing soup yesterday and he insisted we save you some. And there’s fresh coffee AND the hot tub is already.”

“Best wife EVER.”

“I try. To keep my man happy.”

Smiling, he smoothes her hair away from her hair and loops errant strands behind her ears. “You do a very good job at that. And later, I’ll make YOU very happy.”

Esme grins. “Is that a promise?”

“That’s a promise.” He kisses her once more; her face cradled in both hands and her body more melting into his his.

Her smile is softer; eyes sparkling with a mixture of relief and happiness. And love. There’s always love there. And he's certain there always will be.

“I missed you,” he says yet again, and leans down to place a kiss on her temple and nuzzles the tip of his nose against her ear.

Pulling back to look at him, her hand once more moves to his face. Knuckles skimming along his jaw before her palm cups his cheek, her eyes never leaving his as two of her fingertips glide over his lips. She allows the the bottom of his chin to rest in the curve between thumb and forefinger, then softly and briefly brushes her mouth against his

“Welcome home, baby,” she whispers against his lips, then takes his hand in hers and leads the way inside.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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alwaysahiccupandastrid · 4 years

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People have already said this but like...the four “rotten” children in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory weren’t villains. Their behaviour was due to toxic parenting, and so it’s the parents who should have been punished instead.

Augustus Gloop just liked to eat chocolate - yeah, he ate way too much of it but his parents should have restricted how much chocolate he ate and made him eat healthier food. Liking to eat chocolate isn’t a crime, and in fact it’s people like Augustus who make people like Wonka so successful - by buying Wonka chocolate bars and sweets. And yeah, eating everything in sight and bending down to scoop out of the chocolate river was dumb, but he’s a kid? Why wasn’t his mother near him so she could stop him? Isn’t that the whole point of having a guardian with each child in the factory? I don’t think just liking to eat chocolate makes someone rotten or a bad person - with the exception of the “would you like some chocolate?...then you should have bought some” comment at Charlie, Augustus wasn’t really a bad kid, just greedy. His parents should have put their foot down and made him eat healthier food/less candy.

Violet Beauregarde was ambitious and competitive, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Yeah, she was kind of rude at times, and she had a slight attitude problem, but you can see that her behaviour was clearly influenced by her mother, who encouraged and pushed her to be like that and to focus on “the prize”, on “being a winner”. Chewing gum doesn’t make someone rotten - she shouldn’t have been chewing the same stick of gum for three months straight, that’s gross, but again, it’s clearly due to how her mother pushed her to break a record and win. And yeah, not listening to Wonka by snatching the gum from him and not spitting it out when he said to was dumb, but are you surprised that she wasn’t listening when she had her mother saying shit like “my little girl’s gonna be the first person to have a three course gum meal!” and when Wonka was waving it in front of her like that? If he had immediately said something like, “DONT chew it because if you do then it’ll turn you into a giant purple blueberry”, maybe it might have put her off a little bit.

Veruca Salt...oof, I feel strongly about this one. She was just a spoilt brat, but that’s because her parents - mostly her father - spoilt her rotten. Her parents should have been firmer and told her “no”, as well as teaching her to say “please” and “thank you”. Her parents were the ones who spoilt her, and that’s why she behaves like a brat. They thought that they could buy Veruca’s love by giving into her every whim, and she learnt that quickly because she knows all she has to do is ask and she’ll get it - but it didn’t buy her love at all, it just gave her the idea that she could have whatever she wanted and when she wanted, not the idea that she was loved. Also, in the 2005 film, you can see her mother drinking in what I presume is the early afternoon, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the family situation was that the mother is barely involved in her daughter’s upbringing and drinks quite a bit, and that the father is trying to keep the daughter happy by giving her everything she asks for - because he doesn’t know how else to show love or affection or how to keep her from acting out...as with a lot of rich people, his solution to any problem is to use his money to buy his way out. It’s not like she was outright a bully or hurting anyone, she was just a little girl who had bad parents and could have been fine if she’d been taught to say “please” or “thank you”, or if her parents had taught her “I want never gets”

(Side note: I was spoilt by my three grandparents quite a bit growing up - with my paternal grandparents they would buy me whatever I wanted and then some designer stuff because they’re pretty well off, since they worked their entire lives, and my maternal nan would always buy me chocolate/biscuits/stuff when I went out with her, as well as using her pension money to take me to the Christmas pantomime - with my mum and sister and cousins - when I was younger. Grandparents do that because it’s not their child, so they can. But they and my parents always knew when/how to say no, and to encourage me and my sister to have manners. Spoiling a child on special occasions is fine, like Christmas or birthdays or days out, but not ALL the time)

Mike Teavee liked television and video games - who doesn’t? He was incredibly smart, even to the point of being rude, but that doesn’t make him a bad person necessarily. A lot of the time, parents will just put their kid in front of a TV and leave them there to entertain them instead of actually doing something fun with them - maybe that’s the case with Mike. He clearly knows his stuff though, and just because he liked television and video games, doesn’t mean he’s a bad person - his parents should have imposed stricter guidelines on his TV/game time. When I was much younger, my parents and grandparents were very clear that we had to do our homework BEFORE the TV was turned on; obviously when we were a little older, they expected us to know that we had to do our homework and that we would do it when we did (especially me, because I was frankly terrified of pissing off teachers). Television and games are fine in moderation - his parents should have been stricter and made rules about the amount of time he spent in front of the television set, maybe encouraged him to go outside or read a book.

None of these four children deserved to be harmed, mutilated and/or almost killed. If anything, I feel like the parents should have been the ones getting taught a lesson and not the kids - like maybe the parents should have been the ones getting sucked up chocolate pipes/nearly turned into fudge/blowing up into a blueberry/tossed down a garbage chute after being viciously attacked by squirrels/shrunk down and used in a taffy puller. Like...they’re kids. They’ll grow up and learn, and they’re all like 10-12 at the most in CATF - they’re not even teenagers.

Those kids are probably going to bear trauma and humiliation for the rest of their lives. Augustus was mostly just covered in chocolate, but he was literally eating himself (which makes me wonder if he did actually become chocolate fudge but...). He nearly drowned in chocolate and god knows what else happened to him before he was rescued from the fudge machine. Violet is permanantly blue - sure, she’s now freakishly flexible, which could be good for competitions, but she could also be bullied for the rest of her life for having blue skin and being able to contort herself like that. Also, not to forget the actual body mutation itself where she literally blew up into a blueberry and was rolled around, jumped on, and then juiced. Veruca was just covered in trash, but she was attacked and thrown down a massive floor hole/chute by angry squirrels - it wouldn’t surprise me if it hurt a bit, and if she had nightmares about squirrels attacking for the rest of her life. Just imagine if she was walking one day and saw a squirrel - she’d probably freak out and not be able to cope in public with it. Mike was put in a taffy puller and literally physically stretched; he’s now like six or seven feet tall, and he’s as thin as a piece of paper. He’d definitely get mocked for being that height and being literally little more than a paper cutout - god knows what that did to his internal organs and bones.

If Wonka really wanted to teach them a lesson, he could have done it by harming/mutilating the parents and having the Oompa Loompas sing about THEM - they could have learnt through their parents actions that if they carried on the way they were, they’d end up meeting the same fate. Maybe that’s just me though.

#charlie and the chocolate factory #roald dahl #augustus gloop #veruca salt #mike teavee #willy wonka #violet beauregarde

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toxoiddiamond · 3 years

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ORLANDO BENJAMIN FORRESTER What smells remind them of their childhood? His mother always wore (and still wears) Emeraude perfume. Every now and then someone will pass by Orli and he’ll catch the scent of Emeraude and be immediately transported back to his childhood. What filler words do they use in everyday speech? Do they have an accent or speech impediment? If someone says something that requires an acknowledgement but not a full-on response, he’ll usually say something like “ah,” or “mm,” just something to make it clear he’s listening. He also begins sentences with “well…” if he’s thinking over his response. He just has a typical American accent, no speech impediments and nothing remarkable about his manner of speaking. Do they make quick decisions and act on them? Do they take time out to think about actions and consequences? Orli isn’t exactly impulsive when it comes to his decision making (unless he has no choice but to act on instinct). If he can, he prefers to take some time to really think things through, to look at things from every angle, before he acts. This is why he’s given so much leeway at work to basically do what he thinks is best– the higher-ups know that Orli never acts on a whim and wouldn’t be doing anything unless he’d considered all the possibilities, all the possible outcomes, etc. How many unread messages are in their phone? None. Orli reads all of his messages as soon as they come in, and responds immediately unless the message doesn’t require a response. He’s not one to leave unread texts, emails, or anything else. Where do they go when they’re angry? Anywhere that will get him away from the source of his anger. If he’s angry at work, he’ll make an excuse to leave the office for whatever reason (whether it’s to do some research or to grab some coffee) and will just hang out in his car for a while until he’s calmed down. Outside of work, he usually takes out any anger or frustration by doing some kickboxing at the gym. On what occasion do they lie? Orli isn’t too much of a liar, he usually tells the truth about things, or tries to give a diplomatic answer if he can’t be as honest as he’d like (this happens a lot when he speaks with the higher-ups at work). Mainly he tells little white lies, harmless lies just for the sake of sparing people’s feelings or keeping the peace. He’s not brutally honest by any means and doesn’t want to make anyone feel needlessly bad about themselves. How would they respond to an apology from somebody they still can’t forgive? He would probably say he accepts the apology if it seems sincere. He still would never forget what they did, but he would at least be civil if it really did seem like they were sorry. But if the apology seemed insincere to him, he wouldn’t accept it and would continue to ignore the person whenever possible. What is the worst thing they did to someone they loved? He cheated on his girlfriend while he was in college. He got wasted at a party after midterms and ended up hooking up with a random guy. He felt absolutely horrible about the situation and confessed to her right away. She was understandably upset and broke up with him on the spot. Although he was heartbroken, since she was his first love, he didn’t fight her on it or try to convince her to stay with him because he knew he’d completely fucked up and ruined any trust they had between them. They sort of made up about a year later and became friends, though of course things were never the same between them. Do they enjoy working out? Do they play any sports? Orli really enjoys doing various types of martial arts– his current interest is kickboxing, and he has been taking classes for a few months. He’s also done kenpo karate, taekwondo, and jiu jitsu. He’s not a black belt or anything, he just enjoys dabbling and likes taking out his anger in a constructive way. He used to do track in high school, but he’s not really into running anymore. Do they believe people who say they have no regrets? Do they have any? If not, why don’t they have any? Orli thinks that anyone who says they don’t regret anything is full of shit. In his mind, if you don’t regret anything, then you haven’t learned anything or bettered yourself. He has plenty of regrets, some more significant than others. Which do they prefer, a lot of attention, or a little appreciation? Appreciation, hands down. Too much attention makes him feel a bit smothered, but any type of appreciation, even a quick thank you or an acknowledgment of his hard work, gives him a lot of satisfaction. Where do they feel the safest? Once Orli and his siblings all started doing well for themselves, they all pitched in to help buy their parents their dream home in Gig Harbor, Washington. It’s a very lovely, slightly secluded home with a gorgeous view. Orli goes to visit them there at least once a year, and just being there is extremely relaxing for him. By far, it’s the place he feels the safest. Are they more likely to ask for permission or forgiveness? Although he’s not the type to just go rogue all the time, he’s also not someone who asks permission for every little thing. If there’s something he wants to do, something he thinks will help a case along, but he thinks the higher-ups might say no, he’ll just do it without asking and tell them about it later. He’s never really gotten in trouble because it’s always worked out well in the end. Do they stay up late or wake up early? Both. If Orli had his way, he’d stay up late and also sleep in– that’s just the way his body clock is. But as it is, he stays up late (both to work and for pleasure), then wakes up fairly early for work. He does sleep in on his days off, and absolutely refuses to do anything that would require him to get up early on those days. Have they ever been bullied or teased? Orli grew up in Springfield, Illinois, which is widely known for being one of the most racist towns in the US. So, yes, he’s been bullied, teased, assaulted, and all manner of things. His parents tried to tell him to keep his head down, to not start anything or fight back because they were always worried that if he tried to fight back it would only make things worse for him. But by the time Orli got to middle school, he was tired of just taking it. He snapped one day when one of his bullies started bothering him and ended up beating the shit out of him. Orli got in huge trouble and was nearly expelled from school, but everyone pretty much backed off after that, so he felt it was worth it. Who was their first best friend? Where did they meet him or her? Do they still see each other? His first best friend was a classmate of his from high school named Robby. He had friends before that, but no one he was super close with or hung out with all the time. It wasn’t until high school when Orli became more social and started making a ton of friends– he was quite popular. Robby was on the track team with him, and they became fast friends. They aren’t really in touch anymore, but Orli will always think of him fondly. What are their weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling? He is definitely prideful, and has a hard time admitting when he needs help, or when he’s struggling. Those are things he tends to keep to himself. He feels that he needs to be completely self-reliant, and that asking for help shows too much weakness. He also has a hard time saying no to people if they ask him to do something, and as a result, he is always stretched very thin. He takes on far too many projects/requests at a time and just ends up stressing himself out– this is part of the reason why his former partner was such an asset. He always said no for Orli and basically told people to stop asking him/them to do anything more, that they were already busy enough with their own responsibilities. What are their eating habits? Orli is quite a healthy eater. He’s the type to view food purely as fuel, rather than something for enjoyment. He’s a decent cook and usually does meal prep for himself on his days off so he’ll have food he can quickly pop into the microwave without having to think too much. Once in a while he will indulge in something like a slice of cake, or a burger and fries, but the majority of the time he prefers to stick to healthier things. What is the most violent thing they’ve ever done, and the most violent thing done to them? The most violent thing he’s ever done was beating up a bully in middle school. The kid ended up in the hospital, though his injuries weren’t serious enough that he needed to stay overnight or anything– he had a couple of broken bones, a broken nose, and needed some stitches on his face. Orli has shot people in the line of duty, but he would consider that less violent, because he always does his best to remain calm and collected and only shoots to incapacitate rather than kill. He has had a lot of violence directed at him in his life. Fellow classmates used to hit him and push him, he was assaulted by a police officer once (before he became a detective). But the most violent thing done to him was when him and his partner were caught in a firefight in the middle of a drug bust. His partner was killed, and Orli ended up in the ICU with severe injuries. Did they have an easy or difficult childhood? Overall, it was pretty difficult. Growing up where he did was not easy and he had a hard time making friends or living any sort of normal life. But his parents and siblings were a great support system, and he never felt like he was completely alone. Things got much easier for him in high school, when his father got a new job in another state and they moved to a much less backwards town. He ended up loving high school because his classmates weren’t all racist assholes and he made tons of friends.

#character: orlando forrester #ship: orca #questionnaire

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missnxthingg · 4 years

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I have something to tell you all, something that I think a lot of girls can relate to and I think it’s important to speak up about it.

I’ve never been a thin girl. My mother’s family has the genetic type of those people that can eat as much as they want and not gain anything. My my dad’s is the complete oposite. And I got those genes from my dad. So, I was never thin.

When I was around 12/13, I remember having boys in my class saying stuff like “Oh, she’s the only girl who looks ugly around here” just because I was wearing a crop top, tight high waisted shorts. And I was literally just a fucking kid.

So I grew up thinking no one would ever think I’m pretty. I literally think about this every day (even now) and that one day messed up my whole teenage life and it’s so fucked up for me.

When I was 15, I used to have a best friend - in which I liked him more than just a friend - and he once said to me that I needed to start taking more care of my body, nOt BeCaUsE oF aPpEaRaNcE, bUt To Be HeAlThY. But them he said to me “If you have a boyfriend, you’ll want to look good for your boyfriend”. THANK GOD I was already familiarized with feminism to know it was wrong, but it seriously got me devasted. The only guy I truly liked before in my life told me that my body wasn’t okay.

That affected my whole sexual/romantic life and it still affects until this day. I probably have kissed less than 10 guys in my life because I’m insecure of having them saying shit about me on my back, like “look, I just hooked up with a fat and ugly girl”. I’ve never been serious with anyone and I’m getting old. Feels like I’m missing on the best years of my life. Only because of simple but painful comments on my body.

I started this process to lose weight because I wanted to do something to help myself. Not because I think I need to match a certain beauty pattern. My self-esteem was literally killing me and I couldn’t just sit and watch it take the best years of my life. And literally, I started to eat healthier and exercising, and the results were almost instant. I’m not thin, I’ll never be, I don’t think I ever want to be thin. This is a part of who I am. But at least, now that I know that I’m taking care of myself, I know that I’m happy with what I see.

Yes, I still struggle with whatever other’s might think and I need SO MUCH therapy to help me with this issue. I’ve tried before and it didn’t work, but I’m gonna try it again.

It’s very hard to talk about it, because I’m still kind of ashamed, which I shouldn’t be. I just want to let you know - my followers, my readers - that it doesn’t matter how you’re shaped, if you have stretch marks, scars, your skin color, anything at all. YOU ARE SO FUCKING BEAUTIFUL AND YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO NEEDS TO THINK THIS. FUCK THE OTHERS, FUCK SOCIETY. I THINK YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL, YOU SHOULD TOO. And we’ll win this together, I believe it.

Thank you for taking your time to read this.

#my body #body positive #body positivity #feminism #raymble on

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xumos-hoe · 5 years

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Hi can i ask the boys with a short and chubby s/o?

Ofc you can bby💕 hope you enjoy!!!

I hope you don’t mind but I already wrote a separate head canon on a shorter MC, so I focused more on the chubby aspect this time ^^

MLQC crew reacts to a short & chubby MC

~~~~~~~~

Victor:

You’re wayyyy different from all the women he’s constantly surrounded by (super tall and thin)

It’s honestly pretty refreshing to him.

If you ever need clothes tailored to fit more comfortably, he is more than prepared to provide.

If your body is something that ur insecure about, well then, he’ll hear absolutely nothing of it

You were the same woman that stormed into his office all that time ago, and since then, he’s been completely smitten.

Your height and extra chub is one of the cutest things about you. You have NO idea how much he loves cuddling with you after a long day because ur just so soft

Like his own personal teddy bear.

He can provide a healthier diet to help you manage it, but definitely not because he wants to change you.

Because??? Your mans is a chef???

He’ll just shut you up with more food

Plus, lingerie is a fucking LEWKKKK on those yummy curves.

I don’t think he’d go anywhere near teasing you about it, but Victor will definitively call you out on not appreciating your body enough.

Leaving bite marks and hickeys on every roll is his mfff specialty yasss

He’ll call and text you a reminder to eat to make sure ur not neglecting yourself

Lucien:

I already said this in my last post about a short MC, but I’ll say it again:

your height and weight are just another statistic about you, it in no way, can define anything to him.

He loves you for the intelligent and kind woman you are, and as the soul that accepted his broken one. There’s absolutely no way in hell some damn letter/number on a tag could change his mind about the person he’s promised his life to.

But on a less lovey dovey note, I will say this:

This professor lovessss the chub

You’re already so amazing to him in every other aspect, and your height and weight just emphasized that even more.

Every curve, stretch mark, and roll is treated delicately with the most love and care he can provide.

He loves tracing your stretch marks with his fingers, it makes your body all the more intriguing and fascinating—like a puzzle he’s dying to solve.

Adores it whenever you lay on him while you two are watching a movie together, because you’re so tiny and soft—it feels like he’s protecting you.

Sometimes you’ll return the favor and let him lay his head in your lap after a long day because honestly, your thighs are godly to him.

He’ll squish your cheek once in a while as a form of endearment

If any form of self-consciousness arises for whatever reason, he’ll be there by your side through all of it to reassure you that there was never a time he looked at you and wasn’t completely infatuated.

Kiro

THIS BOY

CannOT

UNDERSTAND

HOW SOMEONE CAN BE SO DAMN ADORABLE

The sight of your round, pink cheeks is enough to send him straight to the moon.

Pinches and squishes your cheeks like there’s no. fucking.tomorrow

OBSESSED with sneakily wrapping his arms around your waist and ticking that sweet spot at your waist that’ll have you a giggling mess in no time.

If you ever express an insecurity about it, you best fucking believe his life goal is to change that

He’ll leave little sticky notes with smiley faces on the mirror every morning to remind you how beautiful you are, and that his love for you is (insert_cheesy_comparison.jpg)

Your chubbiness is just another reason to treat you to the best meals he can provide

It becomes a habit for him to just bury his face between your breasts while he naps, or do the same but on your thighs.

His hoodies always look SO CUTE on you rip kiro

He’ll always sweep you right up into a piggyback ride and hold you for hours

Gavin:

This man thinks you’re absolutely beautiful no matter what.

After all: he swore to protect you forever and something as irrelevant as your weight was never going to change that.

But honestly, hot damn because the extra chub is soooo attractive to him.

Especially since that means you’re well-endowed in certain places...👀

BUT if you ever expressed wanting to lose your weight, he’d help you as much as he can by encouraging you to work out with him and maintain a diet.

You become gym buddies!

However, this is definitely not Gavin’s way of changing your body for his needs because, why change something already so perfect??

Absolutely won’t hesitate to carry you in his arms no matter where the fuck you both are because safe & happy MC= happy Gavin

Let a bitch try him and say something negative about your body and he’ll put them in the fucking ground

Just don’t change yourself because he loves you.

All of you.

#mlqc #mr love: queen's choice #mr love headcanons #mlqc headcanons #love and producer #love and producer headcanons #mlqc fanfic #mr love victor #mr love kiro #mr love lucien #mr love gavin #mlqc victor #mlqc kiro #mlqc lucien #mlqc gavin

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seagreen-meets-grey · 4 years

Text

One of Us

This is another piece for @shipmistress9 Hiccstrid Week 2020. :)

_______________

In which a jukebox chases demons away.

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net.

_______________

Hiccup had lost all sense of time. For all he knew, it could be shortly after midnight or early in the morning. He was sitting slumped over on his barstool, a collection of empty beer bottles in front of him. This particular night of the year had become his most-dreaded ever since his father had died four years ago, leaving him behind to put the pieces back together by himself. It wasn’t like his mother was around much, traveling through forests and mountains rather than being with her son on the death anniversary of who she once claimed to be the love of her life.

He signaled the bartender to bring him another beer, despite knowing full well that more alcohol wasn’t the solution. The pain would still be there when he woke up the next day, dulling over the coming days and weeks, only to resurface with new force the same time next year.

Looking around the few occupied booths and tables, he didn’t see one happy face in the thin crowd. At the other end of the counter, a middle-aged man with graying streaks in his hair was staring into his glass, suit rumpled and tie hanging loose around his neck. A woman had put her head on the table behind him, makeup smudged all over her face as she struggled to stay awake. A handful more people were sitting scattered around the room, lonely sights emanating sorrow and gloom.

On the one hand, he should probably surround himself with happier folk, especially in a time like this. On the other hand, though, it weirdly helped to know that he wasn’t the only one drowning in his own grief. Maybe he could round them all up and brainstorm healthier coping mechanisms. Something told him they would not be up for that, especially the young blonde in the corner. She looked like she’d murder him the second he glanced at her the wrong way.

The quiet music wasn’t doing much to improve the mood. When demons were at work in his mind, cheery songs and the latest hits would get sucked right into the surrounding bottomless vortex of emptiness and pain.

A creaking sound alerted him to the door to the bathrooms opening and he winced when a tall, bulky man stepped through. Hiccup averted his face and took several swigs of his beer, willing the tears pricking at his eyes to disappear. He couldn’t break down every time he saw someone who resembled his dad in any way, shape or form.

Stubbornly wiping at his eyes, he scanned the room for a distraction of any kind. There had to be something to help him stay above the water where he could breathe and fight against the waves trying to push him down.

The jukebox in the corner caught his attention. Grabbing his beer, he slid off the stool and stumbled over to the old machine. He fished a few coins out of his pocket and studied the selection of songs, hoping that the thing still worked.

On the other side of the room, Astrid scrunched up her nose at the taste of cheap gin. She wasn’t surprised that this place wasn’t running so well when all they sold were poor imitations of good drinks. But despite the terrible taste, the alcohol was doing its job, sterilizing the stab wounds in her chest and numbing the pain.

She got fired from the job she’d worked so hard to get, her best friend hadn’t spoken to her in weeks, and every person she’d started a relationship with had ended up getting tired of her personal issues and left her for someone better, sometimes behind her back, long before she found out. It seemed like everything she touched inevitably broke.

The severely disappointed reaction of her parents when she asked them for financial support because she couldn’t afford rent and food for long anymore, now that she was unemployed, had been the final straw. Before she could break down in her room and consequently not leave her bed for days, she’d rushed out onto the street and walked aimlessly through the city, seeking shelter in the corner of a third-rate bar she’d never visited before.

Wallowing in her lonely corner, she absently watched the guy with the beers and the unruly mop of hair stagger over to the juke box where it took him several minutes to decide what he wanted to do with the blinking lights and buttons he was staring at. He looked the same kind of broken that she felt.

He briefly struggled with inserting the coins into the machine but then he started swaying to the first tunes. Astrid smiled despite herself. She had only positive memories associated with this song. A few people started complaining when he began to sing, very offkey and blatantly drunk.

“An’ so I dealt you the blooow. One o’ us had to gooo. Now ‘s different, I want you to knooow!” He wasn’t just offkey, he was also slightly offbeat, missing the rhythm by the fraction of a breath. It was somehow very endearing, combined with the passion on his face with which he shouted out the lyrics.

The people that kept glaring at him, telling him to shut up and fuck off, were seriously starting to piss her off. She clenched her fists when the guy missed a particularly high note by far and the cranky hag at a table near her groaned in annoyance.

Grabbing her drink, Astrid jumped up from her seat and purposefully walked up to him where he was leaning on the jukebox with one arm, the other stretched out towards the ceiling. His eyes were closed as he waited for his cue to jump into the chorus, so he didn’t notice her until she chimed in. His eyes flew open, initial surprise making way for a compassionate smile that deflected from the grief buried deep within.

Together, they renegaded against the people around them that had already succumbed to their fate and chosen to give up.

“One of us is crying, one of us is lying in her lonely bed,” she bawled passionately. They moved from the jukebox to the middle of the room, dancing in-between chairs and empty tables. She unintentionally spilled her drink over one of the tables and put the glass away before she could accidentally smash it.

When the song ended, she felt lighter, the heavy clouds that had recently gathered above her clearing up a little.

“Thank you,” he said, sincere eyes sobering for a second. She nodded, silently telling him that she understood.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the jukebox to select another song to bawl and dance to. When she made her choice and the fast, upbeat melody sounded from the speakers, he decidedly put his beer away and let her pull him back onto their makeshift dancefloor.

Her own heartache faded from her chest the wider his grin grew. Only the cranky hag was still loudly complaining, throwing insults at them that fell on deaf ears. Astrid couldn’t care less, existing only in this small two-person bubble of hope.

At the end of the night, when they’d run out of coins to feed the jukebox with, they settled their tabs and left the few sorrowful figures behind. The sky was brightening with every minute, early birds were chirping somewhere above their heads, and the fog on the horizon was slowly dissipating into thin air.

They spent the time comfortably chatting about everything and nothing while they waited for their respective cabs. She gave him her number and he gave her a kiss, the first weak shaft of sunlight breaking through the last standing barrier of the night.

A while later, as she was leaning her head against the cool glass of the cab’s window, exhaustion settling in her bones, she watched the sky slowly change colors. Dark gray turned to red and orange, blue waiting at the end of the line, shades seamlessly blurring into each other.

She could still hear Abba’s One of Us playing in her heart, and she thought that maybe not all she touched eventually had to break.

#httyd #hiccstrid #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #fanfic #hiccstrid week 2020 #modern au #maja writes #shipmistress9

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bumblebeereus · 5 years

Text

Summer Nights and City Lights.

Word count: 2084 A/N: I’m back with this nonsense of me writing stuff. It's been a while. English is not my first language so sorry if there’s any typo. Sorry for the spacing if you’re reading this from your phone. Hope you like it, read it as an anyone’d like. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

She’s stuck at work, she’s not as lucky as his boyfriend so she couldn’t enjoy her vacation with him yet. He was in the USA right now with his friends, he said that he could wait until she had her holidays but she encouraged him to go and have fun with his friends instead. He deserved it, he had a tough end of the season and she was sure that he’d thank her later for pushing him to do it even tho he was against it at first.

She’s looking at the last picture he has sent her, he’s smiling at the camera shirtless probably while tanning or enjoying some time on the pool. She can’t believe that the man in the photo is indeed her boyfriend, she’s so lucky that sometimes she feels like she’s dreaming. She melts when she sees the freckles on his face, she loved them it was one of her favourite feature about him she adores them. She texts him back saying that he’s looking handsome and that she misses him. She should be focusing on the screen in front of her instead of daydreaming about his boyfriend but no one could blame her for doing so. She spends the rest of her day doing exactly that, daydreaming about him and trying to work in the middle of it.

Going back home to an empty house was the hardest part about him being away, she deals more or less fine when it’s during the season because he’s back in three days top, but he was gonna be away for two weeks, she’s glad he has left tons of t-shirt to wear at home while he’s away. She meditates opening a bottle of white wine while she watches yet another documentary about serial killers, her favourites, but drinking alone wasn’t as satisfying as it was drinking with him while they argue about what they were watching, after months of being with her he ended up liking those kinds of documentaries as well. If you can’t beat your enemy join them…right?

Staring at the fridge while debating whether to go for the healthier snack or let her emotions choose the snack was her newest hobby. Because hummus with crudités was amazing but cheez-it were even more amazing. She was lost in her own debate when the front door opened and for a second she thought she was going paranoid for all the serial killer's documentaries she has watched during her life but she’d bet her life on it, she heard the front door opening. She was about to handle a knife when she saw him and her jaw dropped to the floor. “What are you doing here?! I thought you were some kind of serial killer! God, you almost gave me a heart attack” He burst into laughter walking towards her with his arms open for her to bury into them and that’s exactly what she did after slapping him in the chest for scaring her like that.

“You shouldn’t be allowed to watch all those serial killer documentaries alone.” He kisses the top of her head as he feels her hands on his back holding him tight “Someone would say that you missed me, love.” She looks up at him and she’s yet again weak in the knees just by looking at him, it should be illegal to be that cute. “I missed you like crazy, but you were supposed to come home in four days…why are you here? Not that I’m against the idea of having you back early but I thought you were having fun with the lads.” He cups her face looking at her, he missed that face like crazy and just by looking at her he knows that he made the right choice. He was supposed to be with her, and his friends were the ones that encouraged him to come back if he was missing her, one week and a half were more than they expected him to be apart from her, they bet on it indeed. “It was fun, I had a great time but I simply felt like my place was here. I had a great time with the lads but I needed to be back home with you, that’s all.”

When they first met she thought he was cute but once they started dating he was even cuter than she thought. No one has ever looked at her the way he did and still does, she still gets goosebumps every time he whispers “I love you” before going to bed or in the early hours of their mornings, the butterflies never left her stomach whenever he was around. She couldn’t picture herself with any other man but him, she wanted him to be her last. She strokes his hair, a little lighter thanks to the Los Angeles sun while she admires his freckles. “I missed you so much, I’m glad you’re back home.” She snuggles against his chest while he lost both of his hands under his t-shirt caressing her back. “I missed you more, believe me.” He kisses her lips leaning on the kitchen counter, he breaks the kiss only to breathe again “Why don’t we open a bottle of wine, and see one of those documentaries that you love?” She claps excited for his plan and he laughs looking at her in awe, he has the most incredible girl he could ever ask for. He grabs the bottle of wine as she grabs the glasses and both walk towards their living room snuggling against each other, his hand stroking her hair as she rests on his chest. Home sweet home.

He wakes her up with kisses along her neck, collarbones, shoulder, and jaw. He takes his time waiting for her to be fully awake, he has missed her sleepy face every morning while being away, she stirs a little stretching her arms to end up tangling them around his neck hugging him. “Good morning beautiful, as much as I’d love to have a slow morning with you, you need to get out of bed. We’re leaving.” She opens her eyes widely looking at him with a frown. “We are leaving where? I’m not in the mood for having breakfast out, to be honest, I’d rather have it here.” She pouts waiting for him to give up but she doesn’t know what he has in mind for her. “We’re leaving at the airport, your luggage is downstairs perfectly packed so you just have to get ready.” She sits immediately as soon as those words leave his mouth, he has to be messing with her right now, he couldn’t, right? “Please, tell me that you’re kidding.” “I’m not, we should be at the airport in one hour to get out of the bed and get ready before we miss our flight.” In one of their first dates, he asked where she’d get lost if she had the chance and she chose Mykonos so that’s where he’s flying them.

She hasn’t stopped smiling since they arrived at the airport, she has always been the one that gives everyone surprises but she can’t remember the last time that someone surprised her, that person not being him of course. Because he loved seeing her face lights up just like right now, he could live for moments like this. She’s walking with her hand entertained with his, both looking in awe at the views in front of their eyes. She heard that sunsets in Mykonos were something else but she couldn’t imagine how beautiful and mind-blowing they’d be, it’s better than she expected them to be. Her head rests against his shoulder as they stare at the sunset, his hand on her thigh stroking it slowly as he turns his head to look at her, in a room full of art he’d still look at her.

“I’ve never been happier, thanks for all of this and all you do for me.” She confesses as she intertwined her hand with the one he has on her knee at the moment. “You don’t even need to say it.” He kisses her temple resting his lips there, lingering the moment between them “I’d do anything for you, you needed a break too. You’ve been there through the whole season for me and hasn’t been an easy one.” For her being there for him when things went rough wasn’t anything to point out, when she decided to date him she knew that things could happen and the least she could do for him was being there for him through thick and thin. That was love after all. “I’ll do it a thousand times again because that’s what love’s about. And I know you’d do the same. I mean you booked a weekend for us in Mykonos because you thought I deserved a break!” She scratches the back of his neck poking his cheek with her finger. “I love you” He smiles warmly at her before leaning to kiss her holding her tight against his chest not wanting to let her go. “I love you.” He laughs because finally, he won. Since they started dating there was a battle going on between who said “I love you” and “I love you more” both arguing about who loved more between them and finally she decided to let go.

They’re walking back home, she’s walking with her arms around him while they talk about nonsense, she loved that she could talk about everything with him from work stuff to why veterinarians aren’t called dogtors. He let her be herself since day one, she never had the feeling of having to fake when she was with him. The lights that decorated their private pool were on making the whole scene even more beautiful, she was seated on the curb of the pool, his feet moving the water enjoying the feeling of the water against her skin. She takes a sip of the glass of wine on her side and decided to finally entering the pool completely resting her arms on the curb admiring the views of the city lights at night, Mykonos was breathtaking no matter if it was sunrise, sunset or night.

She feels two arms holding her waist tight and then a kiss on her bare shoulder, she smiles putting her hand over his intertwining their fingers, she throws her head back leaning it on his shoulder. He kisses her cheek before resting his chin on her neck. “These views are amazing and yet you’re still my favourite thing to look at.” Luckily for her, he’s holding her, otherwise, she’d drown. He can make her melt within seconds with just a few words and it’s not even fair, the worst thing is that she’d never get used to that. “Tell me once again what I did to deserve someone like you, please.” She looks up at him in awe, and because of that, she lost the moment when he placed the velvet box perfectly open in front of her. He bought it months ago but he never found the perfect moment to pop the question during the season and while he was away with his friends he planned the perfect proposal for her and finally felt like the perfect moment to do it.

It was all about them now, not her work, not his football simply, they were finally alone with nothing to think about but them. He wanted her to remember everything about this day, he wanted to make her feel at least one per cent of how she makes him feel. She was the best thing in his life, she was the only one for him, he wants to spend the rest of his life by her side and he wants her as the mother of his children. He has never had anything more clear in his whole life, he wanted her no matter what, it was her or no one. “You tell me” He whispers holding her with one arm while he rests the other on the curb of the pool making her look at his movement, her eyes instantly locking on the velvet box in front of her as she covers her mouth with her hands “Can I say now that I love you more?” He wipes the tears that stream down her face, he said that he’d do anything to never see her cry but this is the only time he’s happy to see her tears.

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gwilymz · 5 years

Text

Flick Of The Wrist

just an idea i had in my groupchat that was kind of iconic if i’m being completely frank with you all ..warning: it will not be well-written. I didn’t proofread this at all either so oopsS ..

Summary: Brian is in the hospital, recovering from a long bout of hepatitis, and he’s very needy for your touch. (This picture saved my life)

“How is he doing?” You pull your winter hat off, a blue knit cap that was actually Brian’s. It was powdered with a thin shroud of flurry snow, and you shook it off as Freddie led you into the flat.

Roger tapped a pen on his lips which were partially chapped as John yanked the torn piece of notebook paper from his hand, squinting at the lyrics.

Freddie spoke up, taking a sip of chamomile tea, the black varnish covering his pinky nail reflecting against the light overhead. “I think he’s fine, darling. He’s seen better days, but he’s a little trooper. The nurses last night said he’s doing a lot better.” Freddie smiled but his tone was less bubbly and more solemn than usual. “I know it isn’t about us, but I’m just eager to play again and this is really putting a damper on the album.” He took a small sip of tea and set it down on the coffee table, shooing Deaky’s bare feet off of the table.

“No, I get it Fred. He’s really excited to get out and get back to things.” You gestured to Freddie’s tea, pointing at the floral china, barely chipped on the lip.

“Go for it, you need some chamomile more than I do.” He shoved you playfully and you scoffed as you took a small sip.

Roger capped his pen and tucked it behind his ear, leaning against the couch. “Yeah I’m sure he’s very ready to get back to things.” He nudged Deaky and rose his eyebrows as Deaky groaned beside him.

“Inappropriate.” Deaky stood up to turn the television on, a cigarette hanging limp between his pouted lips.

“But true!” Roger chewed on the cap of the pen, scrawling a lyric down, which Deaky disapproved of.

“I’m not sure Brian has as insatiable of a sex drive as you and I, Rog.” He lifted his teacup to his lips and smirked.

You draped your coat over your arm and smoothed your hood down, shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t know about that; Brians pretty ... needy.”

The boys all feigned a gag and shooed you out of the door. “Tell him we said to fucking grow up and get better!” Freddie yelled after you, his voice raw, forced.

You pulled your hood up over your head, wincing as the wind nipped at your nose. An old man held the door open for you, giving you a tight-lipped smile, his incessant shivering mirroring your own. You strolled up to the front desk as you had done almost every day for months, adjusting your hair as you approached a friendly nurse who was flipping through papers shoved haphazardly in pristine manila folders.

“Hi, Y/N!” She grinned, the lenses of her glasses glaring against the harsh, sterile light of the hospital. “Brian is doing a lot better today, his bloodwork is all clean, and he’s gained some weight back.” She nodded, uncapping a pen to jot something down. “He’s just exhausted, but you can go on back.” You smiled back at her and shrugged your coat off.

You approached the door of his room, the light blue, almost papery curtains covering the windows swaying from the air escaping the vents underneath. You could see Brian curled up in his hospital bed. He looked pale and weak, his arms more willowy, his cheeks more gaunt. But his skin didn’t have a jaundiced tint anymore, which was an obvious improvement in health. You opened the door softly, watching as he shifted in bed. His hair was matted on one side, barely-frizzy waves sticking up as his chest rose and fell. You sat on the edge of the bed, stroking his hair.

“Bri?” You scratched his shoulder and he hummed in delight, a barely-persceptible smile forming on his pale lips.

“Y/N?” He questioned, his voice cracking as his eyes fluttered open. He stretched his arms and pulled you into him, kissing your head lazily. “Missed you.” He pecked the skin by your jaw, and you cuddled your head into the crook of his neck. He was still feverish, and a cold sweat added a sheen to his skin. His eyes were a bit sunken, his collarbones noticably more prominent.

“I missed you too, pretty boy.” You booped his nose and kissed his pulse point, relishing the small gasp that escaped him. You pecked up his neck, your kisses firm as you tilted his face towards your own. You looked down at him and noticed his bulge—thick and unmistakable—underneath the thick quilt his mother brought him from home; you remembered seeing it draped across his childhood bed when you visited months ago.

Brian noticed you looking. “I—can’t help it. I haven’t came in so long.” He sighed heavily, his throat scratchy. You nuzzled your head into his shoulder and kissed the junction between his shoulder and his neck, which was thinner than usual; you could see his pulse racing along his jugular.

You trailed your hand down his chest, feeling his abs tense beneath your soft touch. Agonizingly slow, your fingers slipped underneath his hospital gown that fell mid-thigh. You had spit into your hand, so his cock was wet as you stroked him, your fingers teasing him by touching the veins on the underside of his thick member.

Brian whimpered loudly, fisting the thin sheets by his knee. “Fuck, it feels so good.” His voice cracked as you massaged his balls, feeling him pulse in your hand as you jerked him off, swiping your thumb across his slit, leaking with precum. He thrust into your fist, gasping as his sensitive tip rubbed against the textured quilt. “Oh, Jesus Christ, I-,” He moaned, his head tilted back as he panted, chest heaving. “Im gonna cum so hard.” He was almost warning you, his hand squeezing above your knee as his eyes rolled back. You stopped your movement completely and he whined as your grip loosened, just barely.

“Thrust into my hand.” You whispered against his neck before looking up at him through your lashes, knowing how crazy it drove him when you made eye contact.

“Fuck,” He nodded, his eyes rolling back while he cried out, his mouth wide open as he did what you said, thrusting into your hand. The small hospital bed creaked with every snap of his hips, and you didn’t bother muffling his moans. He was intent on chasing his orgasm; all he wanted was to cum.

“Cum for me, Bri. I can feel you pulsing.”

He groaned, his hips moving erratically as he nodded frantically. His voice was raw, tired from just waking up. You tightened your grip a bit as his hips bucked up again, and he hit his head against the wall as hot ropes of his cum coated your hand and soaked into the fresh linen of his hospital gown. He kept on thrusting though, cum continuing to spurt out of his dick as you led him through his orgasm shushing him when his moans began to echo off of the empty, white walls. You licked his seed off of your palm, watching his face contort in pleasure as you did.

“I fucking love you.” His face was now flushed, the paleness completely overridden by a deep scarlet descending down his neck, adam’s apple bobbing.

The nurse from earlier knocked quietly at the door before letting herself in. She smiled at Brian, before strolling over to take his temperature. She held the back of her hand against his cheek, where a salty tear was falling from the intensity of his orgasm. “Your temp’s a little high, but you look a lot healthier. How are you feeling?”

Brian gave her a lopsided, lazy smile. “Really good.”

She nodded and patted his shoulder, Brian’s arm shifting to cover the wet spot on his lower stomach.

“Oh, can he get a fresh gown?” You asked. “He made a bit of a mess of that one.”

#bohemian rhapsody #brian may #queen #gwilym lee #john deacon #ben hardy #borhap #freddie mercury #joe mazzello #rami malek #brian may x reader #brian may smut

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lupusxdei-a · 4 years

Text

A SELF PARA FOR: NU’OR WONG

Featuring: Yours cheekily, KIM YOONA

From the moment Wong lay his eyes on Pestilence, he knew that there would never be anything that he would not do for her.

When he woke up to his eighth life, to the new, upgraded existence which would cater to the needs of beings that far surpassed his comprehension, he was welcomed by a detestable, unknown creature whose only purpose was to introduce him to what lay ahead of him and to cushion the potential fall of his sane mind as the secrets of the Universe were carefully laid on his shoulders for the phoenix too to bear. Come to think of it - he must have been woken up by the creature’s voice and their pacing around the room. The wooden floor underneath their feet creaked at times and each time it did, the creature mumbled something under their breath.

Their attention was immediately shifted when Wong rose from the bed, staring at them.This creature...Had he ever found out what they were? Surely, judging by their awkward gesticulations and expressions, as though they had no idea what to do with a human’s body, they had to have been residing in a vessel, and it was a poor choice too: a scrawny old woman with a face so aged and wrinkly that it was impossible to calculate her how old she truly was. The human whose body had been hijacked could have either been well into her seventies, or she could have passed her hundredth year on Earth a long time ago and nobody would ever be able to tell. However, what struck the resurrected phoenix the most was her hair. Braided and then rolled into a neat bun on top of her head, it looked as thin and frail as gossamer and he could not help but wonder how any hair clip or tie could keep it together.

Dressed in dark rags that seemed at least two sizes larger than her physique (the sleeves of the blouse hung from her sickly thin arms and the skirt dragged around the floor, gathering dust), with her sunken, grey eyes, thick silver eyebrows, long nose and small mouth, the grandmother reminded Wong more of a scarecrow than a person. Were they ever a person? What a cruel thought to have. And it appeared, at least judging by the way the woman’s face wrinkled further into a displeased frown, that she had anticipated his reaction or, perhaps even, read his mind. She said nothing, however, to defend herself or to reprimand him, instead choosing to perform what she referred to as her duty.

Duty this, duty that. As she spoke, Scarecrow continued to pace the room, only stopping to, every now and then, point her bony hand towards him or towards the world outside. Whenever she looked at him, her tired eyes squinted in suspicion and whenever she spoke of her mistress the tone of her voice lowered as though the walls had ears and when, eventually, the story progressed further to go over other beings and their place in the world, Scarecrow would at times pat herself on the mouth as if they had said something inappropriate or wrong or make an awkward pause and stare, mysteriously, towards the window like the text they were supposed to say was written in invisible ink on the smooth, freshly cleaned glass.

What a strange room, he’d realized. Dusty floors and squeaky clean windows. It looked like an attic, no doubt, but one too large to belong to any average Korean home.

This mistress that the old woman mentioned a number of times turned out to be someone who was excited for the phoenix’s awakening. She was, allegedly, his saviour and the one who had helped bestow new powers onto him. There was no doubt that something brand new ran through his veins. He could feel it, running wild and unexplored and it made his body jittery as he waited for the finale of the old woman’s story. It never came. As quickly as she had begun to speak, Scarecrow stopped and then spun around to tell him she was in the backyard of the estate waiting to make his acquaintance. She would also explain everything better, assuring him in her raspy old voice that all he had learned thus far would gain more sense once he went downstairs.

One could only hope. The story Scarecrow had told him was filled with inconsistencies, interrupted with the rambling mind of an easily distracted being that hid behind the aged flesh and bones of the grandmother. Nearly impossible to follow and even less so to believe, Wong got up before long and walked down the stairs of the unknown residence and then proceeded to the backyard, carried by an air of confusion and apprehension.

Who would welcome him there? Would it be yet another, hideous, old creature? A regular human who knew too much?

As soon as he stepped out of the house, the phoenix was swept by a gust of ice cold wind. It was strange. Looking around, he saw that it was sunny - it was a glowing afternoon, the rays of the sun cutting down in the most unusual of angles so as to bathe the world in their brilliance. Yet, coming from an indeterminable direction, the wind penetrated deep into his bones, making him shiver violently as he walked further. It was the wind itself, its unexpected arrival, that had Wong looking up and stopping in his steps as eyes landed on the thick, grey overcast.

The sky was lower than he remembered it. Layers upon layers of impenetrable grey matter stretched from one end of the sky to another, throwing the phoenix off guard. In the distance, he could catch a glimpse of lightning, its veins stretching through the grey matter only to recede seconds after, like the workings of the ocean tide on Earth. Earth? Was he even there anymore? The sky was so horribly dark and brooding, but the world around him, down here, shone with summertime delight. No mistake about it, and he was not imagining the sunlight either. It reflected off the smooth wood of the back porch, off the tall, green grass and the colourful flowers budding in it. It bathed him in its warmth as he, led by a pure instinct, began to walk again towards a calling. Calling to his soul.

He found her tending to a mare. It was a beautiful animal with fur as white as snow. It stood before her calmly, idly moving its tail left and right as it enjoyed the woman’s tender brushing of the long, pristine white hair. Judging from a safe distance of several metres, and from the back, he could not predict what this woman looked like. Her hair reminded her of Scarecrow’s hair, only it carried a healthier lustre to it. More like spider web, it was so light blonde that it was near translucent, and it had been combed with utmost care, but allowed to fall loose over her back and shoulders.

She was a small woman too, her physique in no way imposing. Almost unhealthily thin. Observing her with care, he noted her small frame, narrow hips, the elegance with which her thin arms moved to brush the mare, the way her hair flowed when the wind blew again. The wind brought with it the smell of this strange woman and Wong could identify it almost immediately: musk and sandalwood, the smell of ground right after rain, a hint of rose touched with the pure scent of ice.

“Her name is Arghíu,” the woman suddenly spoke as he stared at her. It was a girlish voice, undoubtedly, but one coated in ice and calculation. When she turned around, slowly, he held his breath for the final revelation of her appearance and, as soon as he lay eyes on her, somewhere deep down he knew it was too late. He was caught in her web as his amber eyes met the glacial blues of hers.

Perhaps if he had not looked at her immediately, if he had resisted the unreasonable temptation and stood his ground, there would have been a point of return to him, but, in retrospect, did he truly want a way out? A way out of a world that had her in it? Would he be willing to go back to his existence, living years upon years traveling the peninsula, traveling the world, without knowing where she now was and what she was doing? No. As soon as he was made aware that such a creature as Pestilence existed, he no longer wished for anything other than the servitude which she was proposing to him.

“It is a bit of a cliche, but it means Snowflake,” she informed him. He heard her dress rustle as she moved. “I’m terrible at giving names. I named you Nu’Or. Fire. More cliches.”

“My name is Wong,” he told the woman in his single act of defiance that day.

“Of course,” she smiled. A thunder roared somewhere from the distance. The sunlight was uninterrupted, unbothered, and it spited the weather that threatened to come crashing from the skies, but the clouds grew ever more impatient, thickening with each passing moment. Would it rain? What sort of rain would fall in a place like this?

“You’ve been told a lot, haven’t you? I was worried it would be a lot to hear, but...I’m not much of a story teller myself,” she continued, looking at him curiously. “I reckoned it would be more suitable for me to simply fill in the holes you might find, or answer any questions you have.”

“Questions? Obviously, I have questions. First of all, where am I? Where is this?” He shifted uncomfortably. The woman was as pallid as a ghost, her skin as translucent as her hair. All the way from here, he thought he could see veins over her clavicles and across her neck. Her lips, however, were touched with a shade of scarlet and he watched it stretch into carefree smiles. “And who are you?”

“I’m sorry, you should have been told that first. This is Purgatory,” she said. “And my name is Pestilence. Is it a weird name? It probably is. My name in Korea is going to be Kim Yoona, so you can call me that, too.”

“Pestilence.” He said. “As in. Pestilence.” The stories - he’d heard of them. Everybody knew, of course, who the Horsemen were. Even if one was human, one had some sort of knowledge of the four ominous, formidable riders bringing about the end of everything one knew.

“As in Pestilence,” she confirmed. Extending an arm, he watched as its hand’s fingers wriggled as though gesturing for him to come closer. “Come, I’ll show you the garden and we can talk there, Mr Wong.”

“Am I dead?” What a stupid question. Why would he be dead? He was told he’d been resurrected and he was a phoenix - this was his eighth life. Against all odds, he had managed to come back without Pestilence’s interference seven times, and now, owing to her, he got to live again. He was not dead, but the word Purgatory unnerved him. Anybody, human or not, also knew that Purgatory was not the world of the living.

“Do you feel dead?” She mocked him, though something told him she had no ill intentions with him. “You’re alive and well, Mr Wong, and this here is just your temporary residence before we return to Seoul. I��m starting a business there, I’m sure it will be successful. Essential oils.”

“What? What the hell are essential oils?” He said, talking to himself. “Some makeup crap?”

Her red mouth opened to give way to an amused, heartfelt guffaw. “No. It’s some herbal medicine crap,” she told him after calming down and then swayed her arm again. “Come.”

That was when he finally moved. Walking up to Pestilence, he was unsure which direction they would go or what he was supposed to do. Tense, he was as of yet stunned by the power that radiated from her and as though sensing it right off him, she hooked her thin arm around his and then looked up, smiling cheekily.

“Shall we?” Without waiting for his answer, Pestilence escorted him to the vast garden and as he listened to her speak and answer, with surprising patience, all the questions he had had, the phoenix became more and more certain that he was lost forever. She was a witch, a sorceress no doubt, and he had unwittingly fallen into her trap, one from which he would never wish to crawl out of.

#( — wong x development. )#( — yoona x development. )#( — ooc. a lil past insight to how Yoona and Wong met uwu )#( — ooc. and he still has his stupid crush on her. MAN UP AND CONFESS. )#( — tw: death mentions. )

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fasterthanmydemons · 4 years

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I just read your Meta about Hydra and the twins (it was great!!) and I broke my own heart thinking that maybe Pietro loves food so much not only because of his metabolism (although that is the main reason) but also because Hydra sometimes punished the twins without food. For Wanda, this would have no effect apart from being hungry and weak, but for someone with Pietro's metabolism? A lack of food would seriously affect his health and his powers. My boy is traumatized with being hungry.

{out of breath} I’m glad you liked it! I’ve written a few metas on the twins in sort of the same vein and it’s helped me not only explain my interpretation of them, but iron out and record all the headcanons floating around in my head, heh. And with your ask just now, I realize that I have a whole bunch of eating and food-related headcanons that I haven’t really ever discussed. SO... *rubs hands together* Prepare for a big headcanon dump regarding:

The Maximoff Twins’ Relationship With Food

(Below the cut because LONG.)

Headcanons for Both Twins

The Maximoff family was considered to be living at the poverty level, even after they settled in an apartment in Sokovia. Their apartment building was an affordable housing project, and they were not accepted for it until Django could show proof of employment. Before that, the Maximoffs were nomadic, living out of a vardo, and before that, they lived in a rural village in Transia. The twins were never really starving, but they never ate to satiation either. Food was portioned out, everyone got some, and they had enough. They ate seasonal things and things they could afford at the time, either paying for it outright or through bartering.

From early childhood, Wanda learned not to ask for more food, not to want more, not to be selfish. She learned to be grateful for what she had, and that lamenting that there wasn’t more was just a selfish way to live. Pietro, on the other hand, had a very hard time with this. Even at a very young age when his powers were not fully developed, his metabolism was faster than the average child. He would get hungrier more often and actually did require more food to stay healthy. The twins’ parents, as loving and attentive as they were, honestly did not understand or realize that fact, and so they tried to teach Pietro to be satisfied with what he had, because they truly thought they were giving him enough. This frustrated Pietro but also made him feel like he was a bad kid for wanting more. Wanda would often save some of her food if she could to give to Pietro later on, because she hated to see her brother so hungry.

As children, if they were given sweets or gifts by villagers or later on by people in Sokovia, they ate them right away. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to share with their parents or anything, but more of a sense of this food is here now and maybe tomorrow it won’t be, so they felt compelled to right away make good use of it. This was true more so with Pietro, who would get more gifts from people in Sokovia on average. He was so hungry so often that people thought the Maximoffs were even worse off than they actually were, and so they would give food to the twins and especially Pietro if they had it to spare.

After Marya and Django’s deaths, Wanda and Pietro were put in foster care. It didn’t stick, as some foster parents are not well-suited for the job and their experience was not entirely positive. They ran away a lot, were bounced around from family to family until they ended up on the streets as teenagers. In foster care, less than admirable parents tried to use food as a punishment. You were bad today so you go to bed without dinner. This honestly really scared the twins, because they were really afraid of starving. Nothing ever got that bad, but in a child’s mind, anything is possible. Pietro’s blood sugar bottomed out a lot whenever he skipped meals, especially once he started to hit puberty and his powers began to develop faster. He was burning a lot more calories and needed the extra food, but like his real parents, foster parents thought he was just selfish and greedy. Wanda always tried to squirrel food away for her brother when she could.

Once they were living on the streets, the twins lived on handouts from the people of Sokovia. In return, they would run errands, do chores, babysit, and do any number of small jobs to pay them back. Sometimes they stayed with a family for a few days or even a couple weeks, but they had been burned by foster care and were wary of staying with anybody for too long.

Food was used against them by Hydra to get them to comply with certain orders. If they spoke back or refused to do something, they didn’t get fed that day. Then they were given a choice. You want to eat? You do what we say. Sometimes it was... if you want your sibling to eat, do what we say, which was even worse.

At the Avengers’ complex, Wanda and Pietro would both have some strange habits that most who live there would find odd, if not incredibly sad. They would horde food, especially foods with no or long expiration dates. They would eat food that others would consider garbage, finishing other people’s half-eaten things or eating food that has fallen onto the floor. They would eat food past the expiration date so long as it tasted and smelled okay, and they would eat less than ideal foods like wilted lettuce, dehydrated yogurt or pudding, or moldy bread (they’d pick off the moldy parts and eat the rest). This is because food is a precious thing to them that shouldn’t be wasted. They have been conditioned to know that food is not always available and not everyone has access to it. So they have never been in a situation like working with the Avengers where food is plentiful and all paid for them or taken out of their salary. In their minds, discarded or not ideal foods are up for grabs, and they’d be stupid not to take advantage of them. Pietro especially is guilty of this, since he eats a lot more than Wanda does and would go searching for food more often.

Headcanons for Wanda

As I mentioned, Wanda saved and hid food to give to her brother when they were children. Wanda has always just innately understood that her brother needs more food than she does, and it’s almost an anxiety for her. She worries that he won’t have enough and is very aware of how much he eats. If she doesn’t see him eating enough for whatever reason, she’ll start giving him her food, which he is reluctant to accept. If he’s desperate enough, though, he does.

Wanda has a incredibly small stomach. This is from years of eating less than the full amount she should be. Meals were small, infrequent, and spaced out, and her stomach physically is a lot smaller than the average woman’s for her age. If she started to eat a lot more and kept up with it, she could stretch it out (as it true with anybody), but she’s so used to not eating a lot that she doesn’t even mind it anymore. It takes very little food for her to feel full, and if she eats foods that are very rich, she gets sleepy, heh. Just all the blood rushing to her stomach and draining her energy. Sometimes she feels really cold after she eats because so much energy is being used for digestion.

After Ultron, whether Pietro survives or not, Wanda gains weight. This is not only from eating a bit more than usual but also eating foods that are higher in fats, sugars, and general nutrients. She’s used to like, bread and milk, fruits and veggies, that kind of thing. Now she’s eating pastas and burgers and salads with cheese and egg in them. So she gets a little chunkier after Ultron, but honestly, she reaches a healthier weight because she was too thin in Sokovia.

In an AU where Pietro survives, Wanda will horde food for him. It’s learned behavior from childhood and her experience with Hydra that there needs to be a reserve of food ready for him to make sure he’s okay. Wanda can exist on a lot less food than Pietro and still be healthy, and she’s very aware of that fact. So she will want to make sure that her brother is taken care of in the event that food becomes scarce again. And honestly, she would be waiting for that to happen, because she’s so conditioned to have food be a source of constant stress in her life.

Headcanons for Pietro

In contrast to Wanda, Pietro has a very large stomach. He has been eating a lot his whole life, often eating way more than the average human whenever he got the chance to. The result is that he can eat a considerable amount and still not feel full. He hates taking food from his sister and tries to avoid it as much as possible, although at times he has felt physically ill and gave in to her because he had no choice. Usually, though, he worries that Wanda doesn’t eat enough. To him, the amount she eats is at a starvation level for him. He could not survive on Wanda’s daily caloric intake.

Hydra really scared Pietro with regard to food. Let’s be real, they scared him on a lot of levels, but with food especially, he really felt his life was in danger. The average human can actually last a month or two without food, with adverse affects starting at a few weeks. Death can occur anywhere in from 35 to 60 days depending on the person and their activity level. Pietro, however... will die in only a couple weeks without food. Adverse effects set in at around 4-5 days for him, with dizziness, weakness, fatigue, muscle pain, headaches, stomach aches, and erratic heartbeat. After a solid week without food, he starts having coordination issues, vision problems, etc. The reason for this is that his body still requires a high amount of energy to maintain its heightened functions, but without caloric energy from food, his body will begin breaking down its own cells to essentially cannibalize things like muscle for energy. This happens in regular humans, but at a much, much slower rate. For Pietro, it’s not long at all before his body begins to literally break itself down to obtain the energy it needs to maintain function. That sort of breakdown is not sustainable, and if he doesn’t eat soon, it will have permanent consequences.

So... when Hydra would deny him food for a day... or two... or even three... he would become terrified, because he’d have this incredible sense of urgency that he needs to eat something now. Early on, Hydra thought nothing in instituting such punishments and controls on Pietro, but as the experiments progressed and his powers developed, they began to understand more about his increased metabolism and heightened systematic functions. They realized that they could damage their test subject and asset permanently if they denied him food. So... they stopped doing it for more than a single day with him. But by that point, the damage was done psychologically speaking. Even if it was only one day, Pietro would grow very anxious and become even less compliant. Thus, the perfect solution was reached. They would deny Wanda food to make Pietro compliant. That seemed to solve all their problems, for he was not willing to deny his sister anything.

After Ultron, in an AU in which Pietro survives, he gains a lot of weight. Unlike Wanda, however, it’s not fat and softness he gains, but muscle. He burns most of the fat he eats without even storing it. Reaching a state of around 2-3% body fat, Pietro begins eating things with a lot more protein that he couldn’t afford or didn’t have access to before (more red meats, eggs, cheeses, yogurt, nuts, etc.) and things that are more nutritious for him (whole wheat and whole grain bread, oatmeal, brown rice, more varied fruits and vegetables, etc.). So he’s healthier and becomes stronger and faster as he builds muscle mass. The freedom to exercise and use his powers without repercussion at the Avengers complex as well as him starting official training also helps him get into better shape.

Which... only increases his appetite and daily food intake. To put this into perspective, I am a tiny Smol™ who very easily puts on weight genetically speaking. In order to make sure I don’t get too heavy, I need to exercise daily and I strive to maintain a 1K calorie net per day diet (eating usually 1200-1600 cals a day and exercising down to 1K). Now... the average to lose weight for a woman is supposedly around 1500 net, but at that number I would gain weight, heh. The average for a woman not dieting is 2K. The average man, not dieting, needs to eat around 2.5K... maybe 3K depending. Now that’s with utilizing some of the energy in food and storing some. Most human beings utilize about 25% of the caloric energy in food. Pietro... utilizes 95%. His average daily caloric intake is around 10-13K. Even higher if he’s purposely indulging in high-calorie foods.

This is because his metabolism, even among mutants, is incredibly more efficient than average. It needs to be in order to simply support the functions of his body. Even in a resting state, his heart, lungs, digestive system, circulatory system, etc. are high-powered. His body runs a few degrees hotter than the average human, his heart rate is significantly faster, his blood pressure is higher, and at first glance he’s extremely unhealthy by normal human standards, but for him it’s all quite normal. To support all of that energetic and metabolic activity, and to support the significant muscle he’s built over the years, he needs to process a lot of food very fast.

Okay I think that’s enough rambling for one post, haha. XD

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