#im still a lil buzzed not as bad as earlier but

[etherealskeletons]

saw my mom for the first time in 9 years today

[jonny-b-meowborn]

When I'm stressed out I either binge eat to calm myself down, or I just can't eat. I could have my favorite meal in front of me, but if I'm stressed for any reason it feels like my throat is closed. Or even I completely stop feeling hungry. Fuck

[timothy-chamlet]

the afterparty - t.c. fanfic

pair: timmy x female reader

warnings: unprotected sex, general smut

word count: 2.6k (2640)

a//n: ok er ive never written for timmy before so im nervous snsvsj but if you read it tell me what u think !! <3

°•○●○•°

people often thought the two of you were dating. paparazzi tended to make it look that way through press. despite all the candid photos of you and timothée plastered in magazine spreads and floating around on blogs, he would tell people you weren't together. interviewers would ask, and time again he would put an end to the rumor by saying you weren't dating, you were just friends. 

to be fair, you honestly couldn't even be mad at him. it was a good marketing tactic, at least. if all the girls knew he was single they'd still be invested in the persona of a young, attractive starlet that - despite his more than desirable qualities - is still single. genius. meanwhile you were being his best friend and his trophy for award shows. 

it was growing on you though. you enjoyed walking red carpet events and going to extravagant parties and meeting big names in the industry. it was really a win-win for both of you. 

another one of those win-win situations was tonight. the past three days had been crazy. hair appointments, nail appointments, dress fittings, photoshoots, brunches, and dinners. running each new day on an hour of sleep - maybe two if you were lucky. fueled by energy drinks and the promise of rest after the event. showing up to an awards ceremony on nothing more than a 20 minute nap and a double shot espresso. being timothée's showpiece was exhausting. but it was good for you. 

you had just finished your last consultation for dress fittings and were on your way to your styling appointment. the dress would arrive shortly after you so everything was ready to go. things were set for timothée to meet you there in an hour or so, after his own styling. 

currently you're getting your makeup done. a swarm of professionals all around you, handing products, giving directions, telling you how gorgeous you look, at least three hands on you at all times. after almost an hour all the disembodied hands move from your face to reveal the *almost* finished product. you still need your hair done, but your face was flawless. your skin was insanely smooth; not a pore in sight, your lids were a bronze shade, and your lips were a perfect nude. 

a hair stylist soon steps into view, also admiring your makeup before diving into your hair. it was simple. a slicked back ponytail is all, careful not to draw away from your face and your dress. 

the strong aroma of hairspray clouds you as you maneuver to step into your dress. stripped of your previous clothes, you step into your dress and a couple people help you pull it up. the woman attending to the supper in the back steps away for a moment, seeming to answer a question. 

"what's his name?" she asks into her ear piece. "uh yes. she's in here with me. send him in."  

she returns behind you and does up the zipper to your dress. to your surprise, you see timothée waltz in the room. dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a light lavender button up underneath. "y/n," he exhales, walking towards you. "you look breathtaking, ma chérie." 

"you don't look too bad yourself, timmy," you say, stepping down from your pedestal to be almost eye level with him.

"is she done here?" he asks everyone around without taking his eyes off you. 

one of the women there swoops in with a pair of shoes and says, "slip in to these and you're ready to go, darling." 

you step into your shoes and link arms with timothée. "carriage awaits," he says as the two of you get escorted to the limo. 

once inside you let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding. "you okay?" he asks from beside you. 

"yeah, just.. tired." 

he chuckles and drops his head. "absolutely exhausted." you two had similarly scheduled days so he knows exactly how you feel. "don't worry, mon amour, i'll have you home in about 8 hours." 

"i thought the awards show was only 4-" 

"there's always the afterparty.." 

you audibly groan and drop your head as timothée places a reassuring hand on your knee. 

"we're here," he says with fake enthusiasm as the limo pulls up to the event. the past 45 minutes felt like hours as your head began to pound from the lack of sleep. yet, lucky you, 45 minutes in l.a. traffic was a miracle. 

the two of you step out into the scene. flashing lights from camera flickers, the general buzz of the crowd, people you knew trying to get your attention, people timothée knew trying to get his attention. being the kind person he is, he doesn't shy away from fans calling his name. he walks over to give high fives, say hi, sign things, and really interact with the people that are so invested in his career. you look at him with a fond smile on your face as he greets  people.  

"timothéeeee," you both hear and turn around to match the loud booming voice to a face. 

"armieee!!" he yells in response, hurrying over to hug his co-star. 

you stand idly by as the two hug and catch up. fiddling with your ponytail and the skirt of your dress. until that same voice catches your attention. 

"bring it in hot stuff!" 

"hey, armie! how've you been, handsome?" you two had only met a handful of times, but it's like your souls clicked instantly. he had kept in touch since the first time you met and you guys had been pretty close ever since. 

"oh i’m doing great. really. just excited for this evening. can't wait to see how many awards lil' tim brings in," armie ends with a light laugh before timothée chimes in. 

"oh god no-" 

a cheery voice interrupts the conversation. 

"helloooo," armie's wife says in a sing-song voice and joins his side. "nice to see you again, y/n. and congrats timmy on your nominations." 

you and timothée nod in response and utter small, nervous 'thank you's' before armie excuses the two of them, promising to catch up later. 

"well, well, well- this is it, timmy." you say from your seat next to him. the host reads the nominees for best breakthrough of the year, and timothée's name is mixed in with so many other talented actors. he nervously puts his hand over yours. "you are absolutely amazing. everyone knows that. you're gonna get it." he looks at you and you pass him a reassuring smile. 

"and the award for best breakthrough goes to… timothée chalamet!" 

his head shoots up in shock. cameras pan around him and his baffled expression appears on huge screens behind the stage. he slowly stands from his seat and makes his way to the stage. making a beautiful speech, thanking almost everyone he's ever known. giving gratitude to everyone he's ever worked with, his parents, and his best friends. he comes off the stage and returns to his seat beside you. a year runs down his cheek, and you move to wipe it away, but he grabs your hand away from his cheek only to press his lips to your knuckles. "thank you for always believing in me." 

"you're an amazing actor and an even better friend. 

the night was nearing an end. people were saying their goodbyes and their 'see-you-soon's and going their separate ways. you and timothée walk out of the event, arms linked, with his hands tightly gripping his award. the smile never leaves his face. "i can't fucking believe that, y/n."

"you did it, timmy! all you and your hard work. lemme pick a nice spot on your shelf for it yeah?" 

"i was thinking about sitting it on my dresser right above the drawer full of your shit you keep leaving at my house," he says with a barely visible smirk. 

"oh, well if it's such a problem," you begin "i guess I'll just have to come get my 'shit' then?" you finish sarcastically. 

"oh! how dare you?" he begins to shout, going on a tirade similar to that of hamlet; overly dramatic and mostly nonsensical. "leave them be! small, small remnants; reminders of thee." he trails off softly, dropping his head to your shoulder and bringing his other hand up to trail his fingertips down the side of your face. 

you can't help but chuckle at this. "bravo timothée! amazing performance." 

he straightens up before taking a bow and returning to his previous position on your shoulder. "do you wanna skip the afterparty?" 

"and do what, tim? i thought you were gonna catch up with armie?" 

"i dunno- go to my place?" 

you nod your head, and timothée let's the driver know to just go to his house. 

you get out of the car in front of his apartment, quickly thank the driver, and dash inside; excited to remove the day. "can i shower?" you ask quickly already making your way upstairs.

"oui, mon trèsor, make yourself at home. ill be up in a while." it was almost as if he had it scripted. a routine more or less. you'd ask to shower - despite him telling you almost each time you never had to ask - and go up stairs to do so; him trailing along about an hour later behind you. 

you finish your shower earlier than planned so you decide to lay on his bed until he comes up. you let your freshly washed body relish in the textures of the cotton t-shirt and shorts you're wearing and the damp-cool feel of the comforter on his bed. 

you're not left alone for long before he darts up the stairs and into his room, catching your attention. you watch as he walks around, dropping various articles of his clothing haphazardly on his floor. left in only his boxers. 

"timmy?" you ask in a drawn out voice. 

"hm?" he asks lowly in response; his eyes trained on you. you don't respond to his muffled question and instead watch as he comes to lean over the foot of the bed, by your legs. "i've been thinking," he continues, "a lot recently. about us.." 

"us?-" 

"about what the media thinks we are. what the people say. the blog posts, the tweets. i read it all… what do you think about it, y/n?" he ends with a light sigh, making drawing light swirls on your leg. 

"i dunno really. i've never thought much about it," you say sitting up. 

he moves up from his place in front of the bed, crawling up to sit to the right of your legs. knees drawn up to his chest, eyes meeting yours. he raises his hand so his fingertips ghost the curve of your cheek. "you never think about.. the possibility of us?" he pauses as his eyes drift from yours. hands falling to his lap as he scoots even closer to you. you sit stunned, not knowing how to answer as if it was some rhetoric instead of a simple question. filling the silence, he continues. "i think about how different things would be if we were together. what it would be like to hold you and kiss you and- can i kiss you?" 

his voice wavers as his eyes meet yours yet again. with quick movements, he moves to straddle your legs, both hands resting lightly on either side of your face. 

"can i kiss you?" he asks again, his face millimeters from yours. 

you shake your head yes as your eyes fluttering closed, your lips brushing against his as you move. 

he plants his lips firmly on yours. innocent at first, but the kiss quickly gets deeper. more desperate, his hands moving from the sides of your face to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back giving him access to your neck. his lips dance around the skin of your neck, being careful not to leave any marks. “is this okay?” he whispers, dragging his hands from your hair to the hem of your shirt. 

you nod your head vigorously and he pulls your shirt up and over your head, throwing it to the floor with his clothes. you lean back and give timothee free reign of your chest and stomach. he makes his way from your neck down and across your chest. your hands rush to knot in his hair as he takes a nipple in his mouth, carefully flicking his tongue across the hardening bud before doing the same to the other. 

"timmy.." you breathe out as he leaves your chest and explores lower. his eyes meet yours as his teeth come into contact with the flimsy waistband of your sleep shorts. "please," you whisper. 

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down your legs; eyes going wide when he sees you have nothing underneath. 

"so pretty," he whispers almost to himself as he throws your shorts in his floor with the rest of your guys' clothes. he runs his finger along your slit, collecting some of your wetness, tasting it. laying back down with your legs over his shoulders, he hooks his arms around your thighs to keep you in place. he runs his tongue along your folds and you arch your back in response. he sucks on your clit making you squirm and tangle your fingers tighter in his hair, pushing against his face, eager for more. 

"tim-... timmy," you beg.

timothée kisses his way back up your body. "hm?" he hums softly beside your ear only for you to utter another weak 'please' in response. 

"please… please what, mon amour?" 

"baise moi.." you didn't know much french. you had picked up on a few of timothée's most used phrases, but this you hadn't learned from him, so it caught him off-guard. stuck in a moment of shock. hearing you say something so dirty in french felt so strangely intimate; you didn't have to ask him twice. 

he slips his boxers, finally accompanying you in nakedness, and slips into you, moaning at the feeling of you around him. 

"fuck.. timmy-" you groan as he picks up his pace. he coos sweet nothings into your ear while drilling into your core. 

his head drops to your chest and the soft, sweet praises slowly turn into obscenities. "merde," he groans, picking up his pace even more. holding himself at arms length above you, he throws his head back; lips parted in pure bliss. 

you lift one of your hands to trail down timothée's torso. you lazily drag your fingertips across his chest and down to his stomach. the pleasure building inside you, your hand finds its way to your clit. “timmy... fuck! ple- please don’t stop. fuuuuuck!” 

“défaire pour moi, y/n.” you didn’t think french could ever drive you to orgasm, but when it came from timothé anything was possible. you convulse around him as your wave of pleasure washes over you. timothée reaching his own peak soon after, pulling out and emptying on your stomach. he quickly finds something to clean you up with before plopping down on the bed beside you. many silent moments pass - nothing but heavy breaths leaving either of you - before he speaks up. “you know,” he begins in a soft whisper, “i felt bad- like i was using you. just to go to events with me. i know you don’t really like them but-” 

you cut him off and turn to face him. “i might hate going to those award shows, but they’re a little less bad with you around.” 

he breaks into a wide smile and pulls you closer, putting his head on your stomach. "mon amour, je t'ai toujours aimé." you reach down to play with his curls and begin to drift off on your way to sleep. 

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Three | sans. (Part 3 of 3 | His POV)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

As if being blessed by Lady Luck herself, the owner of the establishment calls for Jerry to tend to unloading inventory, forcing him to end his glare on Sans and move his attention elsewhere. His internal conflict manifests itself through physical means, as he stays frozen in place to settle between keeping his job and minding his business with the monster. With another call from his boss, louder and firmer this time in comparison to the friendly reminder from earlier, he clenches his jaw and loosens it up with a scoff. "You're damn lucky the place's packed," he says, looking back towards Sans again. He takes a stray receipt from the counter, takes a pen, and scribbles something on it, handing it over to the monster when he's done. "Take this, and stay the hell away from my family."

"So like you're doing?" Sans counters, snickering.

"Screw off."

The man leaves him be with those last two words and another worker takes his place behind the register, looking fatigued from presumably having to deal with all the work at the back by herself. The expression on her face says it all: she overheard only some parts of the conversation, and was either curious to know more about it or misinterpreting the situation altogether, though she doesn't mention a word about it. Rather, she picks herself up and greets him with a smile. "Good afternoon, sir. For here, or to-go?"

That simple question settles a puzzle in Sans's mind; given he barely knew the human waiting for him at the table, he couldn't make any rash decisions, so he considers all the options through and through. He could make an easy escape from meeting with Jerry again simply by choosing to-go, yet he still wanted to talk with (Y/N) about the subject of Frisk and the Underground. Not only that, but ordering to-go without informing them about it wasn't something normal for how much they knew each other; rather, it would seem rude to decide without giving the human a chance to speak their thoughts on the subject. And if he invited them to eat their orders out elsewhere, it would look wrong; either like he really did mean his vaguely flirty texts, or that he didn't feel comfortable enough with them around.

"Sir?"

"To-go, please," he blurts out, it being the first thing on his mind.

The monster tells her both orders and is then asked to wait. He does so by walking off back to the table, where Frisk's parent still waits at, either completely oblivious of what went on at the register, or masking it based on their calm look and nonchalant sitting position. Their expression takes a turn when they meet with his irises, and they speak up when he's finally close enough for them to make their words hushed. "That was my ex-husband, wasn't it?" they ask, smile strained and brows furrowed. "Could we, uh… take our orders-"

"To-go?" he intervenes, chuckling.

Their smile loses some of its tension, and they let out a laugh. "How did you know?"

He sits with them at the chair across from theirs, nudging himself to an angle where he shields them from the ordering counter. "Between you saying he stopped visiting and that he didn't show up when Frisk went missing, I'd say you're not exactly head over heels for 'im anymore." 

"Far from it," they reply, sighing. "It's just plain ridiculous for him to be so worked up about this now. He had his time ages ago." They rock their fingers against the table's surface and frown, looking deep in thought. "What did he say, anyway? ...I tried not to look, but I still saw when he got all angry at you."

"It's related to what I want to talk to you about. Though I'm not sure how he got that info so fast."

Their eyes spark and widen, the hand on the table clenching the edge in expectancy. "So he already knows all about it?"

"Dunno if all, but it looks like he's already dug a lil' bit into my past."

A buzz from the human's phone brings a halt to the conversation. He looks to where the sound comes from before taking a look at their expression, clearly vexed by the name of the sender. Their hand trembles and he notices how they have to tighten their grip on the device to prevent its fall.

"Jerry?" he asks.

They nod. "Excuse me for a moment."

Sans nods back and observes as they stand up from their seat and walk off to a corner of the diner. The switch in the human's expression is almost immediate, changing from curiosity to shock the second they click on the message. The phone meets the floor and ends up making a noise far too loud for it to come out unscathed, results of a tiled floor and the device landing screen-first against it. Still, they don't seem to care over that particular matter and stare at the floor with those same, wide eyes, a look that's carried back to him. 

"You…" 

Their words come off in a hoarse whisper, and they have to scratch their throat to continue with, "Is this true? Y- You gave Frisk a death threat as a warning for… for what, exactly?" Their voice's louder now, surroundings seeming to blur into nothing given how little they care over being heard by those closer around. "They didn't hurt you, so why did you threaten to hurt them?" Their shocked expression changes to anger, a deep glare that refuses to falter even as they take a step closer, ignoring the phone laying on the floor. "And what did he mean when he said your job was to kill humans? What…. What did Asgore order you to do, and how come you're still allowed to run freely -- as you please? How much of this is true, and how much of this isn't?

They take a pause to pick up their phone, another buzz being heard from it. The screen's cracked from end to end, yet they don't seem to mind over that either and tear up when they read the latest message. "Is… Is that why Toriel had to leave out of the blue? Was she expecting something like this to happen to her, too?" The human's voice breaks, though they recover with another scratch of their throat. "Did she also hurt Frisk? How… How am I supposed to even be anywhere near you when you used to be a heartless man who followed ordered regardless of-"

"Please, ca-"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down."

They huff, regaining some of their composure through it. "You have the next few minutes to explain why the hell your job as a sentry involved killing people regardless of their actions."

"(L/N), please liste-"

"Tell me."

They cross their arms and keep their glare on him. The phone continues to buzz, but they ignore it, all of their attention now being focused on Sans. An excruciatingly long beat of silence passes before he finally relents with a huff. They sit down, and he sits across from them, gaze facing theirs again. "What specifically do ya wanna know about?"

"What your job as a sentry implied. The rest can wait depending on what terms we're left with after this."

"Alright." He tries to smile in hopes of making their anger soften, though it's a vain attempt; a bad one, more specifically, taking into account how much angrier they get. "But could you promise ya won't freak out?"

"I'm afraid I can't. It all depends, really. Being told you used to throw death threats at innocent people doesn't exactly make me trust you any more than what I did a few seconds ago."

"But-"

"Order 44!"

He lets out a breath and proceeds to stand up. "Talk to you inna second? We can go to the food court and find a place there to eat."

"...Sure," they reply, a smile finally managing to return. "And thanks for helping me back there. I don't think I'd be able to tolerate Jerry coming up to me now of all times."

"Anytime," he says, winking. It's then that he realizes what he's done, an action made purely out of custom, though thankfully, they only show shock at having their thanks accepted rather than shrugged off.

Hopefully, his conversation with them wouldn't turn out as bad as he anticipated it to.

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The time to confess over his own sins arrives when both the human and himself are finished eating. Only his drink's left resting on the table, theirs already long gone with how quick they downed it after the meal. Had their choice been alcohol, he would've imagined them tipsy, given they barely gave themselves much time to consume it or so much as enjoy its taste and temperature. (Y/N) begins by asking how much of what Jerry had texted was true and over what actions the skeleton took when meeting with Frisk at the Underground.

The first few questions are simple enough and pass as smooth as his choice of drink, up until they ask, "So what exactly are you guilty of? Frisk told me to be careful around you, but in a fun sort of sense. And… And not because of you being dangerous or ever causing them any harm."

He breathes in, feeling obliged to brace himself for what he's about to say.

"I'm… guilty of not helping them out as much as I should've," Sans says, setting his drink aside. He already feels a tightness in his chest, incrementing when he continues with, "And there was one point where I might've come off too strong… Where I quite frankly told them to watch their back around me, and that I'd be there to handle the situation if it ever got outta hand."

"What kind of situation?" (Y/N) asks, a change in tone already present.

"Hurting my kind." He sighs out a deep breath, letting himself find some sort of ease amongst the ache building up in his rib cage. It was too soon to be enemies with the human sitting across from him, and to be frank, he didn't even want to be on negative terms with them, either. He simply wanted to have another friend; another person he could look forward to spending his time with more often. "I... warned them about what would happen if they dared to do anything bad to other people, but in the least humane wording possible." He takes another sip from his drink, feeling his non-existent throat turn sore. "Frankly, and just like Jerry already told you: it's all true. I, well... I threatened Frisk with death, even though they hadn't harmed anyone during their journey down there."

"So it's all true? Even the part about your job being to basically hunt after humans, no matter what?" They stand up from their seat, hands slamming over the table on par with their shout. In contrast to the ire he anticipated from them, he sees the same shock from before in their eyes and an open mouth reveals their disbelief. "I… Y- You... You're not joking, aren't you?!"

Thankfully, they're both sitting at a table too far away for anyone around to take immediate notice of the human's reaction. That allows the monster to breathe out again and reply with, "It's the raw truth, cross my soul," he says, meeting with their eyes. "As a judge and main sentry for the Underground, I was meant to treat everyone equally, no matter their age, race, or any of that stuff. I judged based on actions; on the person's background and intentions. So when it was time for me to meet with a new person, I went all out, no matter the costs or repercussions of my actions, or the feelings I had about what I was about to do." Sans takes a long pause, needing some time to recollect himself. "To be brief, that was the job assigned to me, and one I was meant to fulfill no matter how that would affect my relationship with that new person I crossed paths with."

"Wh- Why?" they blurt, the anger he expected finally showing through. Still, they sit down, avoiding unwanted attention from other people. "Why did Asgore come up with that idea, a- and why did you go along with it? Why… Was there no other option? Or did neither of you two ever bother searching for one?" A wet gaze greets him when he makes eye contact with the human again, conflicting with their scowl and sharp, furrowed gaze. "Are all of you guys like this? H- How many of you are innocent, and how many of you hurt my child? Are Toriel and MK the only ones I can trust? Because if I'm going to follow along with what Frisk's told me so far, th- the only monsters that they've mentioned without any reluctance have been those two. They... They always freeze up every time I ask them about any other monster they made friends with." Their voice begins to shake and a few tears spill from their eyes. "I… I'm sorry if this seems like too much, b- But I need to know, Sans, I… I need to know who hurt them, and what I can do to protect them. I need to be strict, and I- I need to make up for those two months I wasn't able to be there for them."

Sans.

The human has been calling him 'mister Serif' for a good while now.

Out of all the possible ways and times they could've said his actual, first name, and it had to be during a moment of anger and confusion. He tries not to acknowledge just how bitter and dry his name had come out of their mouth and instead focuses on lending out a hand to them, both in a metaphorical and literal sense. He drags the chair a bit closer to them and hovers his body over the table standing between them, placing a hand on the human's shoulder and snapping them out of their spiral.

"(Y/N), please just... Just breathe, and calm down for a moment," he mutters, making them face his gaze, stern and sober. "This's why I wanna tell you everythin' bit by bit. There's a lot more to the story, and I know you wanna be a good parent for Frisk, so please, take a breath and hear me out. I won't ask you to forgive me, but for your time to listen to what I have to say, instead." He almost flinches when their hand touches the one he'd placed over their shoulder, though he combats that feeling by looking away for a quick moment to recollect his thoughts. "We have a whole history explaining why things worked at the Underground the way they did until recently," he continues. "And even though I know that doesn't mean all of our actions are justified, we still had our reasons, just as your kind -- your ancestors -- did for sealing us underground."

They let go of his hand, a subtle action that tells him it's time to let them go. He does just that and sits back down on his chair, taking another sip from the drink on his side of the table to combat the sour taste forming in his tongue. "I know I have absolutely no right in telling you to calm down anymore and that I shouldn't've even said it the first time. But I still want you to listen, so that you can help Frisk establish their new life with the other monsters at the Surface; with all the friends they made at the Underground, but also by knowing what some of those friends did and just who of us you can entrust their safety to." He offers his hand out to them, letting a smile ease out the grim aftertaste of his words. "So, whaddya say? Wanna hear me out? I promise to be honest with you, so long as you can promise to hear me and my kind out, and learn more 'bout our choices in the past."

"I…"

That's the only word he can hear from them as they stare at his hand, a wary glance being directed at it. "Could we hug it out again? I, well... still don't trust shaking your hand after what Frisk told me about you."

Though he hesitates for a second, he gives in with a grin and a nod. "Sure thing," he replies, chuckling. "C'mere, pal."

Sans stands up, and (Y/N) does the same. 

They lean down to his height and let their arms sneak around his back, pulling him in for a second hug in just one day; on his first day meeting the human in person and on his first week here at the Surface, to be more exact. That same gentleness from before reaches his soul, enveloping him with a strong sense of safety, serenity, and warmth, despite the circumstances of it all. It was of no doubt that the person hugging him cared greatly for Frisk's happiness, almost just as much as they did for Frisk's safety. That shows through how willing they were to listen to him, how quickly they regained composure, and how welcoming their hug is, almost as if they were offering him a second chance to hear him out -- and just by the feeling of that hug alone.

"Thanks for being patient with me," he mutters, still kept in the hug. "I promise I'll try to provide you with as much information as I can." He lets go and finally stares at them again. "That sounds good to ya? Or are ya bored of me already?"

Tension eases out as the human lets a laugh burst through. "Sounds good," they reply, smiling. "And don't worry. I… I'm not bored of you yet -- Far from it, actually."

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And that's it for this week!

I'm still trying to figure out a good publishing schedule, but updates will continue to be weekly on Saturdays as usual, with the exception of double updates. :-)

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 36)

When the darkness falls over the quiet, enclosed suburb, turns quiet. The clinking from the construction site stops, the volume of the residents’ voices is turned down, there’s no sound of cars or gunshots. Instead, on the other side of the wall, as soon as the sun has set, the cicadas begin to sing. Their clicking and chirping noises, their mating call, is powerful enough to overpower the rattling, guttural sounds that the walkers make. But it’s not the high pitched mating call from the loud insects that lures the Alexandria residents out this night and to gather at the new wall, next to the construction site, but the scent of a hot stew boiling over a crackling fire, a pleasant buzz and the feeling of belonging. The feeling of a secure, pleasant atmosphere, the social needs; to gather up around the fire, eat and drink together.

He’d never understand the almost collective need all other people felt about socializing with others, in all sorts of social forms. Daryl still doesn’t understand it; he’s incapable of feeling that need and large crowds make his skin crawl. For him, it doesn’t matter, but for the sake of the community, he participates. Somehow he has learned how to handle it, accept that others need to sit down to eat with others. And like this, at the end of the world; well, he goes with the flow. Sometimes, not that he would admit it, it’s actually pretty fine. 

It’s the feeling of fine that’s laying over him as he walks over the grassy lawn next to the calm pond, with Juri ridin’ on his shoulders. The small, soft hands clings to his worn out vest and he softly bounces the heels of his small sneakers towards his chest.

“Ya’ sure ya’ up for this?” Daryl looks to his right, down at Mila.

Mila mumbles something inaudible in response. She walks somewhat stiffly, pulling Daryl back in time to when she stumbled up the stairs when she healed from the machete-wound, but she’s too damn stubborn, or proud, to say anything. She wouldn’t admit defeat even if she lost a leg, he’s sure ‘bout that. 

Behind him, Daryl hears hurried steps towards the soft grass, whereupon Carol walks up next to Mila.

“Look at that-” Carol smiles. “I was thinkin’ I wouldn’t see you three for the rest of the day.” She looks with a radiant smile up, above Daryl’s head, at Juri. In the presence of Juri, Daryl’s like air to Carol; she adores the blonde little rascal clinging to Daryl’s shoulders, who’s probably giving Carol a wide, sunny smile back.

“There’s no chance we’d miss dinner.” Mila says and nods up at Juri. “One doesn’t simply say no to soup.” 

“You’re right about that.” Carol sniffs the air. “It smells delicious.”

A couple of the original Alexandria folks  have already set up, prepared and started to serve dinner when they arrive. Well, he already knew; in his mind Daryl curses Glenn for what happened earlier. Over the firepit a big pot is spreading a pleasant scent of vegetables, broth and herbs around the perimeter. With ease Daryl grabs Juri under the arms and lifts him over his head and puts him down on the ground. He adjusts the legs in his small pants before he runs around the fire, to Carl and Judith.

“Off he goes.” Carol says with a chuckle and crosses her arms.

“Juri-” Mila hollers and waves at him. “We’ll eat first, then you can play. Davay!”

Over the fire they see how Juri nods, then gives Judith a pat on the cheek before he runs back around the fire. On the way, he’s hauled in by Abraham, who lifts him off the ground into his arms, while bursting into an open guffaw.  “What ‘ave we got here!” He utters between the clenched teeth, holding the small stump of a bad cigar in place.

As Juri wrestles Abraham, Daryl turns to Mila, who’s in action to attempt sitting down on the barked log. Goddamn stubborn wonderful woman, he thinks as he watches her bite the bullet, bending her knees to lower herself down. The bruise on her hip, the one that turned all red in front of his eyes while she was in the shower couldn’t be missed. It looked like hell. With a firm but gentle grip around her upper arm Daryl helps her down; Mila grimaces slightly, then gives him a grateful, silent ‘thank you’, hugging his hand with hers as she’s in position.

“If you could get me a bowl, I’d be forever grateful.” She says softly. “I’m not twenty anymore.”

Daryl can’t help but grin slightly.

“Yes ma’am.” He lets his fingers softly slip out of her grip, a touch that sends warm, pleasant sparks throughout his arm, and goes over to the fire, where Abraham and Sasha stand, preoccupied with Juri. “Go easy on ‘im, kiddo.” He smirks at Juri, tirelessly wrestling around in Abraham’s arms. Juri opens his mouth into what looks like a roar, a very silent roar, exposing his small, sharp white baby teeth towards his captor.

“Heh, well how ‘bout that!” Abraham exclaims dramatically. “I’ve caught a tiger! Must be ma’ lucky day!”

Juri looks somewhat displeased at Abraham’s proclamation. He shakes his head, making the blonde mane dance. Then he shapes his little hand into a claw and pulls it back over his head, while making his roaring face, and a hissing sound; the closest he can get to an actual roar. Daryl blinks at him.

“Ya’ don’t see the difference between a tiger and a lion?” Daryl glances amusedly at Abraham, who gives him a mighty impressed face behind the mustache. Daryl’s far from an expert, but he remembers the sign for ‘lion’ pretty well by now. 

Juri repeats his silent roar, before he pats the big red haired, red bearded man on the bushy cheek and wrestles out of his grip. He runs over to Mila, where he was heading when he was captured, and throws himself head first into her lap. She laughs and digs her fingers into the sides of his stomach, making Juri flounder his legs in the air behind him. 

“Good heavens-” Abraham looks over at Juri and sighs; the big man gets a look upon his face that Daryl hasn’t seen before. A wishful glance of resignation for the little boy that makes everyone he meets smile. “He’s precious. What a blessing it is, havin’ those lil’ ones around, right? Makes one reevaluate what we are fighting for. Well, there’s the answer.” He shifts his gaze to Daryl. “Ya’ lucky, Dixon.”

Well, what should he say in response? Daryl nods, barely noticeable; he’s not sure what Abe meant by that. Does he mean what Daryl believes, or more like what Daryl wants him to refer to? He glances at Mila and Juri, now sitting curled up next to each other, talking to Carol. Juri’s little hand is clasped around Mila’s finger and he looks so calm, so happy and healthy. And Mila, who awakes feelings inside of him that are difficult to describe in words. Well, he cannot deny that he likes what he sees. Three of the most important persons in his life, together; his best friend, the woman who’s the love of his life and the kid he would take a bullet for. 

“Yup, he knows.” Sasha states with a grin and buffs Daryl in the side. “Look at that, Abe, our archer’s in-”

“Shut it.” Daryl cuts Sasha off in a husky voice, instinctively lowering his eyes to the ground.

“Just sayin’-” Sasha says, still grinning amusedly, as she’s handed a bowl and a piece of bread from the woman, Liz, scooping up soup. 

“Minestrone.” She smiles as Daryl hoarsely asks for four bowls. “There’s bread too, but I doubt you can carry that too.” She continues jokingly as Daryl manages to hold on to two bowls with each hand. It ain’t hard, he’s used to carrying’ around a couple of ferrets or other dead animals without problems while out hunting. 

“Yeah.” Daryl replies mumbly and returns to Mila, Juri and Carol. “Here ya’ go, kiddo.” He hands Juri a bowl, then hands out the others to Mila and Carol before sitting down between the two women. “Ladies.”

“Thank you.” Carol says pleased. “This looks yummy!” She sniffs the rising steam from the soup and stirs it around. “Don’t take this the wrong way, I love to cook! But it sure is luxurious to have food prepared for you like this. Like being in a restaurant.” 

“What lousy places did Ed take ya’ to?” Daryl lifts his head and looks at Carol with a raised eyebrow.

“None.” Carol blinks at him. “That’s why this is extra special.”

“That won’t do.” Mila says and looks at Juri, who’s in full action to stir his spoon around the bowl. “Ostorozhneye. Careful, it’s hot.” She exhorts and returns to Carol. “I’ll invite you to bistro Sergeyevna someday. Best russian home cooking around. You’ll not have to go hungry.” Mila takes a spoonful of soup and meets Daryl’s eyes. “So, what’s on the menu at the Daryl Dixon diner, then?”

“Game.” He replies simply. Why complicate things?

“Yeah it would probably be some sort of barbeque.” Carol agrees. “Steak house, I’d call it.”

The two women laugh, Daryl shakes his head with a faint smile; well, he’s glad they’re having fun. While Mila and Carol talk about all sorts of food he’d never even heard of, Daryl looks around the gathered community. He briefly meets Glenn’s face; the terrified face he had earlier, bursting into the bedroom, is all gone and all seems to be as usual. Well, if Glenn felt embarrassed about it, it was nothing in comparison what Daryl felt - completely mortified. The anger had quickly turned into shame; like the time Merle happened to walk in on him with his first conquest, well... the first girl he tried to get it on with ever. She left in a hurry, he never saw her again and Merle tantalized him for days afterwards. It was only thanks to Mila’s easy outlook on the matter Daryl set his foot out of the door to go to dinner; at first she laughed about it, then entrusted him that she’d happened to walk in on Glenn and Maggie both once and twice ‘doing it’ since her arrival in Alexandria. 

“They seem very fond of fresh air.” She said casually as she stepped into a pair of clean jeans after the shower. “The first time I just laughed.” Mila shrugged and shook her head. “Second time not as much. He’ll get over it. Worse things have happened.”

He glances at Glenn again, they nod at each other before returning to their bowls with great interest. Daryl shifts his focus to Juri, who has emptied his bowl of pasta. Instead he plunges his spoon into Milas bowl, who’s still engaged in conversation with Carol, and starts to clear her soup of macaronis. In return he drops red peppers into her bowl. When the big blue eyes notices being watched, he looks up at Daryl and lifts his small index finger in front of his mouth in a shushing gesture.

“They’re good for ya’.” Daryl says and puts a spoonful of soup in his mouth. “Makes ya’ big and strong, like a lion.”

When the dinner’s over and they’ve cracked open both two and three beers, collected by Spencer and a few others during a run earlier in the day, around the crackling and heating fire, Juri starts to yawn. He makes himself comfortable in Mila’s lap, covered by her jacket, while resting his feet on Daryl’s thighs. After unleashing his third lionesque yawn within a few minutes, Mila states that it’s time for him to sleep.

“Time to put on pajamas, malysh.” Mila gets up from her place laboriously, with Juri in her arms. The blonde head rests on her shoulder and he looks sleepy. “Say ‘goodnight everybody’.” Mila says and glances at Juri, who throws kisses to right and left, before she starts walking in the direction of the houses, while talking to Juri about what goodnight story they shall read.

“He’s lovely.” Carol chuckles softly, looking after the toddler as they are engulfed by the darkness. “Did you see what he drew earlier? At the cul-de-sac?”

Daryl shakes his head. He just saw the happy trees and the sun in front of the house. Carol grins and chuckles once more.

“Ya’ gonna tell me ‘bout it?” He asks. 

“Go check it out later.” Carol shakes her head and smiles. “It’s sweet.”

“Sure.” Daryl takes another sip of beer. “Whatcha thinkin’ bout this other group, the looters?” He looks at Carol. “Honestly.”

“I don’t know.” Carol replies, rubbing her hands against each other to warm them. “Frankly, I think it would be foolish to think we’re alone out here. I think we should be prepared at all times, looters or no looters. Walls or not, we’re never entirely safe.” She looks down at her hands, then back at him. “I’m glad you made it back safe.” 

“Yeah.” He puts down the empty bottle between his boots, rests his forearms at his thighs and looks into the dancing flames. “Thought I’d lost her there for a while.”

“Well you didn’t.” Carol says with ease. “Why ponder what could happen, when it didn’t?”

Yeah he has thought about that too. Still he can’t help but feel guilty. Carol’s right. Nothing happened, nothing worse than a couple of bruises. He smiles faintly at her.

“That’s the spirit, Pookie.” Carol pats him on the cheek. “Well, I’m off to bed.” 

She gets up from the log and wraps her knitted sweater tighter around her. Daryl follows, they say goodnight to the others and start to walk back towards the house. When they reach the porch the front door opens and Mila steps out, wrapped in his poncho as protection against the cold. The long hair lies in a tousled braid over her shoulder and she smiles at them when they walk up the steps.

“Sleep’s like a rock.” Mila greets them while wrapping the woolen poncho tighter around her shoulders. “Barely made it halfway through Benjy’s Dog House.” 

“He’s had a busy day.” Carol says. “Good night you two.”

“Night.” Daryl responds.

Carol opens the door, walks into the dimly lit house and closes the door behind her. They are left alone on the porch, Mila leaned up against the white post, Daryl standing on the second step.

“Wanna go for a walk?” She smiles softly. “It’s a nice evening. Starlit.” 

He nods and a warm feeling spreads throughout his body as she slips her arm into an arm hook with his. They start walking, or more like dragging their feets along the empty road. It’s a cool evening, but spring is on its way. It’s in the air, he can smell it. 

At the cul-de-sac they stop, looking down at the street. Juri sure kept himself busy while they were gone. He’s drawn most of the Atlanta group. The figures are made out of blocks, but they’re pretty good for a three and a half-year old. In the starlight he can see Carl and Judith, Morgan holding a stick, the church with a broken church tower, the houses and- he spots three figures standing close together. One small, one tall and one somewhere in between. He does recognize himself, the childishly drawn crossbow and the vest is hard to miss.

“That’s-” He points.

“Yup.” Mila says, squeezes his arm tighter. “Picasso has outdone himself on this one, right?”

Fuck, he suddenly feels all squeamish. But it’s darn cute.

“He’s great.” He says hoarsely and swallows, puts his arm around Mila’s shoulders. “Really.”

They continue to walk, until they stop at a parked pickup; shoulder to shoulder they lean up against the truck bed, eyes fixed on the sky, before they climb up on the truck bed and sit down. Daryl leans up against the back of the cab and Mila curls up against him, braiding his arms around her.

“I love to watch the stars.” Mila sighs, her breath stands like a vague cloud above her mouth in the cool evening air. 

He can’t disagree, however the mere thought of space, the vast eternity that is spread out above them, scares him.

“It’s like the sea.” He says. “Too big.”

“You’ve ever been to the sea?” Mila asks.

“Nah.” He replies. “Haven’t been around much.”

“We’ll go there someday. That would be nice.” Mila says softly, like a summer breeze, but suddenly she gasps. “Look!” She points up towards the sky. “A shooting star.”

Daryl tilts his head back, eyes fixed at the sky. A small, bright white dot shoots over the starry sky, passes its neighboring, resting stars, cheering it on while twinkling. He’s seen stars fall before, but this one shines brighter than any other he has ever seen. As if it was the brightest star in the sky, calling out for attention.

“Some say fallen stars represent souls that have been released from purgatory, so they can begin the ascent to heaven and eternal peace.” Mila says. “Others say they represent the soul of a new life falling to Earth. My mama always said shooting stars possess magic and good luck for anyone who happens to gaze upon one.” She turns her head and looks up at him. “Come on, make a wish.”

“About what?” He asks.

Mila shrugs a little underneath the poncho.

“Anything.” She replies. “But don’t tell me. Then the magic stops working.” Mila closes her eyes. “Close your eyes and make a wish.”

Daryl sighs. He doesn’t believe in magic, but for her sake he closes his eyes. Wish what, he wonders; right now he can’t seem to think of anything he wants. Nothing more than he already got. It’s just mumbo jumbo. Half-heartedly he thinks of something, before he opens his eyes and looks down at Mila’s dark, soft hair. As for now he’s got all he needs.

“Ya’ made a wish?” 

Mila smiles, a good enough answer.   

“Do you ever wonder what life would be like, if all this hadn’t happened? I mean, if all of this hadn’t happened-” Mila turns her head backwards, towards him. ”-you’d taken me out to the movies? Or a bar?” 

”Not sure I’d dare to ask ya’ out at all.” Daryl replies in all honesty. She had never even looked in his direction in such a scenario, because the other guy, Jim, had been alive. ”To be fair, ya’ outta my league, Jersey.” He therefore says. 

”Schh.” Mila hushes softly and curls up closer to him. “Yerunda. Gibberish. Please, play pretend. Take me on an adventure, Dixon.”

She becomes silent and rests in his arms, head upon his chest; her hand finds its way to his collarbone and softly she caresses it. Her touch is affectionate, loving. Daryl thinks to the point of him almost getting a headache. He has no idea what he would have done in such a scenario, he can’t even imagine it in his wildest imagination. A bar? Nah, that would never work. He has never set foot in a movie theatre and he would never dream of going out to eat. Mila is all rock concerts, karaoke, bar rounds and hanging out with friends. Daryl doesn’t know much about any of those things, minus the drinking. Wait, didn’t she used to go hiking? 

“I-” He pauses, hesitating slightly before he continues, remembers. “There’s a place.” 

A memory he most of all wanted to repress, or simply just chose not to spend time on. It wasn’t long before the outbreak. He had had enough of everything; Merle, himself and life. The days before was a jumble of alcohol, drugs and gut punches. They hung out at Merle’s junkie pal’s house, the same house where they each and every day drank themselves to the point of no return, where he’d been half beaten to death, threatened with a gun and whatnot. The place he reluctantly had called ’home’ for quite some time until Merle managed to get a place on his own, where he let Daryl stay. It more or less turned into Daryl’s place since Merle was in and out in prison more than he wasn’t. Being involved in the contraband of meth gave him a prison punch ticket, but he rarely went in for longer periods. As soon as he got out there was a party that went on for days. Booze, drugs, prostitutes and fights in a never-ending loop. 

That day when he stormed off, he’d just been in another fight. Once again Merle stood by and watched, too drunk and high to really care, leaving Daryl to fend for himself against three beefy bikers that did a pretty good number on him. It was as if the zest for life was knocked out of him, bit by bit, for every blow he received, until he managed to fend them off and fled out of there with only one thought in his head; “This ends now.”   

In a fit of rage, he set off on the motorcycle; where to, he didn’t know. Whether it was fate or his subconscious that took him out into the wilderness that afternoon, he doesn’t know til this day. But he stood on the brakes at a lay-by at the edge of the mountains with a throbbing head. His thoughts raced, blood boiled in his veins and he got off the motorcycle, didn’t care to either park properly or remove the key from the ignition. He wouldn’t need it anymore. Without purpose or meaning, he went out into the wilderness, equipped only with a knife, crossbow and a gun. He kept looking upwards while climbing, resilient like a fox, uphill. It didn’t matter that he cut himself on sharp rocks or slipped, he no longer felt pain. Suddenly the slope ended and he found himself standing on almost leveled ground. He moved forward, knowing that he would soon reach the precipice. However he misjudged his route and he came out on a raw ledge, a lookout point that had not yet become part of the hike trail. Staggering, with his heart in his throat, he stumbled out onto the ledge where he collapsed; head spinning, eardrums beating. He cried out with rage, his cry of anger bouncing between the rocks and the peaks. He sat up, pulled his knees up to his chin and felt how everything was breaking apart around him. It was over. It was now or never.

Nature has a strange, almost supernatural power to feel how it can be in danger. How its beauty can quickly face a threat, how it in the blink of an eye can change forever and never being able to repair itself from such a tragedy. Just as Daryl took -what he thought was- his last breath, deep into his lungs, and was about to let his finger pull the trigger, Mother Nature intervened. The sky burst open, a cloud moved and paved the way for the sun to let through its rays that lay over the view and colored it as if by magic, in a myriad of colors. The sudden change, how all the gray suddenly turned green, yellow, red, orange, pink and blue, made him hesitate. He exhaled, gasping for breath and feeling the beads of sweat dripping down his hands, which cramped around the pistol handle.

The treetops that burst out of the soft fog that lingered after the rain before seemed to float in the air. The pistol slid out of his grip, his muscles didn’t seem to be able to hold it up and he sat with his arms hanging along the sides, the backs of his hands resting against the cold, hard stone. With tears streaming down his cheeks, the first time he cried in god knows how long, Daryl watched the surrounding beauty, while the breeze gently caressed his face, like the soft touch of a loving mother, the mother he never had. As if it pleaded to him to breathe, to take in everything around him, the beauty and the wilderness. This was his home, this was his safe space. Nature wouldn’t hurt him. Daryl’s eyes fell upon the gun next to him. He took it and threw it in a wide arc into the air, down the cliff ledge. Not his will, but Mother Nature’s.

“I’d take ya’ up the Blue Ridge mountains.” He says therefore.

“Like the John Denver song?” Mila starts to hum. “Almost Heaven, West Virginia… Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River- is it?”

“It ain’t far from here.” Daryl adjusts, makes himself comfortable against the back of the cab. “There’s this place, down Chattahoochee National Forest, at the southern edge of the mountains.”

“Oh come on, now you’re just making names up for fun!” Mila laughs softly, still with her eyes closed. “Chattahoochee? Another country song?”

“Will ya’ lemme do this or not? It’s a goddamn river.” Daryl says. ”I grew up there, ‘round the northern mountains, nearby Blue Ridge.” He continues, wraps his arms tighter around her, tries his best to fantasize a scenario in his head; he has never had a particularly vivid imagination. Maybe as a kid, but that’s a long time ago. “We’d drive out there in summer, when it’s all green; Watch the azaleas bloom in scarlet, crimson, orange- There’s so much life out there one couldn’t believe their eyes if they could only see it. Most folks don't, like they’re blind. But they’re out there. Foxes, songbirds hindin’ up the tall pines. Grouses, coyotes... A place where no human has dared to put its foot down. It’s untamed, maybe the last wild, untouched place on earth.” Daryl pauses. He doesn’t know much about the world. He hasn’t traveled, barely been outside Georgia. But he’s still sure of his thing, feels it in his body. He’s more familiar with nature, the wild, than anything. He spent more time in the woods and up the mountains than in his godforsaken childhood home. “There’s an undisturbed ledge up the mountains-” He continues, holding her closer as he watches the stars, his eyelids begin to feel heavy. “We’d put up camp there, an open fire. Roast something, corn, game… watch the sunset over the mountaintops, listen to the coyotes-” He closes his eyes and at the memory of how the sky let through the sun and lit up the whole valley, he can not help but smile faintly. “-watch the sunrise over the treetops.” 

More than that he doesn’t get time to tell, before he’s lulled into sleep with Mila on the truck bed.

[faunusrights]

OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTER 14

IN THIS EPISODE OF THE OFFAL HUNT LIVEBLOG:

On the other end of the line, Cinder let out a tight sigh. “Yeah. Okay, well—I’m in a difficult position right now. I’m balancing a lot. So, that wasn’t, you know, directed at you or whatever… I’m just trying to deliver you to Atlas. That’s all.”

“Yeah,” Glynda said. “This apology sucks.”

CINDER FALL TRIES TO HAVE MANNERS. AND FAILS. BUT SHE TRIES.

it’s been a WHILE but i’m STILL HERE!!!!!!!!! also i’m a little late to the draw and also unlike w/ prior chaps i did actually read this one when it came out so i’ve had my first run already. BUT that means i actually get 2 Focus so lets get this party started

so we’re now entering into the New Umbraroot Arc which Frightens me on a deep and intrinsic scale because now i have no padding to ready me for whatever the Hell is going to occur, but i do know it will be gay(er) than the current content was (is/shall be) and here’s the proof

It had only been a day, but the sound of Cinder’s voice was a relief to Glynda’s senses.

glynda that’s gay. hey. hey. glynda have u been told yr a lesbian. lesbeeb. besbion--

“Not at all.” Thank god. It was one thing to be traveling with Cinder Fall. It was entirely another to have her checking in on Glynda’s well-being.

cinder: my well-being is SHIT but thankfully there’s someone nearby doing WORSE than me, which makes me feel better at least,

“Oh.” Our sounded strange in her mouth.

my favourite thing abt any gay media and content is that it’s gay in ways that hettie(tm) nonsense can only dream of being. when a story is abt a guy and a gal all the romantic tension comes from like. looking at a tiddy or getting naked or w/e the shit. here? it’s literally found entirely in the use of the word our. such power. i love it.

I went from unknown to one of Atlas’ most wanted overnight, which is charming… And also annoying, because they refuse to stop pasting wanted posters on every street corner.

i feel like cinder is the type of bitch to send pics of them back to emerald like ‘is my face ACTUALLY that janky??? my hair is a state. you think they’ll use a selfie if i ask nicely???’

Cinder hummed, affirmative. “Which would be unnecessary, if you hadn’t reported me.”

Glynda returned, “I wouldn’t have reported you if you hadn’t been committing a crime.”

glynda you snitch. you narc. you bootlicker. does be gay do crime mean NOTHING to you,

We left a funny taste in her mouth, almost as strange as when Cinder had said our. She tried not to examine it too closely.

again. look at this shit. this is real slowburn hours. this is how u DO IT.

Her heart was beginning to feel like a pin cushion with all the needles pulled out, little holes left in their wake.

would i be showing my age if i glanced at this and wondered if it were a reference to the inciting og offal hunt inspiration fic or. it does doesnt it. okay moving on.

“Okay.” And then, in an effort to change the subject to something lighter: “I’ve never broken into a country before.”

glynda’s complete and continuous inability to actually like. do what she plans on doing is SO funny to me. she’s going to be stealthy, she says, throwing a man aside in obvious fashion. i’m going to be subtle, she says, being as conspicuous as possible. she’s a disaster and i live for it.

"The Faunus." Cinder's voice was cold. "Don't speak to her."

this part of this fic is subtitled ‘cinder’s rank opinions time’, apparently. not that u can tell. but it is. dsfhgjsdfghjghfjdk

In the silence that followed, Glynda thought of the stunted horns jutting above Cinder's hairline at the restaurant.

Glynda murmured, "That’s a horrible thing to say."

"Don’t start." There was no concession in her words. “I mean it.”

“...I just didn’t expect that from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

There was something in Cinder’s tone that told Glynda that nothing she said would be correct. She said nothing.

cinder’s! rank! opinions! time! honestly this section victimises me the MOST as i very famously cried over an earlier section in which cinder thought abt all the faunus she grew up with, so i know that kc and diesel were looking to hurt me directly. that said i DO find it funny that cinder, yet again, looks like a pile of shit.  she can’t do anything right. naturally inclined to be the villain completely unintentionally. what a moron.

A harsh laugh. “What do you think we are, friends?”

“Well, no—um. Not really, but—”

YOU SEE. CINDER. PLEASE. £10 FOR U TO BEHAVE FOR FIFTEEN SECONDS.

“Then, just—just listen to me. I’m going to get us there. I p-promise.” There was a soft sound, like disgust or the prelude to a gag. “Urgh, your soul—give me more space.”

cinder: i’m inclined to being an asshole glynda: every time yr mean 2 me i’ll make u feel worse cinder: ah no. ah shit. i have to be nice??? ah fuck. what the shit is this.

Glynda thought of Ozpin. It wasn’t a comforting thought—more like the memory of a near-accident, like sliding on ice and feeling the world shift beneath you. It was a flinch-thought, and it would have made her miserable instead of just homesick had she not shut it out so quickly.

god the writing in this fic is so especially pristine. everything feels so real and visceral and you just know Exactly how that feels. it’s brilliantly punchy and i adore the way u get have the exact sensation click into place. it’s SO good.

She wondered if it was the same moon Bacia and Vivienne had looked upon. If they had felt the same beneath its pale light. The Great War had seen two shatterings of the moon, so perhaps it had appeared different, but… Glynda couldn’t help but wish that it was something they shared, even lifetimes apart.

👈😎👈

actually im a little nervous abt doing fingerguns because WHAT IF SMTHNG HAS CHANGED... but i think this bit is. safe. maybe. diesel. kc. am i safe,

Glynda closed her eyes and tried to feel out that instinctual power within her. Tried to know herself better. It resonated around her like a water in a tank, nearly palpable.

again this is just GREAT storytelling. i just LOVE how well kc and diesel turn abstract ideas into such physical manifestations it’s completely unreal. r y’all seein this shit???

upon checking his number, she’d discovered it had been blocked.

i love that glynda is abt as knowledgeable abt little jumps like this as the reader is. are we surprised as a reader? yes. is glynda also surprised? HELL YEAH SHE IS. SHE AIN’T GOT A FUCKIN CLUE MY DUDE.

Remembering the notes to herself not to trust Winter, Glynda opened the log hesitantly.

glynda no yr sending read receipts to yr future gf and thats a bad move on everybodys part

The indicator showed this wasn’t the first time Glynda had accessed the message. She couldn’t remember doing so. 

OH NO BITCH U ALREADY DID

“Special Operative Schnee, things are…” Glynda paused, searching for something suitably vague to say. “Proceeding.

do you see what i mean abt glynda’s ineptitude. it’s slapstick levels of ridiculous and i’m living for it.

Do you suspect she’s attempting to cross the border?”

“Maybe.”

‘sure,’ glynda says. ‘you could word it like that if you wanted to.’

“Bold of her, if nothing else. She should know there will—” Glynda skimmed through the rest of the paragraph to reach the end, the corners of her mouth curling. “—can make arrangements. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

HGSDFGKHJSFDGHKJDF JESUS CHRIST

its like in fallout 4 when someone tells u important info and when u click past it the main character just goes ‘uh huh’ ‘yeah’ ‘okay’ ‘sure’ ‘mm-hm’ as the text boxes whizz by GLYNDA PLEASE

Bubbles appeared, showing that Cinder was typing. Glynda waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The bubbles appeared and disappeared four times.

She flipped back to Cinder’s conversation and found that, after all that time, Cinder had finally settled on a reply.

It said:

“Good.”

i just had to pair these up for a second if only to say: dis me lol

okay let’s double back for a second just to cover this Juicy Lore:

If you’d like, I can arrange a bouquet of flowers to be left at your mothers’ memorial site. My thoughts are with you.”

For a long moment, Glynda simply stared at the screen. [...] In quick succession, she realized that it had been sixteen days since she’d met with Cinder in the restaurant and that it was soon to be the anniversary of her mothers’ deaths.

WHAT IS THIS LORE MA’AM AND MX??? **MA’X**??? firstly idk what the HELL the Black March tragedy is but im fascinated but also: did u have to do that. can ONE person in this fic not have [spoilers redacted cant say that yet no sir] problems??? no??? die. dsfhjgghjkfsddf

Glynda picked herself up from the armchair, neat and tidy, and disassembled into bed, pulling the covers up to her throat. With her Semblance, she turned off the lights. She closed her eyes.

It was quiet. Cold. The only thing she felt was the weight of her soul.

Her Scroll buzzed. Glynda answered it.

“Glynda.” It was Cinder. “I can feel that.”

okay following on from cinder’s text message, i just. love that cinder’s having such direct repercussions to her shitty shitty actions. like this is all tying together in some 👈😎👈 instances but having cinder be her usual callous self and having to literally turn around and start fucking Being Nice For Once is VERY gratifying. fuck you you lil round-faced one-braincelled baby. time to learn to have some Manners. jgdsfghsdfghfjd

She’d simply resigned to the loneliness of having no one to trust but Cinder, and then, not even having her.

... thats gay. hey lads is that gay? its gay. it feels gay.

On the other end of the line, Cinder let out a tight sigh. “Yeah. Okay, well—I’m in a difficult position right now. I’m balancing a lot. So, that wasn’t, you know, directed at you or whatever… I’m just trying to deliver you to Atlas. That’s all.”

“Yeah,” Glynda said. “This apology sucks.”

this feels like a reference to 👈👈👈😎👈👈👈 (IS IT. AM I RIGHT. IT IS ISNT IT) but also: LOOK AT CINDER GO. TRYING. BADLY. BUT TRYING. i love her she sucks so much shes such a dumbass. feel the consequences. feel them.

Glynda chided herself; Cinder Fall wasn’t capable of remorse, but she was more than capable of simple math. It seemed the worse she treated Glynda, the worse she herself would feel.

glynda: she’s doing this because it makes her feel better, not me cinder in like idk 20 chapters down the line:

(i guess thats another 👈😎👈 moment but for GOOD REASON)

There was a shift, like Cinder was rolling over, or maybe propping herself up. Was she in bed also? It triggered the remembrance of Glynda’s own physicality, and she turned over as well, searching in the dark for the nightstand and the lamp upon it. The light clicked on. The room brightened. Glynda settled in, ready.

OOOOOH THE PARALLELS. glynda turning the lights off and sinking into darkness and the void versus perking up and sitting up and turning the lights on when talking to cinder!!!!!!! POETIC CINEMA. OOF. OOF. HOW DOES FIFTEEN POINTS OF LOVE TASTE.

“Great! Lovely. Glad to hear it.” Fangs rounded out the words like scissors. A pleasant sense of satisfaction unfurled in Glynda’s chest. “So, once upon a fucking time—”

there were two gays and they were enemies to lovers but didnt know it yet. but they will be.

THATS CHAPTER 14 BABEY!!!!!!!! i LOVED this chap and i can rly feel kc and diesel gearing up for umbraroot. its great being able to like. feel the shift of focus goin on here and im SO ready to see this arc play out. once again offal hunt is the best fic ever made. this is a fact.

[spideyydarling]

Peter Parker x Reader

Request: 5 and 95 for the prompts please! With either Tom or Peter, I like both. GO FOR IT JORD! YOU CAN DO ITTTTTT!!!!** **

Prompt: 5. “I'm not here to make friends” 

           95. “I think i'm in love with you, and that scares the crap outta me”

Word count: 2116

A/N: this is my first ever fic I've posted, so sorry its really bad. thanks kaiti ( @lil-spidey ) for helping me choose and the beautiful spiderjizz cult who i love SO FUCKING MUCH and the girls in it who  inspired and encouraged me to start writing. 

It was your first day at your new school, all you wanted was to get through the day completely unnoticed, but, there was the undeniable fact that you were the newbie, you were bound to be noticed. First period had proved you right, you were late because you couldn't find your class, so when you stumbled in through the door all eyes were on you.

“Ahh, this must be (y/n),” the teacher boomed. You kept your head down, eyes darting back and forth between your hands and your feet, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. “Okay class, this is (y/n), uhhhh,”the teacher looked at you with eyebrows raised, motioning for you to clarify your next name.

“(y/l/n),” you managed to mumble, so distinct only the teacher heard.

“Alright, (y/n) (y/l/n), you can take the empty seat right there,” pointing to the last chair on the second row, you followed the teachers directions. You shifted from your position, and situated yourself in your new seat.

“Psst,” you looked to the left and locked eyes with the most gorgeous brown orbs you had ever seen, the boy himself was quite the looker. You couldn't help but smirk, the boy next to you was so cute!

“Hi, I uh, I-I’m Peter, Peter Parker,” he put a hand out, you looked down at it, then decided to take it giving it two quick shakes. “Hehe, um, (y/n) right?” dropping your hand and picking your pen up, you hesitantly answered.

“Yeah, im new.” idiot, you thought, why would you say that? Of course he knows your new, look at the way you tripped into the classroom!

“Oh yeah, did you move here recently?”

“yeah, Queens, in this little apartment block with my mum.” okay then, give him your social security number too why don't you

“Hey! I live in Queens too!” Peter said a little too enthusiastically.

“Shush Peter,” the teacher yelled in our direction, luckily though, no one seemed to really notice you, only Peter.

“S-sorry sir,” Peter stuttered.

“God, Penis Parker, s-s-stop s-s-stuttering,” a rude boy (whom you soon found out was named Flash Thompson, school bully, but mostly a bully to Peter) announced from across the classroom, which sent  the class into a quiet fit of laughter. Peter's face went scarlett. After the class had settled, he whispered back into your direction.

“So, why did you come to this school? New friends? Or-”

“I'm not here to make friends,” you cut him off abruptly. Just as he was about to respond, the bell went, signalling next period, but peter continued to make conversation while you both packed your things up.

“Well, uh, what’re you here for then?” he questioned, placing his book in his bag.

“To graduate.” you told him.

“Well, we’re all here to graduate, anyway, what do you have next?”

“I have..umm..” you checked your timetable biting your lip in concentration, knowing little that the boy was watching you intently, hoping you had the same class so he could talk to you more, he had never seen someone so beautiful, he was adoring you. “I have english.” peter grabbed your timetable off you and scanned it.

“Hey look!” he looked up with an ecstatic smile plastered on his face, “we have the same classes!” you couldn't help but grin back at him, his smile was contagious, and his eyes were sparkling. Peter Parker, you thought, maybe it would be good to have a friend while i'm here.

“Okay (y/n), uhhh, seems like everyone else is gone, maybe we should too,” he gave your timetable back to you and slung his bag over one shoulder. You watched him as he headed over to the door, mesmerised by the boy, for some reason you couldn't shake the feeling that a zoo had just landed in your stomach. “Well, uh, l-ladies first,” he gestured towards the door with a nervous chuckle, putting a hand to the back of his neck.

“Uh, yeah, thank you,” you walked over and flickered your eyes to his, seeing that he was staring at you. A rose colour creeped its way into your cheeks as you walked through the door.

It was your second week at your new school and you and Peter had gotten close quickly. He introduced his friends to you, Ned and Michelle. Michelle and you ot on really well, too.

Ned was great, funny and made Peter laugh a lot, which in turn, made you smile.

“So, like, what happened to Liz dude, you haven't talked about her once since (y/n) came to the school.” MJ said at lunch, whilst snacking on a floppy chip. You knew of Liz, you had PE with her, you guys had never really talked, but you knew she was gorgeous and really, really sweet. Peter looked at you straight in the eye before looking back down at his food.

“W-w-what are you talking about, Michelle, what do you mean what happened to Liz? I-i-i don't know.” you couldn't see his face, but you were certain it was not its normal colour.

“Yeah man, what ever happened to her?” Ned inquired. You leaned towards Michelle, who was seated next to you.

“What’s this about Liz?” you whispered to her.

“Oh, that loser,” she nodded to Peter's direction, where he and Ned were having a private conversation of their own, “is, well i guess used to be, obsessed with her, made googly eyes at her everyday, drooled and everything. Eh, who cares anyway, not me at least, it's good not hearing all the pining over her anymore.” and at that, she continued eating, the conversation clearly being over. Looking over at Peter and Ned, you saw that Ned’s expression was a mix of understanding and glee, you wondered what they had been talking about.

“Oh my god dude! How did i not realise this earlier!” Ned exclaimed

“Shhhh Ned, please, don't tell anyone, especially not (y/n),” Peter hushed.

“Don't tell me what?” you looked at Peter, then locked eyes with Ned, giving him a glare telling him c’mon Ned, tell me, but he just looked at Peter and told you,

“Nothing, we didn't even say your name??” Peter looked at you with longing in his eyes. What weren't they telling you? Why couldn't Ned tell me, especially? You’d just have to get Ned alone.

“Ned! Wait up!” you jogged your way over to his locker, where he was putting his books away. It was the end of the day so you were pretty sure Peter wouldn’t be around, he always disappeared around this time.

“Whats up, (y/n)?” Ned asked you. This was your chance.

“Ned you gotta tell me, please??” you pleaded him.

“Uhhh, tell you what? I know nothing,” Ned darted his eyes to look anywhere but at you.

“Ned, please.” you managed to make contact with his eyes, you knew he would tell you now, you had your puppy face on.

“Okay, fine. You can not, i repeat, CAN NOT EVER, let Peter know i told you.”

“Okay” you promised, fingers crossed behind you back, just in case, you know, for luck, or whatever.

“He really reeeaaalllyyy likes you (y/n), i don’t know how i missed it, its soo obvious. I have a feeling you really like him too, huh.” your face was no doubt red, giving away all hope of hiding the fact that you really did like him too, a lot. “See, i knew it. I think you guys need to talk, about stuff. Anyway, i'm going home, i just got a lego death star”

“Yeah, uh, send me a pic when you finish it,” you breathed out. You stood stock still in shock. Peter liked you? Omg, omgomgomg, Peter Parker likes me back, you thought, a smile stretching across your face. You got home s quickly as possible, sprinting past your mum. Once you got to your room you jumped up and down and squealed out in glee. You got your phone out of your pocket and texted Peter.

Hey, Peter, can you meet me?

No more than a minute later, your phone buzzed

Yeah, of course! Ill be at the park in 10!

You grabbed an apple on your way out of the house and walked down to the park, it usually took you about a 15 minute walk, but you got there in 8 due to the fact you were running from unending energy, a newfound mix of happiness and nervousness in your stomach fluttered around. Peter wasn't there just yet, so you plotted yourself onto a bench awaiting his arrival. You were restless, to say the least. Your mind couldn't stop thinking of Peter. You'd only known him two weeks, but your heart wouldn't stop chasing your stomach every time you saw him. Lost in your thoughts, you hadn't even realised when Peter walked up to you, not until you felt the weight shift on the bench. Your eyes searched the chocolatey ones gazing down at you.

“Hey, (y/n), what’s up?” Peter could sense the edginess pouring out of you, “is everything okay (y/n), tell me, you know you can tell me right? I'm here for you, just, uhh, just let it out.” he shifted his body to face more towards you.

“nothing is wrong Peter, matter of fact, i think things are pretty good,just uh, well, do you-umm-well how do you feel,” you took in a shaky breath, not being able to word the sentece correctly, “i just need you to be honest, Peter, okay??” Peter nodded slowly confused by what you were saying. “Do you like me?”

“Of course i like you, (y/n), you're my friend, a really good frie-”

“No, Peter. That's not what i mean.” you looked down at your palms, tracing the lines in them with your eyes. Peter's face was scrunched up in confusion, not understanding.

“Oh,” Peter mumbled after a few moments, realising what you really meant. He put a finger under your chin, leading your face to his direction. He moved his hand to softly cup your face, while he peered into your eyes lovingly. Dropping his hand into yours he said, “(y/n), i-i do, i r-really really do like you. In fact, i think im falling in love with you, and that scares the crap outta me,” your heart stopped with the realisation of what was happening in that moment.

Peter jerked his eyes between your lips and eyes, slowly moving forward. You stared at his soft, sculpted lips, also, inching forward, until finally you both met. The kiss was soft, short but sweet. You twirled your fingers through his hair and kissed him again, more profound this time, less hesitant. He cupped your face before he pulled away.

“I think i'm falling in love with you too, Peter Parker,” you murmured.

He had a grin from ear to ear. Diving in for another kiss, you were interrupted by vibration in your pocket. Your phone displayed the following words:

New picture message from Ned

“Its from Ned,” you say, unlocking your phone. Both you and peter untangle from each other and stare down at the screen.

(y/n) I FINISHED IT!! Look! Btw if ur with Peter tell him i had a bunch of fun making it without him! :((

It was a picture of the Lego death star, you smiled up at Peter and tilted your phone so he had a better view.

“Whoa! Thats heaps cool, wait a second, what does he mean by ‘if you're with Peter’? Oh god, he didn't tell you, did he?” you diverted your eyes from him.

“Uhhh, no, of course not,” you lied

“Ugh, Ned!” Peter groaned

“Hey, good thing he did tell me, you never would have told me your feelings otherwise,” you laughed with Peter.

“Yeah, i guess im pretty lucky,” he smiled at you.

Dude that looks so good! Peter said he loves uuu!

Placing your phone back into your pocket, you looked back up at Peter.

“Anyway, where were we?” you grinned, placing another kiss onto his lips.

[lickstynine]

If Withdrawal isn’t a Circle of Hell, it Should Be.

Alright, this is the fourth and final chapter of the Disastrous Kazu Saga Part 1: Sickdays 3: Day 4: Say it ain’t so, Doc Part 2: Sickdays 3: Day 6: I Have Some Regrets Part 3: Relapse T/W: drugs, suicidal thoughts, general angsty chaos

When Minato crawled out of bed around ten in the morning, he was surprised to see Kazu already awake, huddled up on the couch, nursing a vodka and tonic.

“Liquor? At this hour?” Min mumbled, rubbing his bleary eyes.

Kazu shrugged faintly, his shoulders barely moving. Every inch of his body ached to the core; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so awful. “Can’t come offa everything at once… ‘d prob’ly fuckin’ die…” he muttered. His voice was so hoarse it hurt to listen to, and all the colour was absent from his face, giving him the sickly grey complexion of a corpse.

Waking up a little more, Minato frowned and looked at his husband more closely. He hadn’t really thought through what a poor state Kazu would be in; it had been five, almost six years since they’d last dealt with withdrawal, and the horrors had faded in the fog of memory. He brushed his fluffy bleached bangs out of his face and sat on the couch next to Kazu. His head rested on the taller man’s shoulder, and he cringed; Kazu had lost so much weight, and he’d been skinny to begin with. Min wracked his brain, struggling to think of anything he could do to help at the moment.

“Do you want some water? You might feel a little better if you were more hydrated…”

“‘S it really matter ‘t this point?” Kazu was sipping at his drink like a picky but very hungry cat that had been given the wrong brand of wet food. He knew if he downed it, he’d just be sick, but being sober would be even worse. Small gulps would have to do for now. It’d get him buzzed eventually.

Minato sighed. “I mean, not really, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.” He kicked his feet until he was close enough to the edge of the couch to reach the ground, hopping up and scurrying into the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a glass of water, gently prying the vodka out of Kazu’s hand. “Here. When you finish this, you can have your drink back.”

“I wanna divorce.” Kazu was clearly joking; a faint humourous tone permeated his scratchy vocals, and Minato picked up on it, giggling quietly.

“Divorce me later. Right now, just focus on getting better, okay?” Minato murmured, leaning down to kiss Kazu’s cheek. His sharp cheekbones were clearly visible, and his face looked hollow, like a preteen girl that over-applied the hell out of her contour.

Kazu nodded, sinking back into the couch cushions as he sipped his water. It soothed his scratchy throat more than the vodka, but it wasn’t getting him drunk. He was only drinking it to humour Minato. When the glass was empty, he set it aside. His hand was shaking so badly that it toppled over and rolled off the side table, landing on the carpet with a muffled thunk. Minato’s brows knit together in concern, but he handed the vodka and tonic back as promised. “Here.” Once the other cup was back with Kazu, he knelt to pick up the fallen one, putting it in the kitchen sink before joining his husband on the couch again.

“Can I do anything to help?” Min asked hopefully, looking up at Kazu with wide eyes.

“Kill me.” Kazu’s tone wasn’t as sarcastic as one would hope. “Everything hurts. I feel like I got hit by a fuckin’ bus, and Satan ‘imself was drivin’ it.” His hand not holding his drink wormed its way out of the blanket to hold one of Minato’s. The tiny hand gave his a reassuring squeeze, but Minato was starting to really worry. Kazu, who was normally much warmer than him, was cold and clammy to the touch, shivering a little despite the blanket around his shoulders. After a moment, the tiny blond spoke up.

“Maybe I should send Takao to stay with my parents for a few days.” Not only were Kazu and Takao currently furious with each other, but Minato would need to devote all his energy to taking care of his husband. Besides, Takao didn’t need to be around for this.

“Do it. Kick ‘im out now. Make ‘im walk, punishment for bein’ a lil shit…” Kazu barked. He had grown agitated the second Minato brought up their son, and now the shorter, older man looked more worried than ever.

Sighing quietly, Minato nodded. “Just give me a minute to go call my mom.” He stepped out to the garage to make sure Kazu wouldn’t be able to hear anything. His parents didn’t like Kazu, and even if he lied that Kazu was just sick, they would probably hear lots of bad things from Takao. Either way, the Kurosawas’ view of their son-in-law wouldn’t be improving anytime soon.

It ended up being about thirty minutes that Minato spent on the phone; his mom was the chatty type, and he hadn’t spoken to her in at least a month. Normally, they talked weekly at least, but Minato just hadn’t been in the mood lately. She’d talked his ear off today to make up for it before amicably agreeing to look after Takao. He walked back in from the garage, heading straight to the hallway.

Several moments after Minato knocked, Takao opened the door. He squinted bitterly at his father, not very happy to see anyone at the moment. There was a nasty bruise on his jaw from where Kazu had clocked him last night, and his eyes were red like he might have been crying.

“What do you want now.” He snapped.

Minato flinched a little before responding, his tone quiet but firm. “You’re going to stay with your grandparents for a few days. I need to take care of your father, and I can’t handle the tension of you two bickering at the same time. Pack a bag, Oba-chan will be here for you in twenty minutes.”

Takao nodded, closing the door behind him without a word. Minato sighed, trudging back to the living room to check on Kazu. The lanky younger man was now laid out across the couch, his face buried in the cushions. Even from across the room, he was shaking visibly.

“Honey, are you sure I can’t do anything to help?” Minato’s voice was soft and worried. Seeing his husband like this broke his heart, and he hated not being able to help.

“I… I’unno what to ask ya for…” Kazu mumbled. His tone was different than earlier; he sounded stressed, miserable, and pained almost to the point of tears. “I fuckin’… I can’t do this again… I can’t.” His voice cracked, quivering and going up an octave at the end.

Minato bit his lip, sitting on the edge of the couch and grabbing Kazu’s hand tightly in his own. “You can. You will. I promise. I’m gonna be here the whole time, and you’re gonna be okay.” It felt so strange for him to be the one talking like this, but he knew he had to be strong right now. Kazu was emotionally wrecked and mentally unstable at the moment; if he didn’t have someone to rely on, god knows what he might do.

Kazu didn’t reply, but he gave Minato’s hand a reciprocative squeeze, tugging on it until his tiny husband laid down with him. Minato didn’t seem to mind this, settling in the small nook of cushion between Kazu and the edge of the couch. He reached down, gently moving Kazu’s face out of the cushions so he could give him a kiss. “It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay. I love you.”

A faint smile flickered across Kazu’s lips for half a second, and that was enough to reassure Minato. The petite blond slid his free hand under the blanket and Kazu’s shirt, gently rubbing the younger man’s back. It hurt his heart to feel every rib and vertebra so clearly, but that was a problem he’d have to deal with later. For now, he took solace in the tiny content sigh Kazu had made when Min had started rubbing his back.

“Oh. I didn’t tell you. My mom is coming to get Takao, so we don’t have to stress about that.”

“Mm.” Kazu wasn’t really focused enough to register what Minato said, but he figured an acknowledging noise would be polite. For now, he just rested his head on the faded grey cushions, trying to dissociate enough to silence the growing chaos in his head. The negative thoughts hadn’t even waited till he was awake to start; they’d permeated his dreams, only getting stronger when he woke up. The growing aches weren’t helping. Yeah, that’s right. It fucking hurts. And you know what? This is all your fault. You’re such an idiot. Piece of shit junkie. Just fucking die already. You don’t deserve someone as good as Minato. He can do so much better. He’d be better off if you just dropped dead. Dying would be better than this pain anyway. Go on. Do it. Do it, pussy. Do it.

“Stop it!” His voice was raw with agony as he cried out. “Leave me alone!” Kazu wrapped his arms tightly around himself, digging his nails into his upper arms and curling up more, as though being physically defensive would somehow silence his mental turmoil.

Minato cringed. He’d known this was going to happen, but it still hurt to watch. Continuing to rub soothing circles on Kazu’s back, he murmured, “Focus on my voice. Just listen to me. It’s going to be okay. Everything is okay. I’m right here, and I love you. I’ll always be here for you.”

“I can’t… I can’t.” Kazu shook his head. “It’s too loud. It’s too much. I can’t do it. Make it stop.” He begged.

Minato paused to think for a moment before gently tugging Kazu into a sitting position. He crawled into his husband’s lap, taking Kazu’s face in his hands. “Look at me. Focus on my voice. Repeat after me. It’s going to be okay.”

“I-it’s gonna be okay…”

“I am strong, and I am brave.”

“‘M strong… and brave.” Kazu’s tone was quiet and defeated, but he parroted back Minato’s words.

“I have survived this before.”

“Survived it before…”

“And I can do it again.” Minato nodded as he spoke, trying to further affirm his words.

“I… I can… do it again…” Kazu took a deep breath, his whole body shaking as he exhaled.

Minato smiled warmly, leaning up to kiss Kazu’s face all over. “That’s right. You’re gonna be okay. You’re the strongest person I know, and I know you can get through this.”

“Sure, yeah…” Kazu sounded less convinced, but at least he was focused on Minato instead of the voices in his head. He leaned into the corner where the arm and the back of the couch met, rubbing his eyes and adjusting his legs. He shifted Minato’s position in his lap so that the small one’s weight was more on the couch than himself; normally, he could juggle three of his tiny husband effortlessly, but right now, he ached to his bones, and added pressure wasn’t helping.

Minato didn’t seem to mind being moved; he was content so long as he was with Kazu. He put his left hand over Kazu’s, smiling faintly at the tiny clink of their rings touching. Min sat silently, drumming a tiny beat on Kazu’s hand, partly because he was antsy, and partly because he was trying to keep Kazu distracted any way he could. It seemed to be working for now. Though he clearly wasn’t feeling well, Kazu didn’t seem nearly as stressed as earlier.

Both young men had been sitting quietly and surprisingly peacefully for about twenty minutes when the doorbell rang. Kyu meowed loudly in response, audible even from Takao’s room. Minato hopped to his feet. “I’ll get it.” He unlocked the three deadbolts, swinging open the front door to reveal a tiny Japanese woman with his same taupe almond-shaped eyes. She looked to be somewhere between 40 and 65, with smile lines around her eyes and mostly grey hair. “Oka-san!” He squealed, wrapping his arms around her.

“Hello, Minato. How are you?” Mrs. Kurosawa hugged him back, smiling and patting his back.

“I’m doing okay. Thank you for coming to get Takao on such short notice. Step in for a second, I’ll go get him!” Min ducked off down the hall to find his son, leaving his mother to stare judgmentally at the Kazu on the couch.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked him over, scowling at his gaunt, unkempt appearance. “Kazuhiro. You look terrible.”

“Esumi. You look old.” His deadpan reply was scathingly unfriendly. “Here to corrupt my son with your ‘Good Christian Values’ or some bullshit?”

“I’m here to look after him because my son is busy taking care of you. A grown man who should be capable of handling himself.”

“Bitch, your son stuck a fork in a power outlet last month. I can handle myself just fine. Min was the one who wanted you to come get Takao.”

Esumi huffed angrily, moving closer to the couch as she spoke. “Now you look here -”

“Hey, Oba-chan.” Her retort was cut off by a glum-looking Takao. He was standing in the hall holding a backpack and scowling in that broody way that only bitter teenagers truly can.

“Oh, hello dear! You’ve grown so much since I last saw you! Come on, Oji-chan and I were going to take you out to dinner!” She tugged eagerly on his hand, leading him out to the car. Takao sighed, shuffling along. At least there would be someone his age to hang out with over there. Minato’s parents, being the Good Catholics™ they were, had only stopped breeding because Esumi hit menopause. Their youngest son, Kyoden, was less than a year older than Takao, and though they didn’t hang out often, they got along pretty well.

Minato waved cheerfully as his mother and son walked out the door, wishing them well before locking the deadbolts behind them. “Well, that wasn’t too bad.”

“If you say so,” Kazu grumbled, wrapping his arms around his abdomen. “God, I feel like shit.”

“I know, honey. I’m sorry.” Minato perched on the arm of the couch, leaning down to kiss Kazu’s cheek. He ran his small, nimble fingers through Kazu’s hair, gently combing out the tangles and knots formed during a rough night’s sleep. Kazu relaxed a little, leaning into Minato’s touch.

“Mmm… that’s nice.” He yawned and closed his eyes, resting his head against Min’s thigh.

“Good. Just let me know if you need anything.” Minato reminded him.

Kazu nodded dismissively. “Mmhm…” He’d complain if the cramps in his stomach got worse, but for now he preferred Minato’s presence over anything else.

The day seemed to be dragging on at an abysmal pace. Minato would swear he’d seen the hands of the clock moving backwards at one point. By mid-afternoon, Kazu had grown restless and a little bitchy. He was tapping his feet, twisting his ring, pulling on his hair. He snapped and barked whenever Min asked him a question, even something harmless like “Do you want another drink?” Minato tried not to take it to heart; he knew Kazu would never normally be mean to him, but it still stung.

“Fuck.” Kazu doubled over as a cramp gripped his stomach. It felt like Satan had a vice grip on his insides, and was about to wring him out like a nearly-empty toothpaste tube.

Minato cringed sympathetically, reaching out to rub Kazu’s back.

“Don’t touch me.” The dark-haired man hissed, pulling away.

“Oh… o… okay.” The heartbroken Minato quickly removed his hand. “Do you…” he paused, sniffling quietly, “do you need anything?”

Kazu paused, taking a moment to think through the pain. After a moment, he grumbled, “Fuckin’… trash can. I feel sick…” His voice wavered at the end of his sentence as the nausea grew worse.

Minato nodded, jumping to his feet and scurrying off. “Yeah, of course. Just a sec.” He returned a moment later with a clean, empty trash can in hand, holding it out to Kazu. “Here…”

“Th..thanks…” Kazu’s voice was tight, like he was trying to hide just how bad he was feeling. Even this ill, he felt incredibly anxious and vulnerable showing weakness.

“Of course, sweetie.” Minato fought back the urge to give Kazu a hug, knowing it wouldn’t be appreciated right now. Instead, he reached out with a delicate touch, carefully pinning Kazu’s hair back. It wasn’t long enough to tie into a ponytail anymore, but luckily Minato kept plenty of hairpins around, and those would work fine to keep Kazu’s hair out of his face. “It’s gonna be alright. Just… just try to breathe, and relax.”

“Mm.” Kazu once again wasn’t really listening. His head was swimming; he couldn’t focus on anything but the growing sick feeling in his stomach. Another cramp wracked his abdomen and he grimaced, ducking his head in the bin. Nothing came up just yet, but his mouth was watering and he knew it wouldn’t be long. He spit out a mouthful of bitter saliva, his shoulders tensing as he heaved. All that came up was watered-down vodka.

Another painful retch brought up more bile and liquor; he’d been drinking for a while before Minato got up. Though his stomach was now empty, it wasn’t nearly done trying to vomit. He heaved and gagged unproductively, his abdominal muscles cramping and clenching. By the time it stopped, his guts felt like they had been torn apart layer by layer with rusty pliers. Minato reached out slowly and carefully, taking the trash can from Kazu and setting it on the floor.

Sinking back into the couch cushions, Kazu grimaced, “Ah, fuck me…” He closed his eyes, gingerly resting a hand on his stomach. He took a slow breath, trying to gauge how deeply he could inhale without searing pain. Not deeply. The answer was not deeply at all.

“Do you need anything, sweetie?” Minato asked, hovering at his husband’s elbow. “Water? A cool cloth? Anything?”

Kazu shook his head. “Nah, I jus’… nah…” He couldn’t even be bothered to finish his sentence. His whole body was shaking like a screen door in a hurricane, despite his best efforts to stop it. The tremors were just aggravating his aches and pains, the physical equivalent of your ex and all your friends shit-talking you right after you’ve been brutally dumped. He never thought he’d long for the days when he would come home hungover and beaten senseless, but that would feel like paradise in comparison to his current state.

Minato bounced on his toes as he watched Kazu, anxiously flapping the sleeves of his sweater. He wanted to help, but what could he do? It wasn’t likely that Kazu wanted to be touched yet, and he hadn’t asked for anything. All Min could do was sit and wait, eager to help and incredibly worried.

The sun faded in the window as the evening dragged on, but Kazu’s condition wasn’t showing any signs of improving. Minato had paced around the living room about a thousand times, eventually stopping when Kazu complained that the footsteps were giving him a headache. The tiny blond sat on the edge of the couch, his large worried eyes focused closely on Kazu’s agonized expression. “Are you sure there’s not anything I can do to help?” He asked gently.

“I… I ‘on fuckin’ know… Kill me…” Kazu groaned. “My fuckin’ head is achin’… everything fuckin’ hurts… I’m so goddamn tired, but I can’t sleep…” He whined pitifully, rolling onto his side in an attempt to get more comfortable. He wasn’t shaking as much anymore, but every now and then, his left arm would tense up horribly, like it had been hit with a powerful electric shock. The spasms were actually bad enough that some of the deeper cuts on that arm had torn open, and Minato had had to bandage them up.

Minato worriedly scuffed the toe of his sock on the carpet, reaching a hesitant hand out towards Kazu’s shoulderblades. The younger man tensed up at first, but relaxed as the gentle rubbing motions soothed his aching muscles at least a little. He exhaled quietly, clearly relieved. “‘At… ‘at’s nice… thanks, baby…” He mumbled.

“Of course, honey. Do you think a hot water bottle might help some?” Minato ventured. Kazu spent a bit pondering this; his brain was running on about 10% its normal processing power, busy trying to block out intense pain and the growing desire to get high. Once he’d spent about a minute thinking it over, Kazu finally managed a coherent reply.

“Yeah… ‘at’d be nice…” He nodded meekly, giving a quiet whine as Minato stopped rubbing his back to stand up. The sound didn’t go unnoticed, and the petite older man gently shushed Kazu, petting his hair.

“I’ll be back in a minute, sweetie. Don’t stress yourself out.”

As promised, Minato returned quickly, hot water bottle in one hand, a glass of water in the other. Setting the glass down, he offered the bottle to Kazu, who very gingerly rested it against his sore stomach muscles. The new sensation caused him to tense up at first, and he shivered briefly, another tremor running through his arm. As the heat started to soothe the aches, though, Kazu began to relax, letting out a soft content sigh.

“There you go. See, that’s nice, isn’t it?” Minato purred, climbing back onto the couch. He was careful not to nudge Kazu as he got up on the cushions, and once he was situated, he went back to rubbing his husband’s back. If Kazu was a dog, his tail would have been wagging. “How are you feeling?” Minato asked after a minute.

“Lil better…” Kazu admitted. There was an unrelenting nausea swirling in the pit of his stomach, but it wasn’t as bad as before. The only other noticeable discomfort was in his chest - his heart was racing like he’d been running, and his lungs felt tight. Minato could feel the speedy pulse and shallow breathing, and he frowned a little, not sure how to help with that. Since he couldn’t think of anything more useful to do, he closed his eyes, and for the first time since his childhood, Minato found himself praying.

God… Buddha… Satan… Cthulhu… whatever power is out there, please, please let us get through this. I know Kazu isn’t always the most morally solid, but he’s all I have, and I love him. I need him to survive. I need him to recover. Please. If you need me to do something, say the word and I will. I’ll pray to you for the rest of my days. I’ll shave my head, I’ll wear a burka. Whatever you need. Just please, for the love of whatever you are, help my Kazu. He needs it.

Minato was exhausted, physically and mentally, and his mind started to zone out as he finished his prayers. The next thing he knew, he was waking up to sunlight peeking in the living room window. Horrified at how long he’d been out, he turned to see how Kazu was doing. The devilish, dark-haired man was still lying on the couch, curled around the no-longer-hot water bottle. His eyes were half-closed with dark, bruise-coloured shadows beneath, and there was a ghastly greenish-grey tinge to his face. The trash can on the floor had moved some, and the water glass on the side table was empty.

“Morning…” Minato ventured, keeping his voice soft and low.

“Ey…” Kazu croaked. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, slowly sitting up. He moved like the Tin Man badly in need of oil; a small stretch caused him to wince, and he curled back in on himself, setting the water bottle aside.

Minato quickly climbed to his feet, gathering the bottle and the empty glass. “What can I get you, honey?” He asked, looking Kazu up and down as he tried to think. The younger man looked about like a traumatized zombie at the moment; withdrawal was not his most flattering state.

Kazu thought for a moment before giving a hesitant reply. “Vodka.” He wasn’t sure if it would stay down, but he couldn’t handle craving booze and heroin at the same time. He’d fucking snap, no question. Minato nodded resolutely; he understood how Kazu was feeling, and wanted to help in any way he could.

Scuffling into the kitchen, the tiny blond grabbed a granola bar to munch on while he assembled a drink for Kazu. He initially picked up a shot glass before setting that aside; Kazu would want way more than it could hold, there was no point. He shifted between different glasses as he pondered, eyeing the mixers and cocktail supplies floating around the kitchen.

“Do you want it straight up, or mixed with something?” Min asked after a moment.

“I don’t do anything straight.” Kazu cackled hoarsely before giving Minato a serious reply. “Do it on the rocks, babe.”

“Gotcha.” Minato nodded, now ducking into the fridge for ice. He returned to the living room shortly after, holding out a glass of vodka. “Here.”

“Thanks, baby.” Kazu reached out a hand for the drink, his other hand joining it as he realized how unsteady his grip was. He sipped slowly at the ice-cold liquor, relaxing a little as the glass grew empty. Though he’d rather Kazu rely on something healthier, Minato was relieved to see his husband feeling at least a bit better. He ended up retrieving a few more glasses of vodka before settling onto the couch. Kazu wasn’t up to do much, but he’d turned on the TV out of sheer boredom, and was currently watching some nature documentary, as it was aesthetically pleasing and mentally lax.

Somewhat less miserable now that he had a buzz going, Kazu adjusted on the couch, wincing and putting a hand to his sore stomach; he’d been sick a couple times last night, and his abdominal muscles were still aching fiercely. “Ey, baby? Y… ya think ya could heat up ‘at fuckin’ water bottle ‘gain?” He asked.

Minato nodded, hopping up and running of to do as requested. “Of course! Hang on…” He came back with a freshly heated water bottle, offering it to Kazu with a gentle smile. When their hands met, Min noticed that Kazu wasn’t cold to the touch like yesterday; he was actually warm, even by Kazu standards.

“Oh, honey…” Minato reached out, pressing the back of his hand to Kazu’s forehead. It was startlingly hot, with sweat beading up on his brow. “I think you’ve got a fever.”

Kazu just shrugged. He honestly felt like he might drop dead at any moment; his slight drunkenness was allowing him to somewhat tune out any specific ailments, leaving just a general aura of unwellness to haunt him. “And?” He asked, wondering what Minato planned to do about it.

“We should probably try to get your temperature down. It’s not healthy…” Minato hurried off to the bathroom, returning with a cool washcloth in hand. “Lean forward a little,” He cooed, gently coaxing Kazu’s shoulders off the back of the couch. As the younger man ducked his head towards Min, the petite blond placed the cool cloth on the back of Kazu’s neck, gently shushing him as he flinched at the chill. “It’s okay… you’ll get used to it in a second. Go ahead and relax now.” Kazu nodded meekly, leaning back against the cushions once more. Once he was settled, Minato joined him on the couch,  curling up very carefully against his husband. Kazu didn’t seem to mind, wrapping an arm around Minato and holding him close like a teddy bear.

The day passed in relative peace. Kazu watched documentaries, and Min attempted to coax a bit of soup into him. That didn’t work out very well; the soup came back up only ten minutes later, but at least they’d tried. As day faded into night, Kazu was getting restless. He kept asking Minato for more vodka, and even when properly drunk, he stirred and adjusted, fidgeting about like a hyperactive child. He startled at every little thing; the meow of the cat, the beep of a phone, Minato’s touch on his arm. His tiny husband was getting worried, but didn’t really know how to help beyond dimming the lights and turning off the ringer on his cell. Tonight, though, he was determined to stay awake and keep an eye on Kazu. Being alone for another night definitely wouldn’t be good for the dark-haired demon; it might be enough to push him over the edge. As midnight drew close, the very drowsy Minato made his way to the kitchen, heating up a cup of tea to keep him alert. “Do you need anything while I’m up, sweetie?”

Kazu shook his head, adjusting a little on the couch. The tremors in his arm had been growing more frequent, and his fever was still burning viciously. All he wanted to do was hold still and go to sleep, but his body had emphatically vetoed both of those actions. He was shaking again, worse than before, and the vodka he’d so eagerly downed earlier was churning uncomfortably in his stomach.

Minato nodded, dumping several spoonfuls of sugar into his tea before coming back to the couch. He sipped his hot drink, studying Kazu’s face; he knew his husband better than anyone, and he could tell that at the moment, Kazu’s predominant concern was his growing nausea. “Would you like a glass of water, honey?” He offered tentatively.

Kazu waved his hand dismissively. “Wouldn’t stay down.”

Minato’s brows furrowed in concern. “Are you feeling that sick?” he asked. He reached out with his foot, tactilely confirming that the trash can was still nearby.

The dark-haired young man nodded, and even that simple motion seemed a laborious task for him. “‘S been gettin’ worse the last hour ‘r two…” he admitted, gingerly resting a hand on his churning stomach.

“Can I help at all?” Minato asked, even though he knew the answer.

“Nah.” Kazu mumbled, closing his eyes and leaning his head back, trying to take slow, steady breaths. Determined to be counterproductive, his chest tightened, making it a struggle for him to breathe at all. This stressed him out a little, which in turn aggravating his queasiness. As his anxiety built up, the negative thoughts sprung out of their hiding spots. “No… fuck.” He groaned, feeling his mood drop from low to sub zero.

Yeah, you’re miserable, aren’t you, bitch? You fucking deserve it. Feeling sick? Good. Remember all the times you’ve thrown up in the past. How bad your head was spinning. How much your stomach hurt. Now think about all the people you’ve betrayed and mistreated, how happy they’d be to see you like this. Maybe they’ll find you now. You’ve been living in the same spot for years now, god knows somebody must have noticed. You’re in no shape to fight anybody right now. They could bust in and kill your ass dead. Or even better, they could kill Minato and leave you to suffer. Yeah, that’s good. Imagine all the ways they could torture him. Cut fingers off one by one. Tear off sections of skin. Make tiny cuts everywhere so he bleeds out sloooowly.

Kazu cringed, shaking his head as the voices in his head ranted and raved. “No, stop. Stop it. Shut up. Stop. Oh go-od…” He shuddered, his stomach turning violently at the mental image of a skinned and slowly dying Minato. His shaking hands desperately grabbed at the trash can, barely managing to pull it up into his lap before his stomach contents spewed into the bin. Vodka and bile was a bitter combination; it burned coming up, bad enough to clear one’s sinuses. Luckily, it only took one powerful heave to empty his stomach, not surprising, considering how little he’d consumed lately. He continued to gag into the bin, retching and coughing as his stomach did somersaults inside him.

Minato sat anxiously, keeping a close eye on his husband, but keeping his hands to himself; he knew Kazu didn’t like to be touched when he was feeling sick, but Min also wanted to be ready if he was needed. It was several minutes before Kazu stopped dry heaving. By then he was painfully drained, resting his forehead on the arm he’d slung across the edge of the bin. Minato reached over, giving Kazu the lightest possible nudge.

“Honey, come on. Lean back for me. Relax. I’ll bring you a little water, you can rinse your mouth, try to get some rest.”

Kazu flinched at first, startled despite Minato’s gentle touch and soft tone. Once he processed what his tiny husband had said, he did his best to cooperate, lifting his head from the trash can and slumping back against the couch cushions. Minato grabbed the trash can, setting it aside and hurrying off to get water. He returned a moment later, holding the glass up to Kazu’s lips; he could tell the younger man was too shaky to hold it. Kazu managed a sip or two before nudging the water away. His voice was raw and pained as he forced out a barely-audible, “Thanks, baby…”

Minato nodded, kissing Kazu’s forehead. “Don’t strain yourself, sweetie. I know you’re grateful. Just rest as best you can, okay?” Kazu nodded, closing his eyes and gingerly curling up, adjusting repeatedly as he tried to find a position more comfortable for his aching stomach. Minato could see that it wasn’t working and ran off to reheat the hot water bottle. “Here, honey. This might help…”

Kazu accepted the bottle, slowly relaxing as he settled it against his cramping abdomen. He adjusted subtly, growing noticeably more comfortable as the heat soothed his strained muscles. Minato smiled faintly as he saw Kazu relaxing a little. He perched on the edge of the couch, gently stroking Kazu’s hair and looking to see what documentary was playing now. Something about elephants. Elephants are cool. Minato settled in, content to watch elephants and attend to his husband.

Though he didn’t sleep at all, Kazu was pretty quiet throughout the night. He was so exhausted, all he could manage was the occasional pitiful whine when the thoughts in his head got particularly cruel. Every whine was met with a gentle shushing from Minato, who was currently doing a very good job of hiding how worried he was. Inside, he was starting to panic. Kazu hadn’t been nearly this sick nearly this long last time they’d suffered through this. Was Kazu going to get better?

Of course he was. He had to. Minato shook his head. He couldn’t think like that, it would just make things worse. Sighing shakily, he pulled out his phone, almost finishing a text message before he realized nobody else would be up at three in the morning to talk to. He huffed in frustration, putting his phone back away and going back to watching elephants.

As the early morning hours slogged on, Minato found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open, despite the several cups of tea he’d sucked down that night. He didn’t manage to make it far past sunrise, slipping off into dreamland around seven in the morning.

When he woke up, Minato was incredibly mad with himself. Had he really fallen asleep and left Kazu alone again? He was so awful. How could he even - wait. Was that… snoring? Minato looked over at Kazu, suddenly realizing that his husband was curled up, buried under a blanket and sound asleep. He sighed in relief; Kazu had really needed some sleep. Minato promised himself he wouldn’t move from this spot until his husband woke up. He daren’t risk waking poor Kazu up right now.

The last dregs of sunlight were seeping in the window when Kazu woke up. He sat up, stretching and groaning and rubbing his eyes. He sunk back down on the couch. Fuck, he felt rough. What day was it? What time was it? His memory was a jumbled mess; he couldn’t make heads or tails of the last two weeks. The last thing he really remembered was sneaking out in the middle of the night, desperate for a fix. When had he gotten home? When had he sobered up? When did he last eat? His stomach was growling, though every muscle in his torso was aching like hell.

“Ahhh fuck…” He grumbled, climbing to his feet in search of food. He wobbled a little, leaning on the wall for a moment before shuffling into the kitchen.

Minato had slipped back off to sleep waiting for Kazu to wake up, but the shifting of weight on the couch had been enough to wake him. When he woke to an empty couch, he quickly hopped to his feet, running to the kitchen and throwing his arms around his husband. “Kazu-chan! You’re up. How are you feeling?”

“Fuckin’ terrible,” Kazu replied, tugging on Minato’s arms so the small one would loosen his grip. He was still in way too much pain for tight hugs. “Fuckin’ starvin’, though…” Kazu ducked down, rummaging through the fridge until he found leftover miso soup. “Perfect.” He pulled it out and got to work heating it up; by the time it was hot and ready, he was already looking quite drained, sinking into a dining room chair to eat solely because it was closer than the couch.

Plopping down in a chair adjacent to Kazu, Minato chirped, “Don’t strain yourself, honey. You’re still in pretty rough shape. When you’re done eating, go lie down, and I’ll take care of you, whatever you need.”

“You sure?” Kazu asked between sips of soup. “I don’ wanna be a problem or nothin’…”

Minato shook his head emphatically. “It’s no trouble honey, I promise. Just take it easy, okay?”

“Mmkay…” Kazu nodded, going back to his food. When he was done eating, he climbed to his feet, steadying himself on the back of the chair before shuffling slowly down the hall. He threw open the door to the bedroom, flopping onto their mattress with an exhausted sigh. He normally didn’t appreciate or even like how squishy the bed was, but today its soft, gentle embrace was a blessing.

Hot on his tail, Minato appeared in the bedroom shortly after Kazu. He made sure the younger man was tucked in nicely, with a glass of water on the side table. Pressing his hand to Kazu’s forehead again, he frowned to detect a still-high fever. “Sweetie? I need to ask you one thing before you go back to sleep.”

“Sup, baby?” Kazu yawned.

“Do you think you could manage to take a little medicine? You’re running a pretty bad fever…” Minato asked, expecting a solid no.

Kazu thought for a moment before giving a timid nod. “I can try.” He shrugged.

Minato smiled in surprise, hurrying off to the bathroom to rummage through the medicine cabinet. A few baby aspirin would probably be the safest bet to lower a fever, even if they were a bit weak. He returned with pills and water in hand, offering both to Kazu, who downed them without hesitation.

“‘S at it? Can I sleep now?” The dark-haired man mumbled, already starting to doze off.

“Yes, of course. Go right to sleep. Get as much rest as you need.” Minato nodded, climbing into bed next to Kazu, still rather tired himself after the last few days.

Minato spent the next week or so trying to nurse Kazu back to proper health. His fever had faded after a day or two, but he was still achy, stressed, and pretty weak, only staying up for a few hours at a time and sleeping most of the day away. Minato didn’t mind; it meant Kazu was getting all the rest he needed, and it gave him time to catch up on chores around the house.

It was a Wednesday morning when Minato finally called his mother again. “Yeah, hi. We’re doing good. I don’t have long to talk, I’ve got food on the stove, but you can bring Takao home today if you want. Thank you again for taking care of him, I really appreciate it. Yeah, I love you too. Talk later, my eggs are burning.” He hung up to finish preparing breakfast, bringing a plate of not-at-all-burnt scrambled eggs to Kazu. The younger man hadn’t been eating much, but he’d been eating regularly at least. That was a start.

“Takao is coming home today.” Minato remarked, sitting with Kazu on the couch to eat his own breakfast.

“Oh…” Kazu looked down at the ground, now quiet and nervous. He lacked any firsthand memory of it, but Minato had told him about the fight he and Takao had gotten into last week. Kazu wasn’t eager to see the boy after all that chaos; he still wasn’t feeling that well, and he didn’t have the energy to handle an argument. Maybe if he just held very still on the couch, he wouldn’t be noticed.

Minato gave Kazu a gentle pat on the back. “It’ll be okay, I promise. Don’t stress yourself out. He’ll be back in a few hours. In the meantime, just relax, watch TV. Deal with whatever elephants are in the room when he shows up.”

Kazu nodded dully, grabbing his phone to browse the internet for a bit. Just for shits, he opened his email, since he hadn’t checked it in forever. 97 work emails. Shit. He had missed three different deadlines, and his boss was livid with him. Kazu groaned, closing his phone and setting it aside. Maybe if he ignored it long enough, it would go away.

Around one in the afternoon, the doorbell rang. Minato was in the garage doing laundry, so Kazu reluctantly got up to answer it. Undoing the deadbolts, he swung the door open and stood back. “Ey.”

Takao was alone. He’d convinced his grandma to drop him off at the curb instead of coming up with him. He took a moment to look Kazu up and down, his jaw sliding to the floor as he did so. The lanky, dark-haired young man looked about ten years older and twenty pounds lighter than Takao remembered. He actually felt a pang of pity; Kazu looked like he felt absolutely terrible.

“Hey,” Takao replied, trying to find a light topic of conversation to break the ice. “You guys fed my cat while I was gone, right?”

“Nope, sold it on the black market.” Kazu waited about three seconds before adding, “Nah. He’s still in ya room, fuckin’ meowin’ at everything. Noisy piece a shit…”

Takao relaxed a little. Kazu’s joking tone was unexpected, but very much welcome. Apparently he’d buried the hatchet, at least for now. Kazu was equally relieved at the lack of tension, but kept it hidden better. “Get in here already. Close the door, set ya shit down, feed the cat.”

Takao nodded, scrambling inside and locking the door behind him. Meanwhile, Kazu flopped back on the couch with a yawn.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s good to see you.”

[buckyismyaesthetic]

Punk (Chap. 4)

Summary: You’re head over heels for your best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.

Word count: 1878 

Warnings: Cursing, low-self esteem, chubby!reader x bucky, idk….

A/N:  Sorry for the long wait.  I needed some time.  I’ve got the next few chapters just about ready to go…and I’m gonna try and make them hurt ;) yay angst!

After Natasha successfully slammed you to the mat for the sixteenth time in a row you finally cried ‘uncle’ and ended the hour long workout/torture session.  You’d come here to kickbox and beat the holy hell out of a bag but a certain spider had other ideas.

“I deserve this,” you groaned.  Your chest heaved as your lungs strained for breath. The amorphous blob of a sweatshirt you insisted on wearing while exercising was soaked with sweat and made you feel as if you were slowly cooking in one of Hell’s saunas.  “This is why I hate exercising.”  Nat extended a hand to pull you to your feet but you shook your head dramatically on the mat.  “No, just leave me here to die.  I quit.  You go out and fight the good fight.  I’ll save my skills and start a nice, quiet dart league or somethin’.”  Natasha rolled her eyes and kicked your leg. “No, seriously.  I retire my knives to you.  My guns, throwing stars, all of it.  Take care of Ferd for me.  Tell him his mummy loved him,” you wailed with a huge fake sob.

Nat chuckled as she sipped from her water bottle. You did this every time she beat you; abandoned your position on the team, gave away your possessions, forced someone to take care of Ferdinand after you were gone.  Granted, hand-to-hand wasn’t really your strong suit. You were a sniper…of sorts.  A deadshot.  A bulls-eye artist.  Basically, you always hit your target….except when it came to love…

Speaking of love… “Aw, come on. You can’t die on me, Punk.” Bucky’s throaty chuckle caught you off guard and you scrambled to your feet, blowing out your cheeks at the nickname. Punk  Uuuunnnngggghhh.  He was leaning against the door to the training room, shirt soaked with sweat and clinging to his torso.  The ripples and panes of muscle became more defined with each breath.  God, he was so rude!  Who did he think he was?!  Just walking around looking like that?! Ugh.  He was all sweaty and slightly out of breath, but his eyes were bright and he looked like he was fucking glowing.  Who looks like that after they run twenty miles in an hour?!

You, on the other hand, looked like a boiled potato. After an hour of having your ass introduced to the floor on loop, your face was bright red, you had underboob sweat stains, the deodorant you had obsessively applied earlier had failed about forty-five minutes ago, and sweat was running down from your hair in long rivulets.   Why were you so gross?  Nat wasn’t sweating like a pig and she had been working out just as hard as you. You sighed inwardly.  Everything you did just seemed to fall somewhere on the ‘disgusting spectrum’.  Usually leaning towards ‘ugh’ or ‘blegh’ but right now you were done right ‘oh dear lord’.

“Hey, B,” you mumbled quickly, trying to fix your rats nest of a ponytail and wiping the sweat from your brow.

“Hey.  Glad ta see you’re still alive,” he chuckled at you, giving you a flash of those pearly whites.  “Just stopped in ta let ya know that the food’ll be here in thirty.  Best get cleaned up.”  And with that he waved and walked out of the gym.

“Let’s save water and shower together,” you whined at his retreating form.

Nat barked in laughter.  “Oh my god, you should’ve said that!”

“Aaaahhhh-bsolutely not.”

“Oh come on!  That would be the perfect way to flirt with him.”

“No, that would be the perfect way to watch me spontaneously combust.”

“How about we try flirting tonight?” the red head suggested.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” you teased.

“Yeah, how do you think I got ‘im?” She quirked an eyebrow up at you.

Touché.

“Get off the fucking counter!”  Tony hollered.  He was trying to unpack the Chinese food bags but a certain fat, black cat was sticking his nose in containers of Chow Mein, knocking packages of duck sauce onto the floor, and yowling obnoxiously at the billionaire. “One of these days, cat, I’m gonna—”

“Tony, if you lay one finger on Ferdinand I will carve you up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”  You strolled into the kitchen wearing your typical post-shower attire: wet hair in a messy bun, flannel pajama bottoms, and a New York Rangers hockey t-shirt.  Ferdinand purred loudly at you and you cradled him like a baby in your arms. “Did that mean old man yell at my precious little baby?” you cooed.  “My poor lil pumpkin.”

“Just keep him away from me,” Tony muttered, glaring at the cat in your arms.  “And off the counters!”

You gave him a dramatic salute.  Bucky came up from behind you and pulled Ferd from your arms. “Hey, buddy.”  The cat began to purr like a speed boat as the super soldier held him.  “You causin’ trouble?”  He walked over to the dining room table and cradled Ferd in his lap as he began to spoon boneless ribs onto a plate.

“B, don’t give him any food!” you scolded, knowing full well what he was about to do.  “He’s too fat.”

“Y/N! You’re gonna give him low self-esteem!” Bucky cried dramatically and you couldn’t hide your smile.  “Poor Ferdinand,” Bucky cooed, slipping the cat a piece of pork.  “Your mama is always fat-shaming you. Doesn’t she know that looks don’t matter?!  Tsk Tsk. Well, I love ya for who ya are, buddy.”  He gave the cat a loud smooch and sat him on the floor to go beg for scraps from the other team members.

“Buck,” you whined, seeing Ferd lick the pork from his lips.

Bucky merely sent you a toothy grin.  “Come on, Punk.  He was hungry!  Come eat.”

With an inward cringe at the nickname you grabbed a bowl for you soup and looked around the table.  Nat and Clint had appropriated some portion of the other’s chair as they ate.  Wanda was pouring drinks and passing them down.  Steve and Tony were calling out orders and handing out steaming cartons of noodles to their owners.  Sam managed to steal the open seat next to Bucky, much to your dismay, and you were forced to sit between Thor and Vision, far away from your favourite super soldier, at the opposite end of the table.

Conversation buzzed around you, but you didn’t really feel up to participating.  This happened sometimes, lately more often than not.  Something just seemed to happen to you when it came to….eating.   Now, you loved food.  It was kind of obvious actually.  Half the time you planned your next meal while eating the current one. But lately, and you weren’t sure exactly when it started, every time you ate something, even something you really liked, like pizza or ice cream or spaghetti, you felt….guilty?….bad?…ashamed?

With every bite you felt like you were somehow doing something wrong, something forbidden.  An obsessive need to count calories occasionally seized your mind. Half the time it felt like you spent more time reading nutrition labels than actual books!  And those feelings were only amplified when you were forced into eating around the others.  You felt like some sort of zoo creature around them.  Oh look, meal time at the hippo pond!

You popped half a dumpling into your mouth. Ferdinand rubbed up against your leg under the table, hoping that food would fall from the sky.  Absently, you began to push your noodles around the plate, losing your appetite as the others munched away happily on crab rangoons and sesame chicken.  Angry, self-loathing thoughts bubbled to the surface in your mind.  Were the others looking at you while you ate?  Judging you for the food you put in your mouth?  Look at Y/N, shovelling it in like garbage truck.  Were they as disgusted be you as you were?  Did they think of you as fat slob with no self-control? Because that’s how you felt.  Because even when you tried to be good and not eat so much, eventually hunger pangs tore through you and you just had to eat.  And you didn’t always want salad or veggies.  Sometimes you wanted cookies or peanut butter or candy.  It was just so hard to—

“Y/N, are you going to eat that?”  Thor interrupted your inner turmoil and pointed to the untouched egg roll on your plate.  You shook your head and he grabbed it with a muffled ‘thanks!’ and shoved the entire roll in mouth.

You looked up and locked eyes with Sam.  He mouthed, ‘you good?’ and you nodded putting a false smile on your face, not wanting to explain your loss of appetite.

“Who’s ready for desert?”  Steve asked a few minutes later and was met with smatterings of approval.  You helped Vision clear the plates, hoping to slip out of the kitchen and ditch desert without being noticed.  Your self-control could not resist apple pie.  It was your kryptonite.

“That’s the last of them,” Vision said turning off the sink and grabbing a set of desert plates and a cake knife.  He gave you a small smile and walked back to the dining room as you dried the last of the bowls.  You were just about ready to make a break for it when you turned around just as Bucky strolled into the kitchen.  His dark hair was still slightly wet from his shower earlier causing his short curls to glisten in the light. God, he’s so fucking perfect.  You licked your lips and quickly turned to put the last dish on the rack.

“Told ya there’d be pie,” he whispered as he grabbed the vanilla ice cream from the freezer, letting the cold air sweep over you. You shivered.  Please let him think it’s just from the cold.  “Come on, Punk.”  Merhhh.  “I know you can’t resist,” he teased with a twinkle in his eye that you couldn’t quite decipher.  Great, he’s gonna lead the pig to the slop trough.

You sighed, torn as to what to do.  If you rejected the pie he’d ask you who you were and what had you done with Y/N.  If you ate the pie he’d see you eat the pie.  He’d see you shovelling in spoonfuls of warm, mushy apple and crispy crust mixed in with sweet vanilla ice cream all the while sporting a blissed-out look on your face.

But either way, he knows you’re fat.  The evidence was right in front of him, staring him in the face.  Might as well eat the pie, hate yourself, and avoid any awkward questions.  Bucky didn’t need to hear you whine about how grotesque you were.  He didn’t want to hear about that.  Nobody wanted to hear about it.  It was your own stupid, gluttonous fault that you were this way.  Nobody felt sorry for you.  With a sniffled sob, you trudged back towards the others.

When you at back down at the table, Bucky gave you an enormous grin and handed you a plate with the biggest slice of pie and three scoops of ice cream, more than any of the others, and it took all you’re strength not to burst into tears.    The biggest slob had gotten the biggest slice.

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