#maybe it was my no sleep shrimp emotions but the emotions i was feeling were RAW | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ff-imagines · 3 years

Note

Can i request some nsfw headcanons for mantis shrimp? I read through your blog and let me just say: I'm a big fan. Btw if you dont wanna do them thats fine as well

Salt and pepper shrimp: nsfw alphabet

I did the whole alphabet bc? Why not! Side note I rly wanna write a fic going off my thoughts ab his experience level >:)

A - aftercare

Look, getting him to release you from his hold to go to the bathroom on a regular night is a battle enough. After sex? Phew I wish you luck. Might wanna just put some water on your night stand beforehand. You would be able to convince him to take a bath with you pretty easily though, he likes how the warm water feels very much. Make sure to cuddle him in the bath still, he's in a very vulnerable state right now and he really needs some good old tlc.

B- body parts

he’s got a weird fixation with your hands. He likes to compare hand sizes, whether your hands are bigger or smaller isn’t what he likes, he just likes to admire them. He loves sucking/biting your fingers while he’s got you in his lap. Lacing your fingers with his with one hand while bringing the other to his cheek, nuzzling into your hand while he bounces you on his cock.

On himself, there is tragically little that he genuinely likes. He views himself as a weapon, getting him to unlearn that will not be an easy process, trust me, Boston has tried. Complimenting his eyes does seem to make him a little more flustered than other praises, and he has a hard time staring you in the eye during sex…. maybe we can start there.

C - cum

His cum is pretty thin but there’s a shit ton of it. Enough that if he cums inside you swear you can feel the warmth as his cock pours rope and rope of his seed into you.

He doesn’t actually care where he cums, just ask him and he’ll comply.

inside you? sounds good.

On your back? Say less.

On the floor? You’re cleaning it, but sure.

He did discover he’s got an affinity for watching his cum on your tongue. I don’t know how you’d be able to swallow it all, but any attempt you make will be met with shrimp getting hard all over again.

D - dirty secret

He secretly thinks it’d be really hot for you to dom him. It’s gonna take a very long time before he’s comfortable letting you have that Linda control over him, just the thought of being tied up, hands behind his back while you praise him for being such a good boy, its a fantasy he’s visited on many sleepless nights.

E - experience

Nope. Nada. To be frank, I think he’s the definition of Demisexual, and he has yet to meet anyone besides Boston and the anti-human gang who he genuinely wants to get to know better. He definitely hasn’t met anyone who wants to get to know better for romantic reasons.

He doesn’t know enough about human customs to know that it can be embarrassing for someone to be inexperienced, but he does feel very very nervous the first few times. He’ll need a lot of reassurance, give him praise and he’s putty in your hands.

F - favorite position

I'm gonna be boring and say missionary. It’s simple, easy, and since he’s brand new to all of this it’s the least mentally overstimulating. He very much likes that he can see your face.

If he’s feeling extra spicy he might grab onto the inside of your knees and push you into the mating press, though he really only does this if he’s upset or jealous.

If you ask nicely he might let you sit in his lap, as a treat. Bouncing on his cock as he litters your chest with bite marks, what a treat it is <3

G - goofy

…. yea for sure definitely. He’s a real jokester.

On a serious note, he himself is not a goofy person whatsoever, but he would actually like it if you were. Outright making fun of him or harsh teasing is an immediate turn off, but light jokes to ease his nerves is for sure welcomed since he’s very tense the first few times.

Give him time and you might even catch him cracking a small joke himself, all the while giving you a weak, nervous smile.

H- hair

He doesn’t trim or shave anything lmao. He’s busy, and also doesn’t care literally at all. He’s got a thin happy trail that can be easy to miss since he's blonde.

He’s got the same energy with your body hair, he doesn’t care. If you do shave he might ask why, just out of curiosity. If your reason is insecurity, he’ll probably suggest you let it grow, he doesn’t care and he’s the only one who’ll ever see it lmao

I- intimacy

It’s an awkward “i hope to fuck I’m doing this right” kind of intimacy. He fumbles and messes up a lot, he might even accidentally miss when thrusting and end up just kinda rubbing himself on you but he’s really trying. Just from the fact he’s willing to try this at all with you is a big sign that he’s really trying his best to be as intimate as he can with you.

J- jerk off

Before meeting you, not a lot actually. He mostly just did it if he ever woke up from a wet dream and knew that if he didn’t take care of it now he’d never be able to get back to sleep.

After your first time together, his first time, he thinks back the immeasurable pleasure a lot, finding himself in need of relief a lot more than he ever did before. You are the catalyst to his drive, and you are also the only thing he can think about that can help him cum. It’s kinda sweet in a perverted way.

K- Kinks

He will bite you. It’s just so easy to bruise you and it makes your relationship status to others so obvious, he can’t just… not bite you.

Marking, going along with the biting kink. This goes both ways, he’d love for you to scratch at his back enough to leave red marks, to bite as his collarbone, grip his hips tight enough to bruise. He likes looking at the marks later, they remind him that he did good, he made you feel good, that’s all he really wants.

He doesn’t exactly have a breeding kink as much as this goes along with the marking aspect. Suggest to him that he cum deep inside you to mark your insides… he might give you 2-3 loads just to make sure you're nice and full, completely claimed.

He also kinda likes to make you cry. Overstimulating you to the point of tears gives him a sense of pride he hasn’t really felt before.

He really likes temperature play as well, dragging ice cubes and hot wax across your skin and watching you flinch and squirm just does something to him.

And of course, light bondage. He probably found out it was a thing after reading some kinda erotic fiction and immediately went to you like “why did you not tell me about this?????” He adores how to look all tied up and stuck, right in the palm of his hands. It makes him feel emotional as well, that you’re willing to give him such a powerful amount of control over you.

Last but not least, please praise him. During sex as well as day to day. Let him know he’s so pretty, he’s doing so good, he’s cock feels so so good, he might cum on the spot.

L- location

The first time he’d really need it to be in a secluded, safe area. He’s gotta feel comfy if he’s gonna get into the mood.

Every other time? Babes you’ve awakened a beast, he’ll get random spikes of “if I don’t at least try to fuck them I will scream”. You could be in the middle of a forest running from an axe wielding murderer and this horny bastard would still find a way to pull you aside and rail you against a tree.

There most likely isn’t a spot in your home that he hasn’t fucked you against.

Peaceful moment of washing dishes? Think again, he’s plopping you on the kitchen counter and diving to mouth at your neck.

Writing some papers? Just sit on his lap, you’ll feel much less stressed with his cock buried to the hilt, won’t you?

Doing laundry? Might have to rewash them cause now he’s using the clothes as a bed to fuck you on. He’ll apologize and help you fold them after they’re rewashed bc he feels bad lmao

M- motivation

Like I said, he’s set off by the smallest things. A little stretch, wiping some water off on your pants, humming a song, all of it can randomly make him feel the need to fuck you.

The most intense and quickest way to rile him up is either playing with his hair, or massaging his back. It starts out innocent but he just can’t take the thought of your pretty hands working so lovingly and not at least trying to reciprocate and make you feel good too.

N- no

No sharing. He doesn’t want someone else to see you, and he doesn’t want someone else to see him. It’s just not something he likes.

He also hates humiliation. He… would tolerate it if you asked for it, even if he doesn’t get why you’d want him to outright insult you. But for himself? Fuck no, he hates it so fuckin much. He’s a sensitive insecure puppy that wants your attention very badly, pls don’t hurt him like that :(

O- oral

Oh please give him oral. He’s begging. Well, he’d never outright beg but the way his eyes fixate on your mouth a lot is his way of silently pleading for you to wrap your lips around his cock. His soul ascends a little every time he sees his cum dribbling down your face, he might be even willing to make out with his cum still on your tongue.

As for giving, he’s got no clue what the hell he’s doing but he’s nervously eager to try. Guide him as best you can, he’s good at measuring your reactions so he can handle the rest. Tug on his hair a little bit if you wanna drive him crazy.

He’ll get a lot better with time, his eagerness to please however, does not leave him in the slightest.

P- pace

The first time? Slow and unsure, then he realizes “oh fuck this feels stupid good” and his pace becomes almost punishing. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, he’s unknowingly going deeper and harder than you've ever been dicked down in your life. If you want him to, somehow, go harder? Grab his hand and place it over your stomach to make him feel his cock enter you through your skin, his hand slides down to grip your hips and slams into you, wiggling his hips without withdrawing to gain some of his sanity back before he’s back to a punishing pace.

Q- quickies

Oh hell yea. He lives for them. Sudden moments of horniness come to him all the time and since this spike in desire is brand new, he hasn’t really… learned to live with it yet. He pulls you aside into closets and alleyways all the time, he can’t help that you feel so warm and snug :(

R- risk

He doesn’t exactly enjoy the thought of a voyeur, he really doesn’t want to share you with anyone. But… there is a deeper part of him that finds a sense of pride if someone were to hear you getting absolutely pounded by him, desperately crying out and whining for him to go deeper, even better if they were someone who pined for you….

S- stamina

Well, to be frank he cums pretty quickly. It’s all so brand new to him, he really can’t help it. Lucky for you, his refractory time is crazy low. He can cum once, watch you do some mindless motion you always do and he’s right back to being hard again in minutes.

T- toys

Not against it, but is again, brand new to all this shit. He’s very interested in using your own toys against you though. Would definetly use a vibrater to edge and overstim you. He’d be interested in a cock ring, only if you were willing to endure a vibrator while he fucks you, he doesn’t wanna be the only one struggling lmao

U- unfair

He can be, yea. He kinda likes edging you, but not as much as he likes overstimulating you.

He loves to hear how you beg under him when he’s pulling you so close to the edge, keeping you just far enough to drive you insane.

Overstimming though? The way you twitch and beg, how your chest heaves and your mouth hangs open into a silent scream, eyes shut tight and watering, now that’s the good shit.

V- volume

Doesn’t talk much, but for sure gives out a lot of groans. This is something he’s never felt before in his life, the first few times you're going to get a lot of whines and surprised yelps, check up on him and make sure he’s still doing alright, he’s just very nervous.

As he gets more comfortable, he gives you quiet praises and promises to make you feel good. He also groans quite a lot, but since his voice is deeper it can be hard to catch.

W- wild card

He really wants to try using his prosthetic arm for temperature play, he’s just not at all confident in himself enough to bring it up. He likes the thought of you jumping and squirming under his touch, for now he can just stick to wax play.

X- X Ray

Mans is actually pretty fuckin big. He’s got no idea how big he is though. If you were surprised and a little nervous about his size he’d be pretty confused, is there something wrong? Did you change your mind? The concept of him being well above average is something you’ll have to explain later. It boosts his ego quite bit, even if he’d never admit it.

Whine about him being too big and you can just see the pride swelling in his chest, giving you no mercy with his thrusts.

Y- yearning

Often. Very very often. He’d fuck you multiple times every day if he had the time. However, you’re both busy, and you’d probably get a UTI with how many times this man wants to dick you down lmao. He’s got his cock buried in you at least 4-5 times a week.

Z- zzz

Actually pretty quickly. Even if he prefers being in control during sex, he kinda likes being the little spoon as he drifts to sleep. Give him some soft praises about how well he did and he’s turning into jello in your hold.

#food fantasy #food fantasy x reader #ff salt and pepper shrimp #ff salt and pepper shrimp x reader

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batfoonery · 3 years

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BatPets Headcanons

In honor of the Most Glorious and Beloved Bitewing (and Ace and Titus and Alfred the Cat and Goliath and Batcow.....) I wanted to share my thoughts on what pets the batfam has and should have.

Dick

Ahhhhhhh Bitewing! Our new beloved! We've only just gotten you but if you get whooshed away by bad writers I already know I will RIOT.

It actually makes perfect sense for Dick to take in a stray pup. His bro-son has the attitude and personality of a cat, so he already had that covered. And I can't see him paying high prices for a designer breed (bless him) so it's stray/shelter or nothing.

That being said, he also needs a young dog. Some people are made with the disposition to take in the older dogs with older dog needs, but Dick loves deeply and I can't see that he'd deal well with the shorter timeframe of taking in older dogs. So. Younger dogs, that he can go running with in the morning and play with in the park and nap with on the couch.

Jason

My man has taste, and also had a doggo as a kid. He's got a soft spot for all of Gotham's forgotten strays. I see him as being a pitbull kind of guy, but like. Also mastiffs. Anything big and menacing looking, but they always turn out to be utter marshmallows.

Totally the type to name his big scary dog Tinkerbell or Baby or something mushy like that. Likewise, Kori and Artemis (and probably Roy) all collect cutesy costumes and collars and leashes. Has the most cutsey giant dog.

The kind of dog that he can trust to take care of kids. If he's particularly concerned about a kid out on the street he can drop the dog off to stand guard until the kid's parent shows up. The dog is real gentle with the lil human, but scares off potential kidnappers.

Cass

The first of our exotics keepers! I feel like Cass would really appreciate betta fish. The way the swim and flit through the water, fins seeming to dance as they moved.... like tulle, like dancing.

She probably has several tanks. The first one she got was from Petsmart or PetCo or whatever. It irked her because she knows they don't tend to treat the fish well, but the local petshop's fish were all extremely sickly looking. After that she's hooked, for lack of a better word, and Bruce ends up learning way more than he ever needed to learn about importing fish (and paying for imported fish).

She's meticulous about their care. They've all got nice big clean tanks, and a companion to help keep them clean (different ones according to temperaments, snails for the easier going ones and shrimp for the more aggressive boys). They've got live plants and decorations to hide under, each tank a different theme to show off the fish. Has lowkey been considering getting a female for one of her favorite easy going boys (the first one, who has become a very soothing companion) because he's getting older and she'd like to be able to carry a part of him on.

Tim

His companion is an emotional support animal, with papers from his doctor and everything. Seems like he should be a dog person, but instead has a very big Turkish Angora. Her name is Mrs. Tuffles and he got her from a breed-specific rescue.

She's good for him because she disrupts his work and also helps provide a soothing presence when he has a panic attack. At night if he isn't in bed at a certain time she lays on top of whatever he's working on. If he's panicking she lays on his lap or chest and purrs (the added weight, the feeling and sounds of the purrs, held disrupt tension). She's a cuddly cat, and it tricks him into sleeping in in the mornings.

When he finds out that cats purr on a wavelength that encourages healing, and that there's evidence that they sit on humans and purr in attempts to heal/help them, he bursts into tears and startles the cat, who had been draped over his shoulders.

Steph

Got a bunny because she thought it would be an easy pet. She was very very wrong. It was from one of the neighbors in her building, because the mom of the kid who brought it home didn't want it anymore. It's a cute little lop, grey and brown.

She quickly discovers that bunnies are super dirty, and they absolutely stink. It bites her for the first week (and Tim and Jason and everyone else that isn't Damian, who somehow tricks it into loving him) and she seriously considers taking it to the shelter. But she doesn't. By week three, he's snuggling up on her feet and in her lap, and she decides that maybe he isn't so bad after all.

He didn't have a name when she got him, so she call him Mi-Mi. She doesn't tell Damian, but it's totally named after him because he reminds her of the way Damian had been when she'd first met him and the progression of their friendship over time.

Duke

Seems like a bird type of dude. Probably has a Cockatiel or two. They're very sassy birbs, and there's no way he doesn't enjoy that. One of them repeats words, and has picked up swears from Jason. It swears at Bruce every time he comes in Duke's room. Everyone except Bruce finds it funny.

The other one "dances" whenever it hears music coming from Cass's room. They're both very active and curious, he's contantly having to buy toys for them to rip apart. One of them nipped Damian's ear once, and Duke has never seen Damian look more offended in his life. It was probably the first pet that Damian hadn't been able to Disney-Princess.

They've probably got a dumb name pair. Tom and Jerry, Chip and Dale, etc. Personally I think he'd get a kick out of naming them Batman and Robin, just to fuck with Bruce. He probably then teaches the one who talks (Batman) to say dumb things like "I am the night! I work alone!" etc etc.

Damian

Has all the animal companions. Not pets. That makes them beneath him, which probably opposes his fundamental beliefs. This is my reminder to yall that Ra's started out as an eco-terrorist. Putting aside what he is or is not now, I like to believe that Damian was raised with a deep respect for nature and animals, he probably sees humans as just one particularly terrible animal species.

He has a wide array of companions as is. I'm good with them all, although I wish they'd bring back his dragon friend. :( I love the dragon friend.

I think he'd be the type to have axolotls too. They've got an interesting mythological basis and fit into the dragon theme. Plus the short story "The Axolotl" by Cortazar is a fascinating piece of mystical realism and I could see that he'd be intrigued by the species. They're endangered in the wild because of habitat destruction and invasion of foreign species that prey on them, but are easily bred in captivity. So I could see he'd keep at least one breeding pair, with the intent to someday bully Bruce into funding a project to save their natural habitat.

Barbara

Doesn't have her own pets, because she doesn't want the responsibility on top of everything else she does.

But her apartment always has furry/feathered friends in it because she's constantly petsitting for the others when they have to go do hero stuff. She's basically like a step-mom for everyone else's pets. She's learned how to take care of tanks and whatnot as well, mostly for Cass. The axolotls are gross and she refuses to touch those tanks, but the bettas are kinda like cute grumpy old men. She likes to tease Bruce by telling him his grand-fish take after him.

Always has a variety of pet snacks with her. She is determined to be the overall favorite human to all the bat-pets. Competition is fierce between her and Dami, but she has an edge because Robin the Cockatiel seems to prefer her.

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mieohmy · 4 years

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𝖥𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖬𝗒 𝖬𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 | 𝖪𝗂𝗆 𝖲𝗎𝗇𝗐𝗈𝗈

PAIRING: kim sunwoo x fem reader

GENRE: fluff, humor, angst, hotel del luna! au, head manager! sunwoo, hotel owner! reader

WC: 1.9k

NOTES: mentions of ghosts, murders, heavily hotel del luna inspired

↳ "What if my greatest pain was not being able to stay by your side?"

update: part two !

✵

You slump back in your chair, drained. You spent the whole day filing taxes and guest requests. Looking outside, you realize it was still bright out, the sun filtering through the window. You didn't particularly care for it. Craving for a drink, you requested a staff member. They bow before politely asking, “What is it, Boss y/l/n?” You tap your freshly painted nails on your chin before ordering a bottle of champagne and a shrimp cocktail. That would put you in a good mood.

Imagining the taste of the bubbly concoction, you let out a content sigh before looking at the next case file. -A loose spirit, but this one was tricky. Liked to scare victims with their greatest fear or loss. You make a note in your head to warn the manager.

You’re interrupted by one of the maids wheeling in your order. Squealing in delight, you dismiss her with a wave. You easily pop open the bottle of luxurious champagne, indulging in the sound of the fizz. Pouring a glass, you hear a familiar voice echoing, getting closer. Your face automatically darkens.

“Miss y/l/n, what are you doing?” You scowl, raising the glass to your ruby lips. After taking a sip, you let out a satisfied exhale. Slowly turning to face the person who was the bane of your existence, you let out a small tch! “I was enjoying myself before you interrupted, Kim Sunwoo.” He automatically frowns in disapproval. “It’s Manager Kim, you know. You’re the one who hired me for the job. Actually, more like forced me.” You roll your eyes, muttering, “against my will...”

Sunwoo claps his hands. “So, what kind of ghost are we seeing today?” You gulp the rest of the drink down. “Wandering spirit. But I warn you, this one’s a little feisty.”

He looks at you curiously, “What is it this time? Revenge, lost lover?” You sigh again, standing up and stopping in front of Sunwoo. Leaning in, you whisper into his ear, “They'll show you what causes you your greatest pain. I’ll tell you now, I'd be careful. It would be the fastest record for a new manager if you don’t watch out... ” Stepping back, you notice him shiver. You walk to the doors, grabbing your latest purse that you bought behind his back. "Don't forget the keys to my new Ferrari, I want to take it for a test drive!"

✵

Once you arrive at the abandoned church, you shut the car door close, lowering your thirty-five thousand dollar sunglasses to get a better look at the place. Sunwoo stands next to you, taking it all in. He turns to you. “Should I go first? Or?” His face seems relaxed, but you know him well enough to tell that he’s scared. “No,” you reply, curt. “I’ll go.”

You push the doors open with a bang, eyes scanning over the old place. It was dusty, cold, dark. Sunwoo follows in after you, voice echoing, “What kind of place was this?” You examine a rotten bench, dust floating in the air as you hum softly. “Old church. Used to be very popular until the rumors of a ghost spread and it was abandoned.”

Sunwoo walks down the path before turning around to you so his back was facing the altar. “Do you think-“ but you don’t pay attention to the rest of his sentence as you zero in on who’s behind him. Specifically, what. It was the spirit you were looking for. To anyone else, it would be a horrifying, monstrous demon girl, but to you, it’s just an annoyance. She stares at Sunwoo’s back, a chilling smirk appearing on her face. You glance back at him as you see her change into a horrifying picture in the corner of your eyes.

Sunwoo’s staring at you, confused at what you’re looking at and beginning to turn his head. You immediately call out his name, desperate. He can’t look at the image behind him. You effectively get his attention, his attention moving back to you again. He’s saying something, but you ignore it and rush forward.

Wrapping your arms around him, you place a hand behind his head, keeping it from turning. His arms instinctively hover above your waist. “Y/n- what-“ but you tighten your grip on him. “Whatever you do, do not turn around,” you softly murmur into his ear.

Your eyes are still focused on the spirit, the monstrous image. You think it's Sunwoo’s parents. Murdered, brutally. Their bodies floating midair and the look of pure terror present on their faces. You had no idea if this was what actually happened or not, but you keep your grip on him tight.

You remember the words said years ago. Sunwoo’s parents were gone from a young age. That’s what your former manager and Sunwoo’s grandfather told you. It was only him and his grandparents from a young age. You would never admit it, but you always held a soft spot in your locked away heart (if you even still had one) for the former Manager Kim. So when he asked, no-begged, for you to take his grandson as your next manager when he was old enough, you had to accept. You warned him about the repercussions, but he only let out a small smile and assured you Sunwoo was strong and especially stubborn enough.

✵

"That boy will take care of you well." You scoff, twirling a piece of your hair. "And how old did you say he was?" Manager Kim only smiles. "Of no matter, the age. After all, it is just a number. You would know that best, wouldn't you, Miss y/l/n?" You turn your head aside, suddenly staring at a painting of interest. He continues. "I think you two will get along quite fine." Your eyes flick back to him. "But he has a soft heart, so I beg you to be a little less harsh on him. He's already lost so much from a young age.."

✵

The words echo in your head. That’s why you couldn’t let Sunwoo turn around. You didn’t know the details -it was a sensitive topic- but you were sure this might break him. You feel him shaking. “Is it the spirit?” he asks quietly. “Yes,” you reply, “Don’t you dare look.” You feel him bury his face in your neck as you focus your attention on the spirit, mouthing commands and chants.

She hisses a horrible screeching sound before you’re finally able to control her, and the image collapses, something dropping on the ground. You carefully loosen your grip, leaning back to look at Sunwoo.

You don’t know what it is, maybe the vulnerable expression on his face that makes you want to protect him forever or the way his dark eyes bore into yours, but you slowly lean in, softly placing your lips on his forehead between his styled hair. Sunwoo blinks, staring at you with a dazed expression. You're not sure how long you look at him until you come to your senses. It's a moment before you step back, walking over to pick up the tiny keychain that fell.

When you turn around to Sunwoo, he clears his throat. “Well.. I guess we’re done here,” Your eyes follow him walking to the exit, knowing he’s slightly shaken.

It’s in the car, when he asks, “Can I know, what it was?” “Nope,” you reply as you examine the keychain. He frowns, turning on the engine. “But-“ “Unless you want to be sent to a mental hospital and never work for me again, then no. But that would’ve actually been pretty nice for me..” you say, pouting slightly.

Sunwoo looks at you, annoyed. “Hey! But, how come the spirit didn’t show you your greatest fear or anything ?” You scoff. “Cause you’re just a weak human who has emotions, and I’m a dead person who doesn’t feel things, idiot.” He turns to look at you, indignant. “What do you mean you don't feel things? Doesn't this make you feel something?” He suddenly leans in, face less than an inch away from yours. You freeze. You catch his eyes glancing down at your lips. Why does it suddenly feel so hot?

You immediately snap out of it, smacking his chest. "Ah, idiot! Just drive, just drive!" you yell angrily, trying to hide the fact that you were flustered. He immediately laughs, a grin appearing on his face as he turns the car on. The two of you continue to bicker as Sunwoo drives on.

✵

You two were in your office later that night, organizing a giant stack of papers you neglected. You told Sunwoo to go home and get sleep since he was still a human and needed the rest, but he firmly insisted on helping you, stating, “I know you’re gonna just give up after five minutes and leave it messier than before.”

It’s silent. The only thing heard was the sound of papers shuffling. You’re examining a document, Was this really 50 years ago? when Sunwoo calls your name.

You look up. “What?” you demand. He puts some papers down, before sitting on your plush, fancy couch, and looking at you. You can't read the expression on his face. “What’ll happen when I die? Or even, you move on to the afterlife?”

You stare at him. Why was he suddenly asking if he already knew the answer? Clearing your throat, you move to sit beside him. “Well, I’ll have to get a new manager. Life continues. And... if I leave, you’ll return back to your normal life, like all other humans.” Sunwoo fiddles with his tie, and you notice. He never liked wearing ties, but you forced him to for the job. “That’s it?” he says, “you’ll just get a new manager?”

You frown. What’s going on with him? Sunwoo was mischievous, witty, stubborn. So why was he acting so fidgety and shy? “Yeah, why? That’s how it is.” You pause, adding, “Unless I go first. But who knows when fate will relieve me of my duty.”

Sunwoo mumbles something you can’t hear. You move closer to him. “Hmm??” He clears his throat before saying softly, “So you won’t ever think of me when I’m gone? Remember me?” Your eyes widen. Huh? His ears are red, and he isn't looking you in the eye. “I-I mean, I know one day I’ll be gone, you’ll be gone..." You interrupt him, turning his body so he's facing you. "Sunwoo, what's going on? Why are you suddenly saying this? Was it because of what happened earlier?" You look deep into his eyes as if you'll find an answer in there.

He swallows, looking down at your feet. Hesitating, he finally speaks. "What if my greatest pain was not being able to stay by your side?"

Your body stills, heart skipping a beat. Slowly turning to face him, you realize how close the two of you are. “You.. you shouldn't worry about losing me. But if I ever make you feel that way, find the moon.” Sunwoo furrows his eyebrows, speaking softly. “Why the moon?”

You look out the window, staring at the moon outside which was partly covered by clouds. His eyes follow yours to the sky. “Even if my moon is in a different world from yours, even if my moon is a thousand years away from yours, it’s always there.” You turn to him once more.

“Just like how I'll always be there too.”

#the boyz #the boyz sunwoo #sunwoo #kim sunwoo #the boyz x reader #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #kim sunwoo x reader #sunwoo x reader #sunwoo imagines #sunwoo scenarios #kim sunwoo imagines #kim sunwoo scenarios #kim sunwoo fluff

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nonalectos · 3 years

Text

Jury Duty

Fandom: The Nanny

Genre: Romance/Humor/Comfort

Pairing: Fran Fine/C.C. Babcock

Rating: M

Summary: C.C. has been called to jury duty, and Fran decides to come along, placing C.C. in a very uncomfortable position considering the feelings she has been harboring for the nanny the last four years. To make matters worse, there's only one room left in the hotel.

Word Count: 2,826

Author’s Note: My first fic in six years, folks! I am currently neck deep in The Nanny hyper fixation, Fran x C.C. in particular, and I was inspired by my lovely friends and fellow shippers to write my first fic in years and very first fic for this pairing! Boy, have I come a long way since my Fran/Maxwell fanfic on Quizilla.com when I was 14-years-old. Interwoven with canon from S04E17: Samson, He Denied Her. Please enjoy!

This fic can also be found here on AO3.

“What’s that?”

“That’s...the nanny.”

_______

C.C. rolled onto her stomach, burying her face into her pillow, and groaned, the coolness of her satin pillowcase warming to match her body temperature a bit too quickly for her liking. As she shifted, contemplating whether to get up or relegate herself to a day in bed, ignoring all responsibility and...other stressors, an orange-brown fluff next to her feet growled.

Damn dog.

In order to prevent the mongrel from biting at her ankles, C.C. slowly pulled her legs up towards her chest before gently removing the covers, pushing herself up into a seated position, and scooting to let her legs hang off the side of the bed. She sighed and looked at her alarm clock.

5:30 AM

She had one of those dreams again. She was rarely the type to dream, but somehow her subconscious had been invaded by the intrusive thoughts she routinely pushed away during her waking hours. Sparkling red, a hand on her waist, her own hand tangled in a large nest of brown hair, and the recalled scent of scratch-and-sniff magazine perfume flashed through her mind before she could prevent it. She groaned again--loudly--and a retort, almost indistinguishable from her own guttural sound, emitted from the ball of fluff.

C.C. let out one more sigh before standing with renewed intention to have a good, productive day. She would bury her nose--and her mind--in her work. No one could get in the way of her and her job. She was the C.C. Babcock. She made her way to the kitchen and started her coffee maker. While she waited, she opened an envelope that she had left sitting on the table and froze, defeated.

_______

C.C. barged into Maxwell Sheffield’s office, ignoring the skip in her chest when she caught the image of brown, black, red, and white in her peripheral, accompanied by that--against all odds--alluring scent.

“Maxwell, you are not gonna believe this. I have been summoned for jury duty! Well, that is the last time I vote.”

The blur came closer. “Ms. Babcock, maybe I’ll go be on that jury with you.”

C.C. covered her panic with a chuckle. “Nanny Fine, you can’t just go.” This was it. The perfect moment for a witty jab. That would help. “It’s not like Supercuts.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve got a drawer full of those things. Besides, there’s nothing keeping me here.” Fran glared at Maxwell, and C.C. silently stepped out of the office as she heard the man’s voice raise, only making out an exasperated, “Ms. Fine!”

_______

“Oh I’ve just gotta get on this jury!”

As Fran blabbed on, C.C. tried not to focus on how close together they were sitting and how she could still feel the heat from the nanny’s hand on her knee, even after she had removed it. As Fran handed her a book, C.C. was given another chance at a jab. She gasped theatrically.

“You know him?”

“No. You read?”

Fran snatched the book out of C.C.’s hand, and C.C. laughed, the awareness of her leaning closer to Fran escaping her.

_______

“What do you mean there’s just one room left?” C.C. growled at the hotel receptionist.

The receptionist looked at the tall, blond woman towering above them nervously. “I-uh I’m sorry, ma’am, there are no other rooms available. Just the one.”

“But we have two people--” Fran gently placed her hand on C.C.’s shoulder and stepped in between her and the distressed receptionist.

“Are there two beds?” she asked, smiling.

“Y-yes,” the receptionist said hesitantly and then, more assured after calming down, “Yes, there are two beds.”

“See Babs? No harm, no foul,” Fran said brightly, squeezing C.C.’s shoulder as she reached over the counter to take the room key. As they walked towards their room, Fran went on and on about the plot of the romance novel she had shoved in C.C.’s hands earlier. C.C. focused on her breathing, trying to remain calm. She could feel the heat creep up her neck the moment the kid at the desk said they only had one room available, and now she didn’t even have to look to know she had red blotches all over her chest and cheeks. She couldn’t distinguish between her anger and...fear? No. C.C. Babcock was never scared.

“So then when he pulls her in--” holding the book close to her chest, Fran twirled around to face C.C. as she continued walking down the hallway backwards. “Ms. Babcock? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” C.C. responded curtly.

“You’re not having an allergic reaction, are you?” Fran rushed up to her and lifted her hand to examine C.C.’s face as she spoke. “You gotta be careful with shellfish! You know, my cousin, Ernie, never had an allergic reaction in his life. One day, 40 years old, he ate one fried shrimp and BAM --”

C.C. slapped Fran’s hand away, “I’m fine.” Her heart was racing.

“Okay, okay, sorry Mrs. Hyde.” Fran threw her hands in the air, and C.C. could have sworn she gave a tiny pout as she turned around and continued towards their room. When she opened the door, she paused, pulled it back to her, and turned. “You know, Ms. Babcock, we should celebrate! How about a drink? A whiskey. Bourbon. On me.” She winked then stood up straight with a stern look on her face, “ Well. Not top shelf.”

“Nanny Fine,” C.C. uttered through gritted teeth, “I just want to--” she pushed past Fran and opened the door “--lie down.” She stopped in the doorway, still as if she had come face-to-face with Medusa herself.

One bed stood in the room.

_______

The first night was somewhat tolerable. Fran was very kind to C.C., ensuring she was comfortable and that she did not take up too much of her space. C.C. reciprocated by keeping her distance as well. Falling asleep was another story. C.C. was the first to lie down. Being on the side of the bed facing the bathroom, she saw the nanny walk out, wearing one of her bathrobes. God, I hope she has something under that. She could hear the shuffling of the fabric as Fran let the robe fall to the floor and felt the weight in the bed shift as the other woman settled in. Before she could make sense of what was happening, she felt two swift pats on her hip. “Goodnight, Ms. Babcock!”

“Hm,” was the only confirmation she could utter.

C.C. was hyper aware of Fran’s presence. She measured the woman’s breathing and could tell by the slower, deeper breaths when she fell asleep. It took her a while to close her eyes. Every time she did, she saw Fran’s hand on her knee…

Her shoulder…

Her hip…

C.C. jolted awake from a half-sleep. She sighed and stared at the wall in the dark. The blackout curtains weren’t closed all the way, and she could see a sliver of light flash on the wall every once in a while. She could hear sirens, car horns, distant yelling, and sometimes a drunken laugh. She didn’t know what time it was, but it felt like she had been drifting in and out of almost-sleep for hours, still aware of the body radiating heat and energy next to her. What is it about Fran Fine? was the last thought that crossed her mind before she drifted into a very, very light sleep.

_______

C.C.’s eyes traveled down Fran’s figure as she stood up when Vincenzo approached the stand, her expression a mixture of endearment and bewilderment. Why her?, a question echoing the sentiment from the night before repeating in her mind. The rest of the day in the courtroom was filled with typical annoyances, with the exception of a moment of outburst from Fran that left C.C. with the sting of an emotion she couldn’t quite place in the moment as she softly pulled Fran’s arm down.

_______

The next day, C.C. pinpointed the emotion as Fran spoke. “See, that is what happens when a man tells you that he loves you and then he takes it back.”

Jealousy.

C.C.’s face was still until she realized her arms were full of snacks that Fran had been piling onto her.

“What are you looking for?”

“My Dexatrim,” Fran responded.

C.C. rolled her eyes and stuffed the food back into Fran’s bag, the thought popping into her mind again. Why her?

_______

She was exhausted. Eight days, hardly any sleep, and “a horse is a horse, of course, of course” stuck in her head practically 24/7, C.C. wanted to explode when she read the words on the slip of paper, “And one ‘not guilty’…,” followed by Fran convincing another juror to vote “not guilty.” Every time she thought she was going to escape her personal hell, she was dragged back down. She was Sisyphus, and Nanny Fine was her boulder.

C.C. stood. “Could it be that you’re just a little sensitive to this shrew maid because you have some fantasy of ending up with your employer yourself?”

Sting.

“Let she who is without fantasy cast the first stone!”

Ohh, if only you knew, Nanny Fine!

The rest of the afternoon was full of more sting as Fran not-so-subtly talked about Maxwell and the children, but at least they were finally done. C.C. could go home and try to put this all behind her.

As they walked out of the courtroom, Fran hooked her arm through C.C.’s and cheerfully said, “I have a proposal.”

“And what would that be, Ms. Fine?”

“I propose we take one more night off. You know, eat, drink, relax, before heading back to work.”

“Nanny Fine, I really--”

“Pleeease Ms. Babcock?” Fran pleaded, stopping and tugging on her arm. C.C. looked into Fran’s eyes: earnest, gentle, kind.

That’s why her. “Well, alright.”

“You know, I really feel like this has been a good bonding experience for us.”

C.C. rolled her eyes...and couldn’t help but smile.

_______

She wasn’t drunk, but she did feel a little tipsy. A little more relaxed. She and Fran were making their way back to their room after a pleasant evening of food and a couple drinks each. The nanny really was good company, when C.C. let herself enjoy it. C.C. settled into what she had established as her side of the bed for the previous eight nights, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling. Her blond hair pooled on the feather pillow under her head. She could hear the sink faucet turn on. A couple of splashes. Off. The towel being pulled off the rack. C.C. tore her eyes from the ceiling to the bathroom door. Fran walked out and, as she walked around to her side of the bed, began to untie her robe. C.C. didn’t take her eyes off of her. Fran wasn’t wearing anything particularly risqué--why would she be--but the loose fitting, thin material that made up her pajamas hung on her perfectly. C.C. could feel her neck and cheeks getting warm again--a nightly routine for her body at this point--and she turned over to hide. Her head was reeling with the influx of emotions she had felt over the last week, a mental Rolodex: anxious, longing, annoyed, jealous, hopeful...hurt.

“Nanny Fine?” She wasn’t sure if Fran had fallen asleep.

“Yeah, Babs?”

Her heart skipped.

“Why…” she turned over to face the nanny. “Why do you put up with it?”

Fran had been facing the other way. She turned over. The bedside table lamp hadn’t been turned off yet. C.C. was able to look into the other woman’s eyes again.

“Put up with what?”

“Maxwell. He...well, obviously he isn’t willing to give you what you want. Why hold out hope?”

“Why do you?” Fran retorted with a hint of defensiveness.

C.C. was silent for a moment. “I think I’ve confused myself.” Oh god, how much did I have to drink? “I don’t think what I really desire is what...I thought I desired.” I don’t feel drunk.

Fran maintained eye contact. Silent. Almost as if she knew. C.C. cast her gaze down. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Why do you act so hard?” the woman said. The words were accusatory but the tone was soft and empathetic. Despite her attempts to keep them at bay, C.C. could feel the sting of tears and a lump in her throat. “Oh, Ms. Babcock,” Fran whispered, slowly rubbing the blond’s shoulder with her thumb. “You really are a wonderful, caring woman. You just won’t let others see it. Like you’re protecting yourself from something.” Earnest, gentle...kind.

That’s why her.

“You hurt others before they can hurt you.”

C.C. looked back into Fran’s eyes. Up to this point, she thought her jabs had all been in jest. “Have I hurt you?”

Fran laughed. “Oh, honey. It takes more than what you can throw to hurt me.” C.C. sniffled. “But listen. I was holding out hope for Mr. Sheffield because the other person I noticed--the strong, loyal, brilliant woman who crossed my path every day--didn’t treat me the way I deserve to be treated.” Before C.C. could interject, Fran continued. “Now, that’s not to say he’s a saint. Faaaar from it, missy. But you, Babs. I see a lot of potential in you, but you gotta soften up that thing you got in that chest of yours.”

“I...don’t--half the time, I don’t even know what I’m feeling,” the words started escaping from her lips, betraying every cell in her body, every natural inclination she had. At least what she thought up to this point was natural for her. “When I first saw you, four years ago, in that sparkling red dress...the way you moved, the way you talked, your confidence, god I felt so...so intensely jealous. But...four years later, and I can’t get that image of you out of my head. Just you. Not Maxwell.”

Fran lifted her hand to wipe a tear from C.C.’s face then back to her shoulder. She felt the woman’s hand travel from her shoulder down her arm…

Her waist…

Her hip…

Then she tugged.

C.C. placed her hand on the brunette’s waist as she was pulled in, the many inches between them closed. She gasped, and her breathing became uneven. She could feel the flush in her cheeks as she glanced down at Fran’s lips, which she now noticed were coming closer...and closer. She had kissed people before. Plenty of times. But Fran’s lips felt like home. They were soft and warm, moving in tandem with her own. The perfect fit. C.C. moved her hand up Fran’s side, taking note of every inch of her curvature, until she was able to tangle her hand in that nest of beautiful, brown hair. Every breath she took in between kisses was filled with that wonderfully intoxicating scratch-and-sniff perfume scent, and in the moments a soft, nasally moan escaped from the nanny’s lips, C.C.’s hips pushed forward and she moaned in return. Fran coaxed C.C. onto her back with a gentle but firm push and straddled her, not letting their lips part for more than a second. C.C. put both hands on each of Fran’s hips as Fran began to leave a trail of kisses down C.C.’s neck…

Her collarbone…

Her chest…

This is better than being drunk...

_______

C.C. finally got the rest she needed. She woke up from a deep sleep and could feel the tangling of sheets around her body. As she began to shift, she felt a heavy weight on her legs and her waist. A quiet, gravely moan emitted next to her ear. As C.C. rolled over, Fran shifted but didn’t move her leg or her arm. Instead, she tightened her grip and pulled the woman closer. C.C. caressed Fran’s face as her eyes fluttered open.

“Mornin’, Babs baby.”

“Morning, Fran,” C.C. said with a smile and placed a sweet kiss on the nanny’s lips.

_______

Hand-in-hand, C.C. and Fran walked up to the desk in the hotel lobby to check out. The receptionist from their first night was working that morning. Fran smiled and slid the key across the counter, while C.C. took out her credit card to pay for all the unexpected nights.

“Good morning, ladies! Hope you enjoyed your stay. Did the pull out couch work out alright?” the receptionist asked.

Fran and C.C. exchanged glances and both blurted, “The what?”

#the nanny #fran x cc #fran fine #cc babcock #alcohol mention #fanfic1 #i'm actually really proud of this one!#it felt good to write again for the first time in a long time too #god i love these two so much #this is my longest one shot too i think

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guiltysecretpasttime · 3 years

Text

Blended - 2

As you can see - so I decided to pursue Blended. Originally, there was no serious plot to this, I swear. I was just winging it but before I knew it - I was exploring this interesting new AU that I’ve unearthed and I thought, eh why not? Now, I have quite a backstory for our main characters here. Which, unfortunately, will not yet be revealed below but just the same, hope you like this!

---

Title: Blended

Previous installment here.

Legend of Korra, Lin/Tenzin, Modern AU, no bending

Multi-part, WIP

—

Narook’s

Lin sucked in a deep breath. She released it slowly, counting up to five.

Her eyes blinked, wishing for all the strength in the universe not to forsake her.

She had taught her sons never to play the break-up one-up game but good Agni, she wanted to say that she is winning this particular break-up even a decade or so after.

Yes Lin, you can do this. You have won this break-up.

She tried to give herself an imaginary fist pump.

Yes, sure. Real mature of you.

Feeling that she had done enough pep talk, Lin plastered a smile on her face. She had gotten good at this in the past years after all.

Now or never. For Jinora.

She crossed the room quickly. “Hey kid, sorry I’m late.” Lin pressed a kiss on Jinora’s hair, not meeting the eyes of the other occupants of the booth. The young girl faced her to give a kiss and a hug in return. “Of all the days, I know.” Lin focused on tucking some stray hair strands behind Jinora’s ear. “I don’t even know why Mr Sato has an assistant if the man barely follows his own schedule.”

She finally took a seat and faced the now gaping man across her.

“Ah – this is my mom –,” Jinora started to introduce her at the same time that Lin extended her hand.

“I’m Lin, Jinora’s mom. Nice to meet you.”

The bald man automatically reached to grasp her hand to shake it He was a beat too slow to release her hand and Lin involuntarily frowned at that.

Ikki elbowed her father. “His name is Tenzin.” She added helpfully. “He’s my dad.”

No kidding.

She put up the menu as a shield between them to prolong the inevitable conversation; a ruse of reviewing the food and beverage lists even if the diner has yet to update it in the past five years.

Belatedly, all her uncharitable thoughts about the faceless man that was Ikki’s father came to the forefront of her mind.

Figures he would be that stuffy businessman who did not have his kids play with the neighborhood kids.

Speaking of kids…

The two girls were sharing a plate of waffles beside them. The waffles were slathered with butter, whipped cream, maple syrup and sprinkled on with chopped peanut butter cups. She frowned and glared at the man across her from behind the menu. That was a sugar overload and sugar crash waiting to happen. And happen it will when the two girls would be in her care later today. He would not have to deal with that.

Tenzin only had a cup of coffee in front of him. She eyed the porcelain canisters at the side containing cream and sugar. The sugar bowl was only a third full and she would bet that it was full earlier before he had his hands on it.

She put down the menu and decided they have had enough time.

Lin waved a waiter over and requested for a tall glass of lemonade.

Tenzin was still looking at her apprehensively.

As he should.

If he thinks I will cash in on this 'renewed' connection, he is very much mistaken.

“So, I believe you have some concerns about Ikki staying over?” Lin was pleased to note that her voice did not even waver at any point.

She felt the curious eyes of the kids turn to them; their own conversation turning into whispers.

That seemed to snap Tenzin out of his thoughts.

“That is - that- no I don’t -.” He stammered unbecomingly.

Lin briefly wondered how this man managed to lead a conglomerate with this level of eloquence.

Ikki pounced on this. “Does it mean I can stay over at Jinora’s and Ms Lin’s? I promise I will behave, Daddy. And I swear we will produce the best project ever – with glitters, and sparkles and all the colors.” She beamed from the side, clutching at her father’s arm in excitement.

“It’s not our first sleepover at the house,” Lin interjected gently. “But I understand it’s Ikki’s first time to sleep over that is not with family. So you might have some questions for me – about the overnight stay.” She amended quickly, if the look in his eyes meant that he did have questions - just not related to the sleepover.

He motioned to speak but was interrupted by the serving placing a glass of lemonade between them.

“Well,” Lin calmly took a sip. “I could probably start with my questions and just chime in if there’s anything that comes to your mind.” She pulled out a pen and a small notepad from her bag. “Does she have allergic reactions to food -?”

“Shrimp and crab.” Tenzin responded in a subdued manner, absentmindedly stirring his coffee. A habit that Lin knew to indicate his nervousness.

“That won’t be a problem because,” Lin began but was interrupted by her daughter.

“Me too!” Jinora pointed to herself with a grin. “I’m allergic to crab and shrimp as well!”

There was a small shriek as the two girls began chattering about being besties and twinsies.

Tenzin’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the display.

If that was how they would react over a common allergy (of all things that they could get from their father, it would be his ironic allergy to shellfish, which was to his mother’s consternation – but that’s a different story), wait until they realize they were sisters, Lin idly pondered.

She froze.

Sisters.

It did not dawn on her until then, put in simplistic terms, the two girls are related. She looked at them thoughtfully now, trying to see similarities in their features.

Half-sisters.

Lin corrected herself. Everyone knew how much she had clung to that particular distinction in her own family.

She clicked her pen and noted down in neat precise letters about Ikki’s allergy. “How about emergency numbers or any medicines that she needs to take regularly?”

Tenzin lifted Ikki’s bag, he showed her the bag tag which has all the emergency numbers. He also stated that there were no other allergies or any meds that the kid needs to take.

The pen continued to scratch on the pad.

Pen scratched on the pad.

“Bed time?”

“I'll leave it to your judgment to what's reasonable.” The fingers continued to hold the spoon that stirred the coffee. “They are bound to stay up later because of the project, I suppose.”

A back and forth of more questions and answers continued in the same vein.

When Lin (and Tenzin) was satisfied with the childcare information, flipped back the note pad and kept it and the pen back in her bag. “Alright then, are you really okay with Ikki staying over? If not,” She peered at him, gauging his reaction. “I can easily bring her back to your house later tonight.”

Tenzin shook his head with conviction. “No need, I mean, yes, it’s okay for her to spend time with you.” His face looked stricken at what he said. “No that’s not why I’m implying – I mean.”

Lin resisted rolling her eyes. “I get it.”

---

“I get it.”

Did she really, though?

Tenzin tilted his head down, stirring his coffee again, which has gone cold really. He did not dare ask for another refill as he had lost count of how many he had drank in his nervousness.

He inattentively watched the interaction of his daughter with Lin and her daughter.

Lin laughed at something Ikki was talking about.

If nothing else, Lin looked –

Happy.

Contented.

Tenzin was happy, truly, that his childhood friend (among other epithets he had for her, he thought heavily) is in a good place. He would be lying to claim that she did not cross his mind once in a while. He did wonder what had become of her. Their parting was not…ideal. And that was putting it very very lightly.

Now, here he was years later, sitting across her, having finished a conversation about their respective daughters. Lin was warm to Ikki, and he was thankful that she did not seem to bear a grudge against his daughter because of their past.

It was a surreal scenario, to say the least.

If Bumi had told him that was what he would be doing that Friday afternoon, he would have probably slapped his brother upside the head. Or checked his breath for the stench of alcohol.

This was not a normal Friday afternoon for him.

When Lin sat in their booth, he felt a chill run up his spine. The air left his lungs, as though someone had punched him suddenly.

No, it can’t be. Was his first thought.

And yet – he knew it was her.

He would recognize her anywhere. There was no mistaking the way she carried herself, the smirk, the flashing of her grey eyes – only a moment of emotion before it was hidden by the veneer of politeness.

It was cold but his palms turned sweaty. It was an odd feeling really, like a memory that was at the fringes of his mind suddenly before him. He did not know what to make of it.

As much as he was sure he has not forgotten her – when she started introducing herself, he wondered if the same can be said for the other way around.

He had moved far to start a new life with his children. Figures, that, with his luck, he lands at the very town that Lin lived at.

But if Lin wanted to keep it like they did not know each other, fine then. He could handle that. It would be simpler that way, he supposed, especially if Jinora and Ikki would remain friends (bffs, Ikki had said).

It was a cliché but he really did think the years were kind to Lin Beifong.

Is it still Beifong?

He surreptitiously peeked at her hands on the table. One of her fingers was sporting a ring.

So maybe not a Beifong…

He took a sip of his coffee and made a face, forgetting momentarily that it was little more than sludge.

Before long, the bell at the diner’s door tinkled, announcing that more customers had entered.

Lin turned to face the door at the sound. Her face brightened up and Tenzin craned his neck to see who had arrived.

There was a young man with yellow-orange eyes, a messenger bag slung across his body. His eyes alighted at their corner booth and he smiled, more of lifting the corner of his mouth really than an actual smile.

Tenzin barely heard Lin excuse herself from the table; the two girls, still eating their pile of waffles and chatting about some singer or actor (he wasn’t exactly paying attention), took no notice of her.

Lin went to the newcomer, who raised his hand slightly as greeting.

He watched them with curious fascination – or horrible fascination, he wasn’t sure.

There was that odd tug at his stomach (that he would rather not explore, no, thank you) when the young man (boy, really now Lin? He grumbled internally, never mind his own ex-wife was years younger than him) moved to hug her and give her a kiss on the cheek.

Yes, it was definitely not Tenzin’s usual Friday afternoon.

---

Note: I enjoyed writing this. Pretty cathartic - did you like reading it too? Let me know!

#linzin #linzin fanfic #toccatina's fanfics #toccatina wip #toccatina blended #lin beifong #tenzin

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yellowocaballero · 4 years

Text

Not Your Queer-Coded Disney Villain: Annabelle & Web!Jon Ficlet

Got bored again today and forced myself to write something that wasn’t gratuitously long. Set in the same universe (or, one of the universes) as The Convention on Chronographer Lane, but it’s completely unnecessary to have read that one before this.

Content warning for (apparent and fake) predation of a student by a teacher, body horror, and spiders. REVERSE content warning for A PSYCH 101 LECTURE WRITTEN BY SOMEONE WHO WAS A TA FOR PSYCH 101. ACCURATE SCIENCE, BITCHES.

“What am I turning into?” Annabelle asked, after a half-second of rapid thought. “Who are you? And what do spiders have to do with any of this?”

Jon smiled again broadly, grey eyes dancing with a barely hidden delight. “You’re fully aware that these are all the same question.”

“Then answer them. You said you’re here to help me. Then help me.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “We’ll negotiate a price later.”

“This one is a freebie,” Jon said. He leaned back, face fading into the shadow of the dim yellow light of the hanging light. “You’re turning into something much akin to myself.”

In the darkness, Annabelle saw Jon open his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes…

Annabelle was sleeping through Psych again.

In her defense, she was really tired. The nightmares had been getting worse every day, and yesterday she hadn’t gotten more than forty minutes of sleep without jolting up in the middle of the night. She had flipped on the light five times during the night, hysterically convinced that bugs were crawling over her and earning the eternal ire of her roommate. Whatever - Irene would forgive her once she bought her an iced coffee from that campus shop she liked. If Annabelle gave it to her later at night, she’d stay up later and would be less likely to bitch when Annabelle inevitably made a stink at three am again.

It didn’t matter. Psych was tediously easy anyway. Not that everything wasn’t tedious, but there were few things more boring than listening to the drone of Mr. Sims’ voice. She had no idea how that guy had a fanclub. Emmanuela Odugawa had asked her if she thought that he recited Piaget’s developmental stages in bed. Barf.

Thankfully, Annabelle had mastered the art of sleeping with her eyes open in class and barely aware enough to recognize when somebody called her name a decade ago, and she ruthlessly used this skill now. She dropped into a half-doze, and was only startled into awareness when she heard the word that had been running in a nonstop track loop through her mind for the past month.

“Phobia: an extreme or irrational fear or aversion to something.” Mr. Sims adjusted his glasses, pressing a button on his laptop that advanced the slides. “It’s an interesting definition, in my opinion. Like many things in Psychology, it is almost infuriatingly vague. How do you define ‘extreme’? How do you define ‘irrational’? Oftentimes, that label is determined by society, science, and our therapists. However, I believe you can argue that phobias are the most rational thing of all.”

Annabelle rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. These auditorium classrooms were always freezing.

“The concept of aversion is heavily rooted in evolution and biology. Anyone here ever eat any bad shrimp?” He didn’t wait for a response. “The smell of seafood probably made you sick for weeks afterwards. Our bodies are primed to detect poison, just as they are to detect danger. Phobias rooted in modern, abstract concepts - clowns, elevators, airplanes - are easy to extinguish. But phobias rooted in real, present, perpetual dangers, the sort of dangers that threatened the lives of cavemen, are far more difficult to ignore.”

Despite herself, Annabelle found herself awake. She found herself listening.

“Snakes. Heights. The Dark. Dogs, bears, large animals. Storms, driving, insects.” Mr. Sims’ looked up at the auditorium, and Annabelle could have sworn that he was looking right at her, he was looking at her. Annabelle’s breath caught, her heart thumping in her chest - a little differently than it used to. “Spiders.”

A horrible clicking echoed in Annabell’s ears. She was afraid that it was her.

Then he looked away, and the spell was broken. “Phobias are one of the most powerful and motivational forces in human evolution. Like mental illnesses, pack bonds, and emotional needs, the perceived weaknesses of the human mind can frequently be some of the most powerful forces that allow the survival of the human species. It isn’t a bug, it’s a feature. I find that a useful way to think of humanity, and of ourselves: that our weaknesses can make us very strong indeed. Next slide…”

If Mr. Sims said anything after that, Annabelle didn’t hear it.

She didn’t pay any attention to anything he said until the end of class, when she shrugged on her cute little silver backpack and merged into the stream of students filtering out of the classroom. A few students had stayed behind to talk to Mr. Sims, and he appeared wrapped in conversation with the giggling girls, but somehow he picked her out of the thick crowd.

“Annabelle?” Mr. Sims asked. “Stay after, please.”

So she leaned against the long sweep of desks, left with nothing to do but squint at Mr. Sims as he spoke with another student about the requirements for the upcoming paper, wondering why he looked so familiar.

All of the other students had assumed he was in his late twenties - “total DILF”, they all inanely assured her - but Annabelle wasn’t so sure. Despite the already graying hair, small glasses, and severe expression, she really wouldn’t put him any older than 23.

Maybe his greying temples were hair dye. Or stress did that to you, right? Annabelle squinted. But when Annabelle looked closer, if she really focused, then she really wasn’t sure it was his hair color at all.

So she looked closer. Her eyes had been itching for the past week. She had caught her skin flaking and peeling, and instead of pink raw skin underneath there was hard and scratchy black necrosis. Her eyes itched now, as if they were striving to split apart, and if Annabelle only let them then they would burst. And as her eyes itched in a horrible, visceral pain, she thought that maybe the white at Mr. Sims’ temples was the thin, sticky webs of spider-silk.

“Annabelle? Are you alright?”

She snapped back to attention, fairly embarrassed. She had been zoning out more in the past month than she had her entire life. Her older siblings had said that college would be rough, but she hadn’t known it would be this rough. This wasn’t like her. None of this was like her.

“I’m great,” Annabelle said reflexively. All of the other students were gone, and Mr. Sims was staring at her over his glasses. “Sorry. Is this about my test…?”

“No. You did quite well on your test. Best in the class, actually.” Mr. Sims smiled at her, as if this was a compliment or important. “Is that why you’ve been so bored in class?”

Ah. Busted. A rare thing for Annabelle. She affected a faux-abashed posture and expression. “Sorry, Mr. Sims. I’ve been staying up ‘til two every morning trying to get my homework done on time. If I’m ever going to go to med school…”

“I thought you were a poli sci major,” Mr. Sims said cheerfully. Annabelle fought a shudder - how did he know so much about her? This class had 200 students.

“Double major,” Annabelle said blithely. “I’m sorry about sleeping in class, I’ll manage my time better. It won’t happen again.”

“Yes, yes.” Mr. Sims waved her apology away, as if that wasn’t what he had been looking for. Then what had he been looking for? “I’m afraid I had somewhat of an ulterior motive for speaking to you today.” He leaned in a little, pulling his glasses down, and his foggy grey eyes - same color as the grey at his temples - focused solely on her. Annabelle made her eyes bigger, and she leaned in too, adjusting her posture so she looked smaller. “You’ve been doing very well in class. I actually wanted to invite you to a meeting. About...oh, your potential for med school. I’m excited to see you succeed. I think you could do quite well in whatever field you choose, and I’d like to help. It would be just us, of course.”

Ding ding ding. Annabelle affected a giggle. “I could totally use the help! Like, in your office? Or, like...lunch, or…?”

“I was thinking dinner, actually,” Mr. Sims smiled. “How’s Bombay Bicycle Club?”

Restaurant and bar, with a casual yet dignified atmosphere. Not formal enough to put up anybody’s guard, but nice enough that a freshman girl could feel treated and be impressed. Most importantly, it was popular among the businessman crowd and almost nobody on campus visited it. Annabelle used it herself to meet up with her sugar daddies all the time.

For a brief, strange moment, Annabelle felt as if he did - but of course he didn’t. But it wasn’t impossible. But if he knew, then why wasn’t he blackmailing her? Was the blackmail for later, once he got her alone? This was probably a power play, getting her off balance by insinuating that he knows but not being explicit about it. He’d probably pull out the blackmail, ‘I’ll ruin your reputation you slut etc’, once they actually got there. Not that he could - Annabelle had contingency plans - but she would have to be careful to actually record him propositioning her anyway. Worst case scenario they had a MAD situation, best case she could squeeze him. Probably not for very much money, since grad students were poor as dirt, and she didn’t exactly need him to boost her grades...get him to slip her the test key and sell the test key? That could work. She could probably get him to strategically cut grades, which was a service that Annabelle could probably sell to students with a grudge…

But then Mr. Sims smiled at her, as if he knew what she was thinking, and Annabelle realized that she had been silent too long. She wanted to come off as panicked, maybe desperate, definitely flattered.

“Sure!” Annabelle said, barely having to feign the anxious creak in her voice. “What time? I have night classes, so…”

“Next Friday at six,” Mr. Sims said instantly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too.” Annabelle affected Smile #35 - shy virgin. Mr. Sims’ grin widened. Annabelle silently put aside the ‘Catholic schoolgirl’ outfit for Friday. “See you then!”

She turned around, gave him a shy smile, and bounced off. She had just opened the heavy door out of the room when she heard him speak again, freezing her in her tracks.

“Oh, Annabelle - how is the study with Dr. Bates going?”

And his question panicked her so much, made her heart change rhythm and made her skin itch as if something was straining to come out of it, made her eyes itch and crawl and burst, that every calculated move went out the window. She didn’t answer his question, didn’t even give an excuse - she just ran out the door, bright purple vintage boots thumping against the linoleum, breath catching in a chest where she was no longer sure she even had ribs.

Most of her was already calculating. She was already two months into uni, she had to start establishing her power base. The minute her sorority accepted her she’d have greater access to money, popularity, and influence, but she needed reach with the administration too. Mr. Sims was her in. This was a good thing.

But part of her was disappointed, because she had liked him, and she felt a little used. Feelings of disgust, as strong and vivid as in her nightmares, rose in her chest. She squished far down in her chest, familiar with the feeling and effortlessly repressing it.

Annabelle was good with disgusting things.

She had another session with the Arachnophobia study on Monday. Which went fine. It was fine! She didn’t wake up that morning so sick with nerves that she almost threw up. She didn’t stare at her email inbox for thirty minutes, begging herself to cancel and drop out of the study. Nope.

She distracted herself by befriending all of her roommate’s friends and dropping faux-concerned gossip about how cranky and anxious Irene’s been lately, have you noticed she’s been blaming me for how badly she’s sleeping? It was really super sad, frowny face, how do you think I can help, frowny face frowny face frowny face?

So Annabelle went to the Arachnophobia study (it was fine), had increasingly realistic and vivid nightmares about her chest caving in and a nest of spiders crawling out of her chest and eating her eyes, and slept through class. It was all fine.

She should have gone to Oxford. It still made her a little bitter. She had been smart enough to get in, but she hadn’t been smart enough to get the full scholarship. She couldn’t afford it, so instead she was stuck in University of Surrey, where dreams went to die. Future politicians should go to Oxford. Yeah, Surrey had some peers and Parliament members, whatever. She needed better, Oxford and awards and money. From there, from some swotty school or another, it was easy street. Annabelle deserved easy street, and she deserved Oxford, and it just wasn’t fair -

After another three am nightmare, Annabelle blearily scrolled through her sibling groupchat. Barney was doing great in med school. Tricia had posted her maternity photos. Wow, look at that, Robin had gotten a commendation at his law firm. Whatever.

No hope of distinguishing herself in the world. No hope of distinguishing herself in her stupid family. She was smarter than any of her siblings, brighter and better than those doctors and lawyers and accountants, but nobody cared. Mum and Dad were living their retirement in comfort and cooing over their grandchildren, finally rewarded in old age for all their hard work.

If Annabelle dropped off the face of the earth, nobody would even notice.

It should have been a depressing thought. The idea that nobody cared about her, not really, that nobody knew the real her. But somehow it just made her heart beat faster in excitement.

The idea of disappearing from all of this, of cutting herself free from a thousand threads that brought her plummeting down to earth...in the cold hours of that dark morning, to an eighteen year old terrified and alone in uni, it was a siren song.

It was a siren song that sounded, oddly, like the chittering and scuttling of a thousand tiny bodies, but Annabelle was learning to look beyond that.

By the time next Friday rolled around, Annabelle was considering breaking her self-imposed rule against drugs and popping a Xanax. But that wouldn’t help her exhaustion, the persistent bone-deep frazzled sensation of going a week on almost no sleep whatsoever, so she settled for an espresso as she wriggled herself into a tight, slinky plaid dress paired with a puffy olive green windbreaker. She wasn’t sure if she owned any clothing that was made after 1990 - a habit born from a childhood of shopping from thirst stores, and continued voluntarily into high school when she started making her own money online fleecing suckers. It was her, so much as anything was.

“Hot date?” Irene asked, bending over her Physics textbook without looking up. She glanced at her vibrating phone, scowling. Poor baby - her friends were staging an intervention. “New guy or old guy?”

“New guy,” Annabelle said vaguely, carefully picking out a bold red lipstick - or did that seem too forward? Should she go for a natural look? “If I’m not back by midnight call the police. I’ll text you a picture of his car.”

“Roger.” Irene flipped a page of her textbook, oblivious to the fact that she was one of the few people Annabelle genuinely liked. Not enough not to screw with her, but she liked her. “He’s not good enough for you, something something.”

“Darling,” Annabelle said, winking into the mirror, “nobody is.”

She hoped Irene believed it. She didn’t.

It wasn’t a frequent occurrence that Annabelle wished she was stupid, but today she wished she was stupid enough to take a power nap during her ten minute Uber ride. Her mind felt frazzled and frayed, as if it had been taken out of her scalp and spread out with a rolling pin onto a floured countertop. She felt as if she was melting, her vision spiralling into fractals or blurring out. She wanted to sleep. God, she’d do anything for some sleep -

So she blared Bad Romance in her frayed earbuds instead, clutching her iPod Touch tightly, pulling herself together. Gaga, give her strength.

By the time that she tipped her driver, effortlessly found Mr. Sims’ car in the parking lot of Bombay Bicycle Club and texted Irene the license plate (Volkswagen, obviously), she had dragged herself into focus. She stapled on her confident posture and walk - no, we’re going with ingenue today, make it shy and hesitant - and slipped inside the restaurant, making a show of holding her clutch tight to her chest and looking around with big eyes.

She saw him instantly. He was sitting in a corner booth, head down and texting on his phone with a half-smile. The corner booth was poorly lit, light dampened by the wood panelling and soft leather seats, and half of his face was draped in shadow.

Great. She had even arrived ten minutes early just so she could pick a brightly lit, intimate little table in the center of the room. This guy - he was almost like her. He was almost like her, but he was better.

Annabelle fought the urge to grind her teeth. She smiled instead, waving cheerfully until he raised his head. He smiled back at her, wriggling his fingers, and Annabelle wove around the tables until she could slide into the seat across from him.

“This is cozy!” She said brightly. “Thank you so much for inviting me out, Mr. Sims. It’s been ages since I got away from my books -”

“Oh, cut that shit out,” Mr. Sims said, bored. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

Annabelle’s mind shut down. Error 404, blue screen of death.

“I’m sorry,” she said pleasantly, smile frozen on her face. “What?”

But Mr. Sims just shrugged listlessly, slumping against the cushioned wall. His expression was no longer fond, indulgent, haughty. He just looked bored now, as if he was too tired and underpaid to deal with eighteen year olds. “I don’t want to sit through this entire dinner fending off flirting. We have actual business to talk about, and I am uninterested in beating around the bush when there’s no point. You aren’t even subtle.”

“Excuse me -” Annabelle started, enraged, but Mr. Sims put up a hand and cut her off.

The change was instant. On a dime, Mr. Sims straightened his posture, swept a finger through his hair to transform it from slicked back professor type to windswept, adopted a friendly and casual expression, and leaned in as if he was happy and excited to be sitting with Annabelle. In a moment he dropped ten years. Barely a second after his transformation the waiter approached them, holding a notepad, and Annabelle realized with a start that he had noticed the waiter coming before she did.

“How are you two doing tonight?” the waiter asked politely, smiling at the both of them in a rote routine that Annabelle remembered from her own days waitressing.

“Doing great!” Mr. Sims said, and even his accent was different, closely matching her own. He glanced back at Annabelle, nothing but open and friendly. “Mum says get whatever you want, dork. It’s on her bill, so let’s run her out of house and home.”

Instinctually, Annabelle shot back, “Aren’t you old enough to take me out to eat with your own money, loser?”

“Not with your stomach!” Mr. Sims laughed, and the waiter chuckled along too. Mr. Sims effortlessly rapped out an order for the waiter, before Annabelle even got a chance to look at the menu, and when she floundered Mr. Sims just rolled his eyes and ordered for her too. It was, somehow, her favorite food.

He waited for the waiter to move onto the next table, eyeing him carefully, before he let the persona drop. Mr. Sims sagged again, dropping the friendly act, sizing her up from half-lidded eyes.

“How did he even believe that,” Annabelle said flatly. “We don’t look anything alike.”

“White people will believe anything,” Mr. Sims said, rolling his eyes. “I have the Belgian government convinced I’m an Iraqi scientist and most high profile Australian celebrities think I’m Egyptian royalty.”

“...does Egypt have -”

“Nope.”

Annabelle was beginning to feel a little like the star actress in the school play who got upstaged in every way by the villain’s performance. Nobody did what she did. Nobody did what she did, but better.

“Don’t feel insecure,” Mr. Sims said, as if he could read her mind. “I’m a good actor, and I’m excellent at reading people. But I can’t plan or plot like you do. I’m shit at thinking three steps ahead, much less thirty. You can keep plots and schemes going for years - decades, even, if I were to guess. I’m not sure how someone as competent as you can have self-esteem issues.”

Annabelle bristled. “You try having nobody care about you for - how do you even know that shit about me?” Something terrible occurred to her. “Are you some kind of stalker, Mr. Sims?”

Mr. Sims shuddered in real disgust. “It’s Jon. And no, of course not. You just aren’t as subtle as you think you are.”

Yes, she was. She was subtle to everyone on the planet - everyone save, maybe, Jon. Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Jon said immediately.

“Liar. Everybody wants something.”

“I’m here altruistically,” Jon said, the perfect picture of innocence. “Really. I’m here to help you, Annabelle.”

“You are stalking me.” Annabelle leaned forward, but Sims didn’t move. “Are you even a real graduate student?”

“Absolutely not. I’m twenty three, I got my Psych degree last year and I’ve been bouncing odd jobs since.” Jon shrugged, as Annabelle felt silently vindicated. Nothing about this man acted like a twenty three year old - she remembered her siblings at twenty-three, there was nothing adult about them - but it was probably just another persona. She wondered how far she’d have to scratch to get to the real Jon Sims.

“So you were just at Surrey to spy on me,” Annabelle said slowly. “I don’t know what country you’re from, but in England that’s definitely stalking.”

“I’d call it scouting,” Jon said. The waiter dropped by to place their drinks on the table - Jon had gotten a mule for himself, and he had ordered water for Annabelle in a move uncharacteristic for a sketchy guy. He waited until the waiter left to continue. “Call me a recruiter.”

“For who? What kind of job recruiter teaches a class for two months just to get to me?”

“How’s your study with Dr. Blake going, Annabelle?” Jon said, almost randomly, and Annabelle shut up. He must have seen something in her eyes, because a sharp little grin stretched in the corner of his narrow and sharp face. “Thought so. What do you dream of, Annabelle? In the cold corners of night, what fears come to life in the dark recesses of your mind?”

Maybe, Annabelle thought inanely, this was a dream too. Just an extended nightmare, one she hadn’t woken up from. It felt like that: distant and strange, hyper-real and unreal. This strange man sitting in front of her, who swapped faces so easily even Annabelle couldn’t keep up, was far too out of place to truly exist.

Or maybe he was the first real person she had met in a very long time.

Jon continued talking, as if she had responded. Maybe she had. “I am not a hero in this story. If I was, I would have come earlier. I would have deleted your name from the pool of subjects, and I would have made it so that you never got that call.” Jon looked away from her for the first time, letting a little sadness show on his face. “I couldn’t. No - no, I could have, I simply chose not to. You’re important, Annabelle. And I didn’t want to rob you of something that you may grow to treasure. I’m afraid that the choice you make now may not be much of a choice at all - but, perhaps, there is still a chance. At the very least, I would like to make this transition a little easier for you. It is a terrible thing, to have to do it alone.”

That…

“That was so vague it was completely meaningless.”

Jon barked a laugh, strangely delighted. “It’s not fair to speak in circles to somebody who’s gone a week without sleep!”

“But you’re doing it on purpose,” Annabelle said, too dead inside to feel mad.

“Oh, absolutely. I am not taking the risk of taking you on at full power.” Jon smiled at her, as if they were friends sharing a joke. “I saw what you did to that Walker boy in secondary.”

Despite herself, Annabelle smiled. “Hear he gets out on parole in five.” Something else occurred to her, a bit belatedly. “You are stalking me!”

“Does a spider stalk the fly that strikes a string on its web?” Jon asked cheerfully. “Or is it simply investigating an encroachment into its territory?”

“Does that mean that you’re going to eat me?” Annabelle said archly. “Thought you said you didn’t want to fuck me. Rude, by the way.”

Almost hilariously, Jon wrinkled his nose. “Sex is a waste of time, resources, and my attention. Can’t imagine why people are so obsessed.”

“I know, right!” Annabelle burst out, before she could help herself. “Do you have any idea how much money I get a month from guys just to talk to me? It’s like they’re aliens! Why do people fuck or date if it’s not to manipulate someone?”

“Right! It’s ridiculous.”

It was the first time anybody had ever agreed with her on that. It was the first time she had even told anybody she felt that way. For a brief second, Annabelle felt connected to Jon. It was the first time that happened in...a very long time.

Jon was the first person Annabelle had ever met who was like her. Everybody in Annabelle’s life had always been either useful or useless. Jon seemed above that, somehow. To be beyond utility, to exist on your own power...what did that look like? To be the powerful, instead of the powerless?

No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many puppet strings Annabelle tied around her fingers, she was never powerful. Not really. She was eighteen, from a nothing family, and no matter how many molehills she made herself queen of she would never rule the mountain. She couldn’t get as far as she wanted with what she had. The only reason she had even volunteered for the stupid Arachnophobia experiment was because she needed to crush out weakness in herself, erase the hidden flaws in her mind.

But Jon said her flaws were strengths. What made her weak could be turned into power.

Annabelle needed more, more, more. She needed everything, if she was to have anything. She needed what Jon had.

Everything Annabelle said had a purpose. Every word she used was chosen carefully, every little gesture or body language was calculated. She said nothing without thinking, and she could do it so quickly nobody even noticed. Jon would notice, a con man as perfect as she was.

Let him. Give her two straight days to sleep, and they’d have a real battle of wits. In the meantime, she just had to pick her questions strategically.

“What am I turning into?” Annabelle asked, after a half-second of rapid thought. “Who are you? And what do spiders have to do with any of this?”

Jon smiled again broadly, grey eyes dancing with a barely hidden delight. “You’re fully aware that these are all the same question.”

“Then answer them. You said you’re here to help me. Then help me.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “We’ll negotiate a price later.”

“This one is a freebie,” Jon said. He leaned back, face fading into the shadow of the dim yellow light of the hanging light. “You’re turning into something much akin to myself.”

In the darkness, Annabelle saw Jon open his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes…

All eight of Jon’s glittering black eyes shone in the darkness, straining her own and making her head thump. It was wrong, outside of humanity or reality, and it felt as if the very sight was straining the fabric of her delicately maintained life so tight it would tear. It felt as if it was tearing her, right in two, ruining her forever. Her eyes felt like they were going to burst out of her head.

She didn’t want to know what would replace them. But she had the feeling that she already did.

“Then what,” Annabelle gritted out, “are you?”

“I am the eldest and most treasured Son of the Mother of Spiders,” Jon said. He smiled at her, just a little, almost apologetic. “Sorry about that. I know you’ve always wanted to be an only child.”

Ah. Duh. Obviously. She should have known.

“...do I want to know who the Mother of Spiders is?”

“Your mother, should you choose to accept her,” Jon said cheerfully, leaning back into the light, and his face was normal again. Human as ever. Strange and foreign as ever - possibly everything, possibly nothing. “I know you aren’t strictly in the market for adoption, but you may not have much of a choice. You’ve felt her scratching beneath her skin. She’s going to tear out of you, and soon. Did you know some species of wasp lay their eggs in the body of spiders to provide food for the grubs?”

“During the next experiment,” Annabelle said dully, already filtering out Jon’s useless tidbits of information. That was a guy who spoke for the sake of hearing himself talk. “That’s when it’s happening. When I’ll...change.”

“Yes. It’s a painful process,” Jon said, and it was almost apologetic. “My own happened when I was fifteen - quite young, all things considered. I still remember the sound of my bones snapping as -”

“Don’t.”

“Of course! Anyway, I thought I’d make sure you had...to use the psych term, informed consent, before you entered the crucible. Our - my, sorry - Mother often foregoes true consent in our operations. The beauty of nature!” Jon laughed, as Annabelle felt sick. “Agnes wanted to put together a pamphlet, but then we let Gerry go wild on the clipart and...well, it’s better if I just explain. I can’t give you the full story now, but I’ll tell you as much as your mind can comprehend.”

Annabelle wasn’t sure she could even comprehend this. It was so much, and she was so tired. She had just heard that her body was going to rupture like a cocoon and give birth to a giant spider that may or may not also be her, and all she could think about was the fact that she wanted to go back to bed. Somehow, all she could ask was -

“Why?” She asked, so stupid and pointless, as if she was stupid, as if she wasn’t her at all. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s like I said.” In the dim yellow lighting, Jon’s eyes glittered pure black, and in that brief and stupid second Annabelle felt as if they were the same in that way. “Nobody should have to go through this alone and ignorant.” Then the moment was over, and his eyes were a human grey again, just left of normal. “Besides. Siblings stick together, right?”

“I hardly need more siblings,” Annabelle snapped.

“You’re about to lose seven of them real soon,” Jon promised, extremely worryingly, “so I’d take what you can get right now, Annabelle.”

“Are you going to kill -”

“Unfortunately, you may have to fake your own death!”

Then their food came, and Annabelle received her first lesson in the class of hard knocks.

They talked for hours. It took hours, to even just get a picture of the story. Jon was patient, answering every question, and Annabelle strained so hard trying to fight through her exhaustion, trying to understand the answer, Jon’s motivation in answering it or what he could be leaving out, that by the end of it she felt as if she had run a marathon. She had never felt so tired in her life, in the most dangerous situation in her life, with the most dangerous person she had ever met.

By the end of it, Irene was texting her to ask if she was dead, and Annabelle was falling asleep at her chair. Jon cut an end to their conversation when he slid out his wallet, covered the bill with a black Amex card, and slid a business card against the table. Annabelle squinted down at it.

The text in the center just said [FREELANCERS]. That was it. She stared at it.

Underneath the vague word, she saw a phone number [555-555] and an email [[email protected]]. Annabelle looked up to stare at Jon. “Are you for real?”

“Almost never,” Jon said cheerfully, “but the card will make sense when it needs to. Let me take you back to your dorm, alright? You can get some sleep in the car.”

If he was a creep, she was dead anyway. Annabelle didn’t bother arguing. She grabbed her jacket and got in the passenger seat of his car, and true to his word Annabelle drifted asleep almost immediately. She even felt as if the ride took longer than ten minutes, as if he drove in circles just waiting for her.

For the first time in a week, Annabelle slept uninterrupted, and had no dreams.

Annabelle wanted what Jon had.

And a week later, she took it.

Shivering in an alley, clothing ripped to shreds, her own skin hanging off her triple jointed limbs, she dug out a creased and torn business card. She had been worrying at it intensely over the weekend, staring and it and clenching it tightly as if it was her only lifeline. It was, of course. But Jon had known that.

The card looked different now. The text now looked handwritten, but with a beautiful and old-timey slanted handwriting. It now just read:

‘To Annabelle, with love. From your new friends Gerry, Jon, and Agnes’. There was a number underneath, and Annabelle frantically dug in her tattered leather jacket pocket to draw out her cracked phone.

Annabelle hated taking favors from people. Everything she had, she had fought for herself. She would scrape, borrow, beg, and steal whatever she had to. But, when it came to siblings...maybe, then, it was okay.

Dizzily, as Annabelle let the phone ring, she thought: this is my supervillain origin story.

The thought sent a slow smile crawling across her inhuman and warped face.

Sounds like fun.

#AROACE ANNABELLE RIGHTS #tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfiction #annabelle cane #jonathan sims #web!jon #realized while writing evilcon that annabelle was seven while jon was twelve #and that their sibling relationship must be a NIGHTMARE #anyway i'm trying to convince myself not to write a web!jon agnes and gerry fic where its basically a leverage au #and i am failing miserably #so i wrote this instead of that #GRIFTER!JON AND IN THIS ESSAY I WILL #my writing

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

Note

“Are you planning to stay glued to my side this whole evening?” with diego alsooooo i love youuuuu

A/N: Thank you for choosing Fic Flash Pass (happy much-belated birthday). I would like to express through the following series of emojis how excited I am to finally write a fic for you: 😁💙💙🎉🎈😁 Word Count: 2517

Being close friends with Diego Hargreeves meant putting up with a lot of weird shit over the years. It meant late nights where he showed up injured or exhausted and needing your help. It meant occasional knives flying past your head when you startled him. It meant his paranoia and lectures about how it wasn’t safe to walk home alone at night, even though he had taken the time to teach you self-defense early on in your friendship. For a while it meant repeated “just for one night” instances of his strung-out brother sleeping on your couch (because he was refusing treatment, and even though he wouldn’t admit it Diego cared enough about him to want to make sure he’d be okay). And you put up with all of it, without complaint, because Diego was worth it.

You thought at this point that nothing he asked of you could surprise you anymore. And then he asked you to attend his sister’s wedding. Or really, practically begged you to be his date.

You were pulling a bullet out of his shoulder, lecturing him about how he was taking too many unnecessary risks, and if he was going to keep going after bad guys then he needed to start wearing better protective gear and he was damn lucky that his knife-harness was there to mitigate the wound.

“Allison’s getting married,” he blurted out, cutting you off before you could start in on the second, familiar branch of your lecture (that he should really be getting his wounds treated by someone with actual medical expertise, not just a little first aid training).

“Oh,” you said, not quite a question but also not quite not. You weren’t sure what he wanted you to do with that information.

“I have to go to the wedding,” he continued stiffly.

“That makes sense. She is your sister.” You raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t asking me to muck up this bullet removal so you have an excuse not to, are you?”

You were loath to admit that if that was indeed what he was asking, you might just do it. There wasn’t a lot you wouldn’t do if he asked, and after all this time you knew how to do it in a way that wouldn’t actually cause him worse harm.

“I can’t go alone!” His eyes were wide and frightened, as if attending Allison’s wedding was a fate less than death that he had been asked to undertake. You couldn’t help but laugh at the expression.

“I’m sure you can find a date, handsome guy like you. And Patch is still a friend, so she’d go. If only out of pity.” You smiled teasingly.

“Will you…” he mumbled. “W-w-will you go with me?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Part of you questioned if you heard him correctly. But if anything, his stutter made it more sure than less. He only stuttered when something was really emotional for him, when his mind was fighting itself. But you didn’t understand why (or maybe you did and just didn’t want to admit it).

“If you still want me to after the next five minutes,” you said, trying to calm your racing heart by collecting the supplies for the next part of his care. “Then I would be happy to go to your sister’s wedding with you, Diego. What else are friends for?”

“Why wouldn’t I--” his question was cut off with a shout of pain as you pressed a cloth soaked in antiseptic to the wound.

“Because of that,” you smirked, quickly cleaning the area and covering it over with gauze and binding.

The ballroom where the reception was held was beyond opulent: towering flower arrangements, crystal chandeliers and gleaming golden candelabras, and every spare inch draped in ivory silk. You could practically see yourself reflected in the polished surface of the floors.

“Wow,” you breathed. “Your sister really spared no expense…”

Diego shrugged uncomfortably. “Allison’s always been a little dramatic,” he mumbled.

“It’s pretty,” you turned to smile at him. “Anyway, you should go mingle and at least say hello to her. I’m going to find our table.”

Diego followed you as you wandered off into the dining portion of the reception hall. When you raised a questioning eyebrow, he mumbled something about it making sense for him to know where the table was too, so he didn’t have to hunt later. You shrugged.

After setting down your purse and shawl, you decided to mingle, maybe pick at a few of the hors d'oeuvres laid out on long, extravagant table displays. Once again, Diego trailed just behind you. You tried to ignore the oddity of the behavior as you picked up a shrimp puff and set it on one of the heavy little china plates. The fact that he wasn’t saying anything as he hovered annoyed you most of all.

After the third conversation that you tried to have with other guests that ended in an awkward glance over your shoulder at a glowering Diego and a hasty retreat with a half-assed excuse, you decided you’d had enough. He hadn’t gone to offer his congratulations to Allison and Patrick. He hadn’t so much as looked around for his other siblings or anyone else he might know. He hadn’t eaten anything. He just...followed you. It was very odd behavior and it was getting on your last nerve.

Setting your empty dish down heavily on an empty table space, not even caring whose it was, you turned to him, arms folded over your chest.

“Alright, that’s it,” you snapped, not caring who might overhear. “What is going on with you?”

He frowned, puzzled and tried to deny that there was anything going on.

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit. You have been looming and lurking and following me around like a lost puppy since we got here. Are you planning to stay glued to my side this whole evening?”

His frown deepened, and he opened his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut again with an audible click.

“Because if you are, the least you can do is dance with me.” You held out a hand. “It is a wedding after all.”

Hesitantly, he took your hand and let you lead him out onto the dance floor. He pulled you close to him, one hand in yours and the other wrapped around his waist. You placed your free one on his shoulder, his suit jacket soft and warm beneath your palm. You felt your face heat under his gaze, now focused down on you and you tried not to let it faze you, focusing on a slight crease in his lapel as if that would let you escape it.

The two of you twirled across the floor, falling into easy step together, each surprised at the other’s dancing abilities.

You licked your lips nervously. Something about being here like this with him was making you think about things you had pushed aside (namely the crush on him that you had developed and decided early on in your friendship wasn’t worth the risk of losing him in your life, fearing that you could never compare to his detective) and you wanted it to stop. But at the same time, for a moment everything was perfect, and you didn’t want to ruin it.

“So…” you said eventually as the two of you slowed and the song changed. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

His hand shifted slightly, tugging you a little closer to him, your face practically pressed to his chest, as the next song began. As you danced and he avoided answering your question, you decided to find the answer on your own. You knew him well enough.

There was a slight tremor in his hand which gripped yours a little tighter than necessary. His jaw is set tightly, twitching just enough for you to suspect he’s grinding his teeth together. His breath is a little short. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was...afraid?

“Seriously, Diego, are you alright?” you murmured, trying to catch his eye.

He startled at the sound of your voice. “What?”

“You’re acting really strangely and you seem...upset. You haven’t spoken to your sister at all even though it’s her wedding.”

“I’m not upset. And I’ll talk to Allison later, she’s busy with all her other guests,” he argued, eyebrows knitting in a frown.

“You’re not upset? Okay, then explain to me why you’re holding my hand so tightly you’ll be getting a bill from my physical therapist on Monday.”

He dropped your hand like it had burned him and stuttered out an apology.

“Relax, it was a joke.” You frowned. “Let’s go out to the balcony. I feel like we both could use some air.”

Without waiting for an answer you grabbed his arm and dragged him in the direction of the double doors and the candle-lit, if slightly chilly, night. As soon as you passed out of the crowded room, you could feel the tension pour off of Diego and you breathed a sigh of relief. The pair of you moved to lean on the rail, shoulders just barely brushing.

“I...don’t belong here,” he sighed. “I’m just going to screw something up.”

“What are you talking about Diego?”

He shook his head. “Allison has this grand life. Big movie star L.A. life, and if I talk to her I’ll...what would we even talk about? We haven’t seen each other in years. I haven’t seen any of them in years.”

“That’s not true, you saw Klaus six months ago,” you joked, not sure how else to comfort him.

You knew what he was trying to say. He felt like Allison had moved on, and built a new life where her siblings were unwelcome, the invitation to her wedding a mere formality that for some reason all of them, save, thankfully, their father, had accepted. And on some level, you thought, he was probably right.

“Is that why you were nervous to ask me to be your date? Not that I’m a date-date, but I can imagine why having a real date would make things weirder and that’s really not the point, anyway...Because you don’t think you should have come at all?” you asked.

He shrugged.

“No,” you said, turning to face him and taking one of his hands in both of yours. “Please talk to me Diego. Maybe I can help?”

“How could you possibly help, Y/N?” he snapped, running his free hand through his short-cropped hair.

“I don’t know! You’ve got me playing damn guessing games when I came to this wedding where all I know is you and the junkie in the corner talking to the air,” you gestured back through the doors at Klaus who was doing exactly that, “for you. Because I care about you, and I thought maybe you needed, maybe you wanted me here. So you tell me Diego. Or maybe I should just leave.”

“No!” his eyes widened at the threat. “Please don’t leave.”

You pressed your lips together, feeling tears well up in your eyes and praying that no one thought to glance outside to where the two of you were arguing. If there was a way to ruin a wedding it was the bride’s brother and his date having a screaming match. You had said your piece, so now you watched him expectantly, waiting for him.

He sighed deeply and turned away from you, eyes seeming to focus on a point off in the gardens below somewhere.

“I knew this whole thing was going to be uncomfortable,” he explained very slowly, and you instinctively reached over again to cover one of his hands with yours where it gripped the bannister tightly.

“But I thought it would be worse not to come at all.”

You nodded in understanding, leaning closer to hear him better over the wind and the din from inside.

“And everything’s easier when...with you So I thought...”

Your heart skipped a beat. In all the years of your friendship, he had never said anything like that before. You knew that you counted him among your best friends, and that he didn’t have very many friends in general, making you one of a rare and exclusive caliber, but to hear him come this close to admitting it was strange and new and oddly thrilling.

“But,” he glanced back at you before returning to his vigil, “you looked so beautiful tonight that,” he shook his head, “instead it reminded me of how incredible you are, and how it’s just one more thing for me to ruin.”

“Diego,” you frowned. “I don’t understand. What’s one more thing for you to ruin? My outfit? I would be pretty pissed if I was dressed like this and you pulled your usual superhero nonsense and bled all over me or something but I don’t think that’s going to be a problem here.”

“Don’t joke, Y/N. Not when I’m trying to be serious.”

“I’m not joking Diego. Okay maybe I am a bit, but only because I’m not following you. What don’t you want to ruin?”

“You!” he cried, throwing himself back around to face you. “I don’t want to ruin you!”

You resisted the urge to call attention to the innuendo there, especially since doing so would probably include admitting that you would not mind it a wink. Instead you bit your lip, thinking fast and trying to piece together what he was saying to you, about you.

“How could you possibly ruin me Diego?” you blurted out. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“I’ve already started you know,” he mused softly. “You don’t even flinch anymore when I show up injured and need you to stitch a wound or dig out shrapnel or glass. You have such a good heart and care so much, I don’t want you to end up...like me.”

“There is nothing in the world that could get me to dress in leather and fight bad guys and get punched a lot. And the rest of you, I don’t see how it would be a bad thing to be like.”

He scoffed.

“I’m serious Diego. After all, you have the biggest, sweetest heart and soul in the city. Or you wouldn’t be out there every night saving people. It’s what I love most about you.”

Your hand came up to cup his jaw instinctively, marveling at the feel of his stubble against your palm and how perfectly fit it seemed to be to rest there. He looked beautiful in the dim lights, like an artist’s painting of a hero or a god. You breath caught in your throat as he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Y/N, I…” he reached blindly out for you, catching your other wrist in his hand, sliding down hesitantly to lace his fingers through yours.

“Diego, unless I’ve read the room completely wrong, there’s nothing more that needs to be said,” you chuckled. “So just shut up and kiss me, already?”

#don't think I forgot my promise for your birthday to jump your first request/a fic for you once we shared a fandom to the top of the queue #this ended up very Soft so I hope that's cool #😅#Diego Hargreeves x Reader #The Umbrella Academy fic #p.s. LOVE YOU TOO

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azurevi · 4 years

Text

2:00am

is this even angsty? either way, you've been warned. (Leona x gender neutral reader) (featuring shitty title♡)

"I'm so sad that I'm going to stay up all night," they said. "Let's just not go to sleep, for the sake of memories," they said.

Ace and Deuce were already tucked comfortably in their beds, competing for the title of the loudest snorer. But no matter how big a noise they made, they couldn't beat the infallible champion that is Grim.

Hung on the wall was the mirror that you've been looking at for as long as you could remember. You'd always known － you could feel it in your bones － that it was connected to something else. And that it could serve as a portal to your own world was not a big surprise either.

You just didn't expect it to be done so soon.

A line of incomprehensible words, perhaps a spell, were scribbled on the worn out frame and were emittng a faint, humming light. Crowley had casted it a week ago, turning it into your ticket back home.

The news spread like wildfire in the campus. The prefect of the two-person dorm, unexpected non-magical user who was nonetheless accepted into the school, was going to leave. Some students, even though they never really knew you, were disappointed at this. After all, you've done so many remarkable things for the school.

Friends you made along the way made their visits one by one, with heartfelt farewells and delicate gifts. Jamil cooked you the grandest meal you'd ever eaten in your life. Floyd gifted you a handstitched shrimp plushie, even though it looked a bit messy at the trims. Riddle held a well-organized farewell party for you, ordering every students in Heartslabyul to make it as memorable as possible.

Almost everyone had sent their blessings. No - everyone except one.

And surprise, surprise. It was Leona, perhaps the person closest to you here in this foreign world.

It was probably safe to say that he despised you at first glance. It took him quite a while to look at you without prejudice, and even longer to accept you as his friend. Even after you'd helped him out of overblot, he was quite hesitant to let you in.

That being said, even Leona could be moved with enough persistence. It was only a matter of time until he started appearing by your side during breaks and lunch, hanging out with you instead of napping around the campus, taking your advice even though he feigned annoyance.

Before you knew it, you'd already got used his presence and his warmth, the safety he promised and the unsaid care.

But time was a mischievous kid, because it never waited. It just kept running and running, even sprinting faster if you called out to it.

Perhaps you'd realized it way too late. It felt as if the very moment you'd figured out your feelings for Leona, you were to leave this world. And of course, you could just stay. Forget about your previous life and live here forever. Alas, no matter how hard you tried, you could never fit in. You never belonged.

Which was... fine. You could just bury your feelings for him and hope for it to fade. It wasn't like you expected him to return your feelings anyways, despite all the subtle signs that you took note of.

The thing was that, Leona, the person you surprisingly found yourself the coziest with, vanished as soon as news about your departure leaked. He was nowhere to be found. He was neither in the garden nor his room. You'd tried going to him at night, sure that he would be in deep sleep, but his bed was vacant with nary a wrinkle on the sheet.

It was like he was avoiding you on purpose.

And it hurt, even though he was known to be amateurish when it came to dealing with feelings. It hurt because you were leaving, and he didn't even bother to say goodbye. Even Tsunotarou came with a dispirited countenance, so why hadn't he?

Thoughts kept you awake despite protests. You decided to take a walk around Ramshackle, perhaps to survey the place one last time before your leave tomorrow.

The moment you yanked open the door, you came face to face with Leona, who had his fist held up in the middle of knocking.

"…Good morning," he said.

"Oh! What are you doing here this late?" you asked.

"To say goodbye, of course. You're leaving tomorrow, right?"

It was hard to make out his face, but you could tell that his eyes were everywhere but on you.

"Yeah, tomorrow. How nice of you to make a visit the night before at 2am," you couldn't help the bitterness in your voice.

"Look, prefect-" he inhaled. "Let's just pretend nothing happened, okay? I don't want us ending on a bad note,"

In all your times spent with him, he had never sounded so discouraged before. You dropped your hostility immediately and invited him into the lounge.

"Tea?" you offered, but he declined in fear that it'd keep him awake. So you sat by him on the couch, without anything to distract you.

"How are you feeling? About leaving, I mean,"

"Well, I ought to be a little sad," you laughed dryly. "But everyone's been trying to make it joyous,"

"I see," Leona ended the conversation so abruptly that you feared that he was going to leave.

"I'm sorry for being out of reach for the past week,"

Leona apologizing. Never had you thought you'd live to see this day.

"Where have you been anyways?"

"…Out?"

"That's the vaguest answer I've ever got," you smiled slightly, but he still seemed to be bothered. "What's the matter?"

His ears twitched in annoyance. It was such a rare sight. "Don't you think you're leaving too hastily?"

"Are you prompting me to stay?"

"No-no," he replied, and with that extinguished your hope. You couldn't understand why he was trying so hard not to say what everyone's been saying. It's not like he was the most understanding person either.

"I just thought you can... maybe linger for a few more days? If that's not too selfish of me,"

"What is all this, Leona? It's unlike you to be this considerate," you teased him gently, and he finally mustered a small smile.

"That's what you've always told me though," he said, puzzling you. "It's annoying... but I kept it in mind. Be more understanding, quit being self-centered, treat people with thought…" he trailed off when he saw your face. "What?"

You closed your mouth with a short chuckle, "Nothing. It's just unexpected. Are you trying to be sentimental on my last day?"

"Did I do a good job?"

You nodded.

"Well, consider this a parting gift, then. The priceless experience of me being sappy,"

The night hadn't gone how you'd quite expected. What had you assumed anyways? For him to make you stay out of selfishness? Would you have stayed, then?

You hated to admit it, but yes. He only needed to ask, but he wouldn't, because you'd told him not to.

"Well then, thank you for opening up to me,"

He growled quietly. You looked down in what felt like disappointment. Tranquility installed between the two of you, but you could feel it even in the air, that the both of you had something to say, but wouldn't. The words lodged in your throats like fish bones, difficult to swallow, even more so to spit out.

"Well then, I hope you don't feel too sad about leaving," he shot up and started striding for the door. You raced, heart pounding in your chest as you grabbed his arm, words blurting out of you without knowing.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"What did you expect?" he asked back, voice suddenly devoid of any emotion.

"I don't know," you confessed. "Something more?"

It seemed so self-centered for you to ask, but you were blatantly desperate. Leona paused for a while, before turning to you looking more defeated than ever.

"Look, prefect, I already spent the past week brooding, and you can't imagine how hard it is for me to act all generous now. But I can't hold you back, can I? You have your own world to return to, and -" he rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "I don't want you to leave, but I have to let you go. Please don't make it harder than it already is,"

Words died on your tongue as you realized how shortsighted you've been, thinking that it would be easy for him. You let your hand slip away quietly.

"Just promise to visit me, okay?" he pleaded.

"I don't know if I can-"

"Just promise,"

"Okay," you forced a laugh, croak and painful. "I promise,"

Leona pulled you into his chest, too tall to even rest his chin atop your head, but it was something he'd got used to already. You stayed in his arms, as if by clenching to him tight enough time would stop its malicious game and let you stay in this moment forever.

In the end, it was him who broke the moment and stepped away. The instant his warmth left, a raw coldness washed over you.

"Well then," he stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned to leave. "Rest well, prefect,"

"You too," you answered weakly and watched as his figure reached for the door, and vanished from your sight like he was but a whisk of fog.

乁( ˙ω˙ )厂

#twst x reader #leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar x reader #deadass dunno how to write angsty …#this turned out worse than i expected hh #sie writes

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finn-ray-nal-beads · 4 years

Note

jameson whiskey send tweet. BLOWHOLE.

A/N: WHALE, WHALE, WHALE KITTEN... here we are... another installment of the siren series with Captain Flip and finding his sultry sea maiden! I hope ya like it kitten @maybe-your-left 🖤. I did a few time jumps to cement the story a little further. If you haven’t read the beginning of my Blowhole series please refer to it in my Masterlist under the Flip Request section for context.

Warnings: Mild angst, pining (from Flip and us too), mostly plot hardly any porn I’m sorry everyone, mentions of alcohol, mentions of possessive behaviors, masturbation, Flip is an irritable motherfucker as usual, and of course pirate slang slathered throughout the entire story, coupled with Little Mermaid slurs

(Y/N’s POV, the day you saved Flip)

You startled awake, gasping as a flurry of bubbles left your lips, a nightmare that had stirred you awake from your restless sleep.

You rubbed your tired eyes, stretching your muscles and tail from the king-sized clamshell bed in your extravagant palace of opalescent towers, gazing out at the majesty of the underwater mecca you’d called home.

The bustling of merfolk swimming in all directions, schools of fish making their ways in and out of the caverns, and the heart of the city blossoming with light as the shining palace glistened in the light of the morning.

It was truly a paradise in the depths of a trackless sea, an epicenter of life only visible to those seeking it out the most. And in this hustle and bustle, you felt lost.

The longing to be free from the chains you’d been given since birth only growing as your age advanced. Being the daughter of the king of the ocean had its perks, including the charmed life you’d grown to know and love. Showered with affection and attention by all who had come to know you, attending galas and balls weekly, being taught the highest educational studies the merpeople could offer, and the access to the most precious possessions in the ocean, to which any man or woman would kill to have.

But the worst part of all of this was your indifference to it. Yes, as a child the affection and material prizes were all the rage, but as you got smarter, grew into the stunning beauty you were, so was the pressure to uphold the family traditions.

Those included taking your rightful place on the thrown, with the strongest merman as your king to lead the people in keeping the peace between land and sea, just as your father had done and his father before him.

This had been cemented into your studies from your preschool years and on, the consequences racking up as your age did, and the pressure to find a suitor as well, which nauseated you to no end.

One evening at dinner, you’d not been in the mood for foolish tricks, settling to quietly consume your seafood as your parents droned on and on about foreign relations with the land folk and treaties of such nature that you’d tuned out.

“My darling,” your mother prompted as you were pulled from your distant state, “you haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on sweetheart?” gazing as you shrugged, rolling the shrimp on your fork and pushing your palm into your cheek.

“It’s nothing mother,” sighing as you took a sip from your chalice, avoiding all eye contact with both parents while the room grew more silent.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with her,” your father booming out, stuffing his face with the delicacies like the titan he was, “she’s neglecting her duties!” smacking his lips together and boring his eyes into yours.

“I am not!” slamming your fork down to lift yourself from your chair, “you don’t even know what it’s like to be me!” tears welling in your eyes as he lifted his hulking body to meet your eye-level.

“Do not raise your voice at me, Y/N!” he commanded, a swirl of water whirl pooling as he grew angrier and angrier, “you will comply with my choices and you will marry one of our chosen suitors by the end of the full moon celebrations!” forcing an imaginary hold on you to stay in your seat.

“It’s time you stop fucking around, Y/N!” he bellowed, your emotional state the furthest from his mind as he stuffed tradition down your throat, “you’re not getting any younger!” cementing his point to cause you to wail out in a pained cry.

“Let me go, father!” squirming in his magical grip as you struggled to release your body from all of the stresses of being in the family, “I don’t want to be someone’s possession! I want to be in love!” screaming with pained tears as you writhed free from him.

“Love!” he chuckled, the word a foreign thing to him as he married your mother for the sake of treaty, “my sweet stupid siren, you know nothing of love because it doesn’t exist!” his laughs ringing through the dining hall as you sobbed into your hands, your mother trying to comfort you as you were given the harsh reality of the rest of your days in the palace. Her silent tears falling under the mixture of your hurt as well as her own sad significance to her husband.

“Y-you’re w-wrong!” you stifled, heavy cries releasing from your lungs as you grasped for something to parch your aching thirst, wiping the heavy tears that dissipated into the saltwater.

“Y-you’re s-so w-wrong f-father!” speeding your tail out of the great hall, the echo of his angered voice radiating through the hall as you burst out of the castle, swimming at the fastest speeds you could.

Your tears clouding your directions as you rocketed through the masses of folk passing through the town square, fish hurrying their way out of yours as you cried through your pain.

“I-I’ve got to g-get out of h-here!” you hiccuped as the lights faded from your view, the darkness of the ocean enveloping you in a mysterious veil as you tried to curb your sobs.

You stilled your breath, stopping in the abyss to gather your surroundings, knowing you were far enough from home for your father to pull you back with his vortex with the flick of his wrist. Scoffing in sobs and flipping the bird in the direction as a thunderous roll hummed through the ocean.

The light from above striking the surface in a lightning cloud as thunder boomed from the skies, your eyes gazing at the majesty from below as you solitarily floated in the swells, watching the huge waves ebb over each other in a frenzy.

Suddenly, a huge object grew over the surface, the oval shape of it covering the crackling sky above, pulling you towards it like a beacon.

Your tail moving unconsciously as you neared the large wooden hull, noticing its undoubtedly characteristic figures from the books you’d nosed through in your study.

“Holy sh-,” barely getting the words out as a crack of light shot through the bottom of the ship, sending debris into the seas as the wooden vessel disintegrated before you.

Bodies strewn amongst barrels of alcohol, cannonballs, and masts fell to the depths of the ocean, maneuvering the wreckage as you surveyed the devastation.

Amongst the chaos, floating in the ebbs of the depths, you noticed the most striking being you’d ever come across in your years. His ravened hair flowing in the ocean as his lifeless body rag-dolled in the currents, his chiseled features glimmering in the crackling lightning as you came closer to his hulking figure.

Running your scaled hands over his nose, his facial hair, his plush lips as you finally came to grips with what you had to do. Taking his dead weight into your arms as you turbo your way from the shipwreck, the bubbles trailing your tail as you figured out your next move.

The panic set in when you realized this man wasn’t like you, his pulse no doubt fading the longer he was under the ocean.

You hastily tried to find a speck of sand, bobbing your head up and down out of the water as you clung to the surface, trying to give him the slightest bit of oxygen as the thunder rolled over the stormy seas.

“Come the fuck on!” you cried out, looking left and right as you caught the glimpse of a palm tree wavering in the hurricane winds several miles away.

You barreled yourself and your extra weight towards the shores, dragging his thick muscle onto the sand as the wind howled through the patch of trees settled in the middle of nowhere.

Laying him out on his back, trying to shield him from the ebbs of the shores, and the debris flying through the air as you surrounded him with your slick tail. Holding his deadened face in your chest as you covered him from the turbulence above.

“Dammit, dad!” grunting into his ravened hair, cursing the swells that had grown familiar to you when he’d been stirred the wrong way, “would you fucking calm down?!” yelling into the thundering greyness that only swirled into a bigger frenzy as you gave it life.

“Fine!” you screamed out, the swells howling as the clapping continued over the vast sea, “I’ll do whatever you fucking want, just please, stop this tantrum!” tears streaming down your face as the words left your lips, sentencing you to a life of loveless encounters all for the good of the merpeople.

Upon your claims, clouds cracked, the thunder dissipated, and the waves calmed as if there hadn’t been a tsunami wrecking the open ocean in the slightest. Seagulls squawked as they elevated into the clear blue sky, the smell of the sea penetrating your aching lungs.

The sun crept through the whitening clouds, beaming its light on the tanned shores, your eyes squinting as the tears steamed off your cheeks in the searing fireball. Choking on air as you savored the last moments of your freedom, feeling the land beneath you and the spray of the seashore on your tear-stained face.

“T-thank you,” the bile straining from your throat as you gagged back the fake appreciation, looking back to your sailor, his skin glowing in the sunlight as you removed your tail from his body.

He stirred underneath you, heaving his chest as he puked up seawater, gasping for air as he writhed on the sand.

“H-holy f-fuck!” grunting out, trying to shield his eyes as you quickly shape-shifted to avoid more shocking revelations from your handsome stranger.

His thick pectorals straining in his shirt as he coughed up more spit and water, trying to grip himself back to reality.

His eyes straining upwards towards your silhouette, the frame of the sunlight sitting perfectly on your glistening face, your nude form covered in sand as it clung to the beads of water sporadically strewn on your legs and arms.

“H-hello?” he strained out, taking in your features as you melted in his amber gaze below, his honeyed bellow rippling through your shocked body embracing you in a warmth hotter than the beating sun.

Your breath left with the tropical winds as you watched him sit up towards you, his chiseled tanned features becoming more human as he gained more consciousness. You felt something you’d only read in storybooks, something you had hoped for, ever since you were a guppy.

You stared at him, watching his chest heave in and out, his rippling arms gathering himself to sit up, his grunted breaths penetrating the sea air over the waves crashing around him.

“Well good morning to you too, sailor,” you sang out in the most enchanting melody possible, losing yourself in lust as the morning peaked over the palm trees.

Figuring that you had sentenced yourself to a lifetime of duty to your people, what was the harm in getting at least one romantic fling before heading back to reality?

And it devoured your body up and down, right in the sandy shores of the Atlantic.

__________________

(Flip’s POV, in search of Y/N)

The heavy swells of the sea cast over the proud Jolly Roger, relentlessly plowing through the white water in the bright light of an Atlantic morn. The course had been set by the fearless buccaneer in his quest to find his elusive mermaid lover, his focus not wavering even when he laid to rest his eyes at night.

He filled his head with folktales and legends of the lost city, hoping to find an Easter egg to lead him closer to his precious prize. Every port they landed on, he was nose deep in the libraries, swilling rum to curb his irritation at the exclusivity of information on these folk and where they hid their secrets.

“There has to be something,” he sat in the candlelight, puzzling as he rubbed his ravened mustache, maps and books strewn over his desk, combined with notes he’d added to help or hinder his progress.

“For fuck’s sake there has to be!” slamming his fist down, throwing the texts on his wooded floor in a thud, rubbing his temples as he filled his cup with another helping of his precious hooch. Slamming a shot or two down with large gulps as he fed the demon brewing within, becoming more and more frustrated at his dwindling expertise.

He had found treasures buried in the bellies of beasts for God’s sake, been to all corners of the ocean, even dared to look Davey Jones in his squid tentacles and spit on the ground he walked on. It couldn’t be that fucking hard to find his precious scaled dame, who captured his heart and wracked his brain every single day since the moment your sultry eyes met his.

He got up from his seat, rubbing a hand through his silken waves as he sighed. Taking another swill of his poison to cleanse his dried throat, rubbing his eyes from the headache that had built up in his desperate attempts at finding a sign.

“I just need to quit for the night,” heavily sighing at his failures, angrily going to remove his effects from his person, his tensed muscles aching as he rubbed the back of his neck in a strained groan.

“Mmm, fuck,” he growled, stripped down to his skivvies as his half hardened cock waved in the motions of the ebbs and flows of the ship, the pained movements egging the erection to grow harder and harder coupled with his thoughts of you.

He laid in his chambers, the warm light caressing his freckled skin, showcasing his muscular form as he propped himself to stifle his need for your soft pussy.

The more he laid staring at the ceiling, the more he conjured up thoughts of you. How perfect your hair glimmered in the warm sunlight, your enchanting eyes swirling in his mind, boring into him as if you had actually been in the room. Your glistening skin that gave off an opalescent hue in the light of the beach that morning, your perfectly pouted lips, begging to be covered in his as you coaxed him to you.

He laid uncomfortably now, eyes furrowing as he gripped his mast in his thick digits, slipping his wet tip in them to slide the moisture down his veiny shaft, “Y/N,” he whimpered, his mind racing with more images of you that morning, “Y/N please,” begging as he sped up his motions on his throbbing cock.

Your perfectly plump tits, shimmering on the sand, grit covering parts of your coconut-scented skin, the curve of your ass showcasing your siren charms as you coaxed his mind into his own pleasured memories.

‘What are you gonna do to me sailor?’ a melodic and enchanting voice ringing through his psyche as he palmed his girth in his hand, his balls tensing as he thought of you and your wiles.

“Oh fuck darlin’,” he sped up his assault, “I-I’m gonna storm your shores so f-fuckin’ hard,” he groaned, feeling his orgasm build and build on his fantasy of you sand-covered, begging for his cock, “y-you’ll be cummin’ in w-waves on m-my, f-fuck!” he cried out feeling the heat spread over his lower half.

His motions speeding and squeezing on his Kraken even harder as he finished his thoughts, ‘come on captain,’ you purred, covering your body in more and more sand as it stuck to your glistening curves, ‘blow your load all over me,’ your lips whispering to him as your eyelashes batted in his direction.

“O-oh f-fuck!” he shouted, his release clouding the image of you as he snapped back to reality. Hot cum spurting in waves as he dumped his wasted spend on his chiseled abs, balls tightening as it cascaded down over his knuckles.

“M-mother f-fuck,” groaning as he threw his head back into his pillow, feeling the wetness cover his hand as he finished his ministrations, recoiling after it began to feel like too much on his softening cock.

He glanced down at the mess, huffing and puffing at the wasted release, shuttering as he saw the amount that had come out of him. He wished it was six feet deep in your velvet cunt. Wished it was dispersing itself in your vacant womb, seeding itself so deep that he’d marked you his forever.

He shook his head, the ache returning in his temples as he laid there. Completely spent from his quest, wishing you were laying on his chest, smelling your tropical scent on his nostrils. Feeling the kinks and curls of your freshly fucked hair, hearing your sweet breaths escape your lips as he’d try to kiss on them before lulling you to sleep in his chambers. He only wished.

Suddenly, a series of hasted knocks threw him out of his daydreams, the sound of Ron begging him to open up.

“Captain! Captain!” he cried, seemingly in distress, as Flip hurried to make himself decent, throwing on his pantaloons and white undershirt, grunting as the knocks came quicker and quicker.

“Hold the fuck on!” he bellowed, slamming his boots on the wooded floor to kick the books he’d previously thrown from his desk, ready to strangle his mate for disturbing him so late.

Throwing open the heavy door “what the hell is going on, Ron?” his clearly irritated demeanor causing his buddy to jump back, shying away as his intentions seemed to be overzealous in their action.

Flip lifted to his full height, crossing his arms to practically cover the doorway, the smallest slivers of light from his room emitting in a halo around his head, huffing his chest to hear what the commotion was about.

“Uhmmm, Z,” he timidly questioned, not making eye contact with his captain as he knew the second he’d panic knocked, he’d signed a death warrant on himself, “I-I think you need to see this,” leading to the doorway that pulled them on the main deck of the massive ship.

“See what, Ron?” gritting out as he lumbered behind him, a mixture of puzzled and pissed as he helped him jiggle the latches on the double doors.

The cool sea air penetrated their faces, the sounds of the waves crashing the hull as it pushed its way in the set course, the night sky spotted with bright stars and a moon that illuminated the entire ocean as his night crew was busy with their chores, raising and lowering the sheets to readjust the direction from the winds.

Ron led him to the captain’s wheel, being manned by a crewman who had taken Ron’s station for him to alert Flip to the sight. The man scurried away when he saw them approach, Ron gripping the wheel to keep the ship in the right direction as his other hand gripped the telescope laying by the maps given to him.

“Here,” he gestured, placing the tool in his captain’s hand as he lifted to extend it out to look through, “about two paces to the right from where the ship is headed,” he pointed, to which Flip did as his mate had told him.

Zeroing in on the spot he’d mentioned, eyes squinting as he took in the scene from the spyglass, “what the fu-?” he adjusted the fine vision on the lens to reveal something he’d never seen before in his life.

A bright beam of lights, emitting from the horizon, colored in blue and green hues as it danced on the trackless shoreline they were headed. The streams seemed to pulse with life as they danced on the waves, the stars beaming through as the light show continued on and on.

“What do you think it is?” Ron’s voice, stern but concerned as Flip closed the glass to glance over at him.

He huffed, stalking over to the maps on the other side, looking at them to see what the answer could possibly be, caressing his goatee as he forked through the latitudes and longitudes.

Dragging his large index finger over the directions he’d mapped out, looking at landmarks, squinting as the light of the night didn’t help his vision.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the possible answer, shimmering in the light of the moon like a beacon, calling to him like your siren song had rung through his ears that day.

“This,” he slammed a sausage down, a devilish smirk painting his face as he glazed over the name labeled on the parchment.

Ron glanced down to notice the name inked on the spot, looking in his direction, noticing his demeanor changed in an instant as he marveled at the map.

“The Bottom,” he chanted, as he gripped the ship’s wheel, watching Flip snap into action, a frenzy of map tracking and smiles at his traction gained on finding his prize.

“The Bottom, Ron,” he chuckled, the both of them looking up as the lights grew larger in the sky, seemingly large fingers coaxing the Roger towards it in an enchanting procession.

“You really think it’s there?” he steered puzzled now as the lights brought them closer and closer, Flip’s eyes beaming with the shadows of them as he was entranced by the thoughts of you in his arms again.

“Only one way to find out, buddy,” he grinned, placing his buccaneer’s cap on his thick locks, reaching for the bottle that was kept on top of the map.

Taking a large swig of sweet nectar to let out a huge gasp, rubbing the remainder from his mustache as he tossed the vice to his mate, who took a swig too, aiming the ship still as he gripped the glass.

“We gotta go to the bottom of that barrel, Ron,” cocking an eyebrow as he prepared his crew for all that would be beyond the lights.

_______________

WILL HE FIND YOU IN TIME BEFORE YOU’RE SHIPPED OFF TO MARRY ANOTHER UGLY FUCK?

FIND OUT ON THE NEXT INSTALLMENT OF BLOWHOLE AND HIS SIREN LOVE!

🖤,

ray-nal-beads

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman request #flip zimmerman x reader #flip x you #flip zimmerman x you #flip x female reader #flip x reader #flip zimmerman smut #flip zimmerman fluff #flip zimmerman imagine #the siren series #a sirens song #the bottom of the barrel #pirate!flip #pirate au #flip zimmerman x mermaid reader

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happykawa · 5 years

Text

[ goldfish ] t.k

afsghjkdls ive got some writing juice i gotta use before it expires shdjhskj everyone’s 18+ and in college and this isn’t proofread sorry if its long

You help clean the volleyball court as the rest of the members pack their things. Today had been a fairly good day for training. Everything went smoothly, well, as smooth as things could go in the team.

You say your goodbyes to your seniors before you head the opposite way with Tadashi and Tsukishima.

“Say, y/n-chan,” Tadashi starts and you turn to him.

“Hm?”

“How’s it going with your crush?” Tadashi asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Tsukishima remains nonchalant, though he does turn to you.

You feel your ears turn pink and you look away, afraid your eyes may reveal something clandestine.

“Nothing, still. I haven’t gathered up the courage to confess.” You chuckle nervously, rubbing the back of your head. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Tsukishima look away in disinterest, and you feel your heart break a little. Just a little though.

Tadashi sighs. “Maybe if you just told us we could help you!” He pokes your side with his elbow.

“N-no, no thanks. I feel like that would just make things even more complicated, and I wanna do it on my own terms.” You give Tadashi an apologetic smile, letting your eyes glance over to a certain blond for a split second.

That was an understatement. Telling Tadashi would make things much much more complicated, considering your crush was none other than the snarky blonde on the opposite side of your small group.

“Okay, I can respect that.”

The rest of the walk is silent, and Tadashi eventually branches off to his street, leaving you alone with the one and only Tsukishima.

You could never really pinpoint when you started having a crush on Tsukishima. Next to Tadashi, you’ve known him the longest, so it’s definitely hard to say when it exactly started, given all the time you’ve spent together.

However, if you were asked, you’d probably say sometime before high school. When you realised it, you were terrified to say the least. Falling for the crankiest person you know isn’t exactly ideal.

Furthermore, Tsukki never really showed interest in romance, so for all your years of friendship, you don’t know anything about his preferences or his tells.

Recently, you’ve grown hyper aware of your emotions, due to spending even more time with him as an assistant manager of the volleyball club. It’s quite the miracle that you’re not a tomato now given your close proximity to the him.

“Oi, don’t think too much, you might use your last brain cell.” A cool voice breaks you out of your reverie.

You huff and pout. “Tsukishima, you’re so mean. I have more than one brain cell you know. I can afford to think.”

“I’m surprised you even have one left, with how you were looking earlier with physics.” He snickers.

You slap his arm. “Well not all of us have an unlimited supply, you know. I have to make do with what I have.”

“Two brain cells?” He snickers once again.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yes, thank you very much.”

“Both working?”

“Okay, now that’s just mean.” You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help it if one of them decidedly thinks about–my crush.” You quickly save yourself the slip up of nearly saying ‘you’. You give yourself an internal pat on the back.

Seeing as you’ve entered the topic of your ‘crush’, you take the rare opportunity to subtly ask him about it. “Say, Tsukishima, if a girl were to confess to you, how would you want it to go, ideally?”

“I’d want her to make me king of the Japan, before gifting me with an Ankylosaurus army to take over the world with. Maybe a torture chamber for the king and the shrimp.”

You scoff. “That’s ridiculous, you can’t even ride an Ankylosaurus, how the hell would you use it to take over the world?”

You hear what you can only think of as a chuckle from Tsukishima. “It’s more plausible than the question you’re asking me. Of all the people, really. Do I look like a person who cares about that stuff?”

“Well, I just thought, you’re a guy, you ought’a know, right? I’m sorry for assuming the best of you.” You huff out again.

“It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s all gonna end the same anyway.”

“How’s that?”

He smiles positively, and your heart is filled with hope, confused hope, but hope nonetheless.

“I’d happily reject them.”

Your face falls. “You really are a horrible person.” You grumble.

“I don’t really care for romance. I think it’s useless and burdening, all that obligation and responsibility and for what? Just so you can feel validated by another person? I can do that for myself, and it’d be cheaper too. Plus, it’ll save me from all that nasty crying once we break up.” He replies coldly, and you feel your heart shatter.

The way he says it doesn’t help. He says it with so much disdain that you can’t help but think about how stupid you are for thinking that that you could ever have a chance with him.

You manage to keep your tears in and your face straight. You can’t look him in the eyes without bursting so you opt for the road ahead of you instead. You feel relief as you catch sight of your house in the distance.

The walk there is filled with nothing but uncomfortable silence. Tsukishima has his headphones on and his face is the same.

‘So that’s how he feels…’ You can’t help but replay his words over and over in your head, and you feel your heart break every time. The only thing keeping the dam together was the embarrassment you now you’d feel if it were to break right now.

With your house only a few paces away, you quicken your steps. “See you tomorrow, Tsukishima.” You manage to say goodbye without stuttering and you don’t dare look back, for fear that he’ll notice the welling tears in your eyes.

‘…useless and burdening…’

‘…it’ll save me from all that nasty crying once we break up…’

You run through the door. Too focused on not sobbing, you don’t notice how Tsukishima’s gaze followed you as you ran, nor the concerned look in his eyes.

Turns out, you may have lied to Tsukishima. You didn’t see him the next day, or the day after that, or the rest of the week for that matter. Well, technically, you did. But you avoided all interaction with him at all costs.

What he said really stung, and while you know it’s not really his fault maybe his parents’ but that’s for another story and it’s not exactly fair to just start ignoring him altogether, it’s also not fair that you fell in love with possibly the world’s most emotionally unavailable man but you aren’t complaining are you? Okay, maybe you are, but that’s besides the point. You’re not ready to face him yet, and you won’t until you are.

The classes you had together were spent with you surrounded by many other people. During volleyball practice, you always arrived when they were deep into training, and you left early as well, with the excuse of having to take care of your brother. You stopped walking home with Tadashi and Tsukishima.

Even during their breaks, you’d be so engrossed in something, be it homework or strategy that they couldn’t even disturb you, which they found strange since you never really were the most diligent student (read: you’re a known lazy ass).

All of the members, save for one particular blonde, tried to talk to you, but you simply waved it off as stress from school. None of them believed you, you know, but they got the message and decided against bothering you for more information.

It’s Saturday and your solid plan of sleeping in is effectively ruined by your phone ringing.

“I swear, I turned off all my alarms, who the fuck calls at–” you glance at your clock, “–six o’clock on a Saturday morning.”

You groan and grab your phone. For a moment you consider throwing it against the wall and going back to sleep.

“Hello, you’ve reached the Devil, how may I help you?” You croak. “Oh, you want to go to hell? Why, stay on this line and you will soon!” You hiss out and look at the caller ID.

SnarKei (+81) 22 37632

Okay, you admit, you feel a certain satisfaction at snarking him. Just a little.

“Aw, did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” He replies in a mocking cutesy voice. “Did the inevitable happen? Have you already been rejected?”

That stings you, and you mumble to yourself. “Something of the sort.” You’re not sure if he hears you though, and you really don’t care. Nope. Not. At. All.

You are met with silence, so you assume that he didn’t hear you, or else he most likely would have poked more fun at your still-bleeding wound.

“What do you want, Tsukishima?”

“Of course you’d forget. You have the memory of a goldfish.” Tsukishima comments bluntly. “We have Saturday training today, goldfish.”

“This early in the morning? Why don’t I remember this being announced?” You yawn and get up from bed.

“Yes, this early, because a big match is near. And you’d remember if, aside from your goldfish memory, you’d actually stayed until the end of training to hear announcements.” You can practically feel Tsukishima looming over you with his scary deadpan.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Tell coach I apologise for being late. I’ll be there in–” You yawn once more. “30 minutes.”

“Make sure you shower well. I can smell your stink from here.” Tsukishima’s infamous smirk pops in your mind and you subconsciously sneer.

“You’re just smelling yourself.” You retort and end the call. You feel your heart ache, and sigh. At least it’s been reduced to a dull ache now, however troublesome.

‘I’m sure I’ll get over this. Maybe in a week or two.’ You think to yourself as you enter the shower.

You believe you just lied to yourself.

You hear no sound from the gym, and the lights are off.

You check your watch just to be sure.

7:30 am

‘Okay, what the hell?’ You peek through the windows, maybe they’re practicing with the lights off? That wouldn’t explain the lack of squeaking shoes and balls dropping, though.

“You’re late.”

You jump and turn around. You’re ready to grab the pepper spray in your right boot when you identify the would-be-predator as Tsukishima.

“You scared me.” You breathe out, putting a hand on your racing heart in an attempt to calm it down. It doesn’t stop racing though.

Tsukishima feigns hurt. “What, with my beautiful voice?”

You roll your eyes and fight a smile. “Why’d you tell me there was training?”

“Because otherwise you wouldn’t have come and I wouldn’t find out why you’re avoiding me.” He states it as if he were talking about the weather, rather cheerfully. But you sense the hostility behind that cheerfulness, as any person would.

“I don’t know–” You start talking, but you stop as Tsukihima walks slowly towards you. He stops when he’s only a step away, and you’re suddenly extremely aware of your closeness and his unjust height advantage.

“…what you’re talking about.” You continue in a smaller voice, feeling yourself overwhelmed by Tsukishima’s presence and size.

He continues to loom over and look down on you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You tentatively look into his eyes, and immediately look away. His golden-brown eyes are intense, and you’re scared that if you look for a second more you won’t be able to look away.

“Because I don’t like liars.”

You snort instinctively. “That’s ironic. Part of your role is deceiving.”

He shrugs. “Deceiving and lying are two different things.”

“Lying is deceiving.” You point out. You don’t notice that you are able to meet his eyes as you challenge him.

“But deceiving is not always lying.” He smirks back, and the two of you get into a staring contest.

You stare into his eyes and you feel yourself getting lost. You look away first, afraid of what might happen or what you might say if you don’t. You fail to notice his faltering smirk.

“So, I assume you didn’t just bring me here for semantics?” You cross you arms over your chest. Your previously calmed heart starts racing again.

Tsukishima takes a small step closer, and you instinctually take one back. “I told you, goldfish, I want to find out why you’re avoiding me.”

His gaze never leaves your face, and you’re painfully aware of it, so much so that you will your eyes to look at anything but his. You’re tempted to look back, but you know once you do, all your walls will fall.

‘This is so unfair.’ You think to yourself as you start over-analysing Tsukishima’s shoes.

“Why don’t you look me in the eye? Afraid of what you might say?” He taunts you. He’s testing waters, and by the looks of it, he know he’s hit the bullseye.

“N-no. I’m perfectly confident with my words, thank you.” You reply, swallowing the bile in your throat.

He scoffs. “Prove it. Look at me.”

You feel your ears tingle and you attempt to resist, but your pride doesn’t allow it. Reluctantly, you meet his eyes, and you immediately regret it.

They’re fierce and intense, his golden eyes, even more so than before. Your breath is taken away and you forget what you were about to say.

“Let’s try this one more time,” Tsukishima takes another, larger step forward, and you take one back, or at least, attempt to. Your back hits the wall, and before you know it, you’re cornered. His places his right arm next to your head as he leans over you. You can almost feel his minty breath on your face.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that he doesn’t place his left arm on the other side.

‘He’s giving me a way out.’ You think, and you can’t help but internally smile. He doesn’t want to force you into anything you don’t want, but he’s putting pressure on you. You bit your inner cheek in an attempt to ground yourself.

“Why have you been avoiding me since we last walked home together?” His voice is softer this time, but his intensity doesn’t waver. An emotion flashes in his eyes, you’re not sure what it is. Uncertainty? Hurt?

You swallow the bile in your throat. You feel like you just ran a marathon and your face seems to think so too, if the rising heat in your cheeks is anything to go by.

“I–I…” You fumble around for words, unsure of what to say. The golden irises staring into your soul surely isn’t making it any easier.

‘So much for my two working braincells..’ You say to yourself.

Your brain nearly overheats in attempting to make an excuse. Instead, it settles for giving your irrational courage to confess once and for all.

Knowing what you’re going to say, you are unable to look him in the eyes and deflate

“I was hurt…” You whisper softly, feeling the tears well in your eyes. “…by what you said.”

“Why?” He asks, quieter this time.

You sigh defeatedly. There’s no point in delaying it now. You feel all the “healing” you went through in your time away dissipate into thin air. The once dull ache is now a stabbing pain in your chest, but you soldier on.

“Because I like with you. And I idiotically thought that maybe you felt the same way. Yes, it’s dumb. You don’t have to reject me, I know what your answer is, you’ve made yourself perfectly clear about it and–”

You’re interrupted by a pair of lips pressing against yours. It takes a second for it to register. Until it does.

You hear yourself internally screaming as Tsukishima slowly rises from his awkward position and straightens his back, forcing you to turn your head upwards and tip toe.

Tsukishima realises this and smirks. He straightens up even more, just a touch too high for your lips.

You don’t even notice that your eyes are closed until you open them to see Tsukishima’s annoying smug face.

“I never grasped how small you are until now.” He teases, and you feel his cool breath brush against your skin.

You’re too flustered to make a retort, and you’re pretty sure your face is red. You take another moment to let the previous events sink in.

‘Tsukishima…. Kissed… Me…’

He snorts. “Have your two braincells short-circuited?” He gazes down on you, and you see, behind his teasing, is genuine worry.

“You kissed me…” You blink multiple times, and a smile forms on your face as Tsukishima raises a brow. “…first.”

A giddy smile takes over your face, because of the fact that you just stated and the fact that Tsukishima is blushing right now. For once, you aren’t the one avoiding eye contact.

“You kissed me first.” You teased, tipping your toes even more to get a closer look at his blushing face.

“Only because you were putting words in my mouth and you wouldn’t stop.” He mumbles, giving you a sideways glance before looking away as he blushes even more,

You giggle. “Technically, I was putting your words into your mouth. Besides, what was all that ‘I don’t care for romance’ stuff you said?” You poke his warm cheek playfully.

“It’s called lying. And techinically, you confessed first.” It’s your turn to blush and Tsukishima’s to smugly smirk as he pokes your cheek back.

“So, what does this mean? And since when did you figure it out, given this whole set-up?” You mumble, fiddling with the edge of your white shirt with a red “shut up” written on it.

“It means I like you back, even if you have a goldfish brain, goldfish. And you weren’t exactly subtle with the way you got upset last time.” He pokes your cheek once more. His face is back to it’s regular nonchalant state, but you see a twinge of playfulness in his eyes.

You cross your arms over your chest and pout, sneering at him. “I don’t have a goldfish brain. How could I forget something that never existed?”

“You can’t. Who said anything about training not existing?” He raises a brow.

“Didn’t you call me here to get me to confess?” You deadpan at the memory. “Coward.” You mumble under your breath.

Tsukishima smirks. “I did. But there is training, just not for the university.”

As if on cue, you hear a loud bickering noise.

You both turn to the source and find the old Karasuno team, complete with Hinata and Kageyama bickering.

You beam at the sight and turn to Tsukishima. You nearly tackle him into a hug, regardless of how he may feel about hugs.

He looks away with a light blush dusting his features once more. He uses his free hand to pat you on your head.

“Happy birthday, goldfish.”

fagdhefjks;laLKSJH i dont think i captured tsukki well here, and the part feels rushed. sorry for that idk where this went gg

#tsukishima scenarios #tsukishima imagine #tsukishima kei #tsuki #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu tsukki #haikyuu reader #hq imagines #hq #hq tsukishima #hq images #haikyuu headcanons #tsukishima kei x reader

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absoluteindulgence · 5 years

Text

Drunk Passion (Server Collab Prompt)

A/N: Hey y'all, I just barely made it lol. I'm moderately happy with this fic, I hope you guys enjoy it.

Pairing: Mirio Togata X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Drinking/Alcohol Mention

Word Count: 1.8K

5 hours earlier, you stood in your room, giving yourself once overs in your full body mirror, complimenting yourself for choosing the right dress. Only to receive a call from your date who had to cancel due to "unforeseen circumstances." It was an understatement to be frustrated, and doubtlessly, you took it as a sign of them calling you ugly and blowing you off on purpose.

Your roommate, Mina, watched as you paced the living room rethinking your plans for the night. She reminded you of her third annual valentine's day party. This gathering initially started after the horrific event of her date happening on the love day, and trying to propose to her in broad daylight. From there on, she promised herself that she'd never be that naive again and dedicate the day to enjoy with friends.

Usually, you were away from home during this time of the year and briefly knew of the function. She always tried to invite you, but to no avail, you weren't around. Mina, the charismatic matchmaker, created a space for the people who hated, loved, or felt indifferent to the holiday, labeling it as the "Who Needs Love?" Party. You thought it would be a complete disaster, but it turns out, her parties equate to finding your "soulmate." Without plans to roam the city with a date, you were now a secondary host to the love fest.

The apartment you shared with Mina had a decent size and came with a balcony. There was a time where neither of you could afford to live on campus, and so you had to find a roommate to manage to stay enrolled, or else the work you wanted to do would be spoiled by a mere living situation. Moving into this luxury apartment was less than luxury, hence why it was so cheap. With Mina being a fashion designer and your skills being a moderate decorator, you created a space where you two loved the teamwork and effort put into it.

Looking way too good for no particular reason, you became a hit on every guy's list. A lot of the faces you saw weren't recognizable as you haven't met Mina's friend group from high school, but she made sure to introduce you to them. During the introductions, she seemed the fondest of the guy with the spiky red hair, favoring a porcupine. A twinkle in her eyes as she said his name with a discreet smirk directed your way. You were a great hostess making sure to check on the hordes of mixed emotions.

Passing through the warm atmosphere, you were grabbed by your forearm. Turning around, your eyes met with a tall, blonde-haired hottie. His eyes were piercingly blue as the grin was brightly targeted at you.

"Hey, I'm sorry to grab you, but I had been trying to get your attention for a while." His smile was faintly smug, but his tone was smooth like honey. He gently loosened his hold on your arm as he saw your immediate reaction of disgust, wondering who would dare lay hands on you. A chuckle came from his lips as he apologized instantly, "I didn't mean to upset you, I just wanted to know where I could get some air?"

He held onto a cup, on the other hand, probably full of booze awaiting your answer. As you were about to tell him, he thought you had already started speaking and moved in closer. He leaned ear first into your right shoulder, the heat from his breath, warming the back of your neck and shoulder. "I'm sorry, beautiful, I couldn't hear you."

The shocks running through your body, halted you from speaking. The blondie was so close you could see his jawline intensify and gather a hint of citrus and lime from the cologne he wore, even catching signs of his broad chest thanks to his button-down shirt being open below his collarbone. You quickly answered him, maybe too loud for comfort as he winced and smiled back after you pointed in the direction of your balcony. Bejeweled with gratitude, he nods, fading back into the crowd.

You try to peek over to see where he goes briefly talking to the red porcupine, with an indigo-haired guy and a periwinkle-haired girl close to his sides. The three seemed to be good friends laughing at your witty roommate's jokes as her crush, Kirishima, casually wrapped his arm around her shoulder. It looks as if only you caught how pink her face was as she snuggled closer to him. The buff blondie waves off from the couple and makes their way to the balcony.

Before he can leave your area of vision, you lock eyes. His azure sights peer into yours with a knowing, warm smile. A winking motion is made as he grins wide, heading out with his friends. The indigo guy was very antsy about leaving the crowded room, wanting more air than conversation.

You turn to leave the living room and head into the kitchen, bringing out more snacks and to acquire a drink for yourself. Placing pocky, shrimp chips, and gummy candy all throughout the coffee table between your long black couches. Being cautious of how you bend, not trying to give anyone a free show. Heading back into the kitchen, you pour some light liquor into a shot glass, wanting to feel a small buzz.

Just one for now while I make my rounds.

As you finish the shot and place it back on the marble counter, the blondie glides in with the same cup, but it's now empty. You stare up at the buff blondie, catching your breath as you get to take him in; hair down bang almost tickling his eyelashes as the rest of his mane rests at his brawny shoulders. Seeing him up close made your heart flutter as you didn't understand how attractive one man could be. His eyes wandered to your attire, and you blushed under his gaze. The kitchen area felt small now that he's sharing the same air as you.

As you were about to ask him for a drink, the periwinkle haired girl came in. She went into a ramble about the drinking game that was about to start until she saw your face, "You are so pretty, what's your name?"

You told her your name, and her eyes twinkled, "Ah, so your Mina's roommate, that's so cool! I'm surprised we haven't met before."

"I'm usually away during this time of the year, but I had no plans, and so I'm here, hosting tonight."

"That's great, I came to look for Mirio and found you too so please, play with us!"

You could see the intensity in this girl that had introduced her friend before herself. Her personality seemed overbearing but good-natured, she noticed your small smile and took that as non-verbal agreement. Taking your hand, along with her athletic friend. You took a quick glance at the blondie as he apologized, "Sorry about this, Nejire-chan likes making new friends. And yeah, I'm Mirio."

Reaching the central area wasn't an easy task since there seemed to be more people that came during the time you were taking a shot. Examining the room, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. There was a heap of smiles, blushed faces, and laughter roaring through. Reaching the couches, Nejire sat next to you as Mirio was on the other side of her. Across from you, was Mina, with a big grin talking to Kirishima and a couple of her other friends from high school.

An angry-looking guy with spikey ash-blond hair stood up from his spot on the couch, "Okay, so if you're sitting, we're gonna play a game of Mafia!"

Another guy chimed in, his hair yellow with black stripes on one side, "Mafia isn't a drinking game!"

"It is now if you don't figure out who the hitmen are!"

The banter continued, and Nejire took her time to remind you who everyone was. She didn't just tell you who was playing; she made it her mission to remind you of each soul in the room. The process is too reminiscent of speed-dating as she told their jobs and personalities like stats. Made for a one-sided conversation until she got to Mirio, the blonde hunk.

"And this is Mirio-"

"I know you told me, maybe he wants to introduce himself to me?" You stare at him with pleading eyes to keep Nejire quiet for more than a millisecond.

He catches your signal and automatically laughs, he reaches out to give you a handshake with a pleasant grin as he greets you. "Don't worry, Hado-chan, I can say my own stats." Her mouth gets a little puffy as he briefly apologizes to her.

Bakugou brought us back to attention, "Alright, so let's go over how to play, and we'll start."

______

Four grand rounds, and you could officially say you were drunk. You hadn't drunk this much since new years and worried this would result in alcohol poisoning. With the shuffling to and from couches, to make the game more interesting, Mirio had finally been seated near you. At times when it was time to discuss who was plucking off the civilians, you shared small details with each other, getting scolded by Bakugou at times.

Mirio looked at your giggly, flustered form and smiled warmly. He was happy to see you enjoy yourself and him being the reason. The game resulted in good friends with exquisite poker faces. Sero asked for another round since he hadn't gotten the chance to play God, and Bakugou refused.

"Hey, do you want to get some fresh air?" Mirio leaned over into your ear, "You look like you're ready to sleep for a thousand years."

You giggled with a nod. You raised your hand for Mirio to guide you and informed Tamaki that he was taking you to the balcony. You didn't notice, but the room was clearing out little by little. Assuming that the lovebirds were happy with their choice of the night, you smiled, realizing that maybe the same is happening to you.

Leaving the living room into the balcony was a change in atmosphere, you felt the chill air of midwinter hit your skin like a cool kiss, which was comforting from the sauna of an apartment. Mirio nicely placed you onto one of the outdoor chairs you owned as he positioned himself next to you with the other.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm happy," You smile, "I didn't realize how much fun her parties were."

"Me neither, this is actually my first time coming. I'm usually at work, so Nejire would try to drag Tamaki and end up coming by herself."

You share a laugh and stare at him. You look down at his hands and then back at his eyes, overfull of sparkles as they gaze into yours. He rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, and the night continues on as you share innocent rambles of your plans to see each other more in a drunken passion.

#mirio x reader #togata mirio x reader #mirio imagines #bnha imagines #mha x reader

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Two Drops of Rain.”

Alright you pseudo-sadistic people out there.

Lets be honest, we all sort of like watching authors emotionally torture their own characters, and lets also be honest that authors can sometimes be super mean to their creations.

Well I have decided that, in my universe, actions have real psychological, emotional and physical consequences. So, I am going to have to be the bad guy and be a little mean for this one.

Expect character development, and light suffering.

A droplet of rain clung to the glass of the window reflecting an inverted view of the sullen grey sky. It hung suspended there for a few seconds, capturing a moment in its surface, before rupturing and rolling downward disrupting other droplets and causing them to bleed downwards. The rain was heavy enough that the grassy compound outside was covered by a layer of grey. Water droplets lept from the concrete creating a silver haze about the ground, and anything past the distant shadow of buildings on the other side of the square was nothing more than a silhouette perhaps a lamp post, or a lone car hunched in the rain.

He raised his hand to the glass, the warmth of his fingers casting a delicate glaze of fog over the transparent surface before his fingers even made contact.

“Adam.”

He tilted his head back watching as a pair of droplets began to roll down the outside of the glass. He watched them intently wondering which one of them would win. At first it seemed like the droplet on the left would, but ultimately it’s speed caused it to lose too much weight, and it got stuck halfway to the ground.

“Adam.”

He turned away from the window distracted from his daydreams and brought back to current reality; A white cinder block room, with industrial grey carpet and modern grey furniture accented in blue. Large tropical prints hung on one side of the room fake and grey in the cold light of early spring. A large desk sat opposite cheep steel and wood crouched under an equally cheap set of metal shelving units supporting long lines of fake, leather-bound volumes letters printed in minute gold or silver script up their spines.

The entire right wall was made up of floor to ceiling glass windows allowing in the thin dreary light cast through the clouds above. On the desk a small glass orb contained a self sustaining biome including a colorful pink sea plant and a single shrimp-like creature. Next to that was a family photograph lovingly dusted of grime, but somehow equally lifeless as the tropical prints on the wall.

A large green plant sat next to him.

It was real, he had already checked.

“Adam?

“Hmm.”

“I was asking if you had been feeling better since our last session?” The woman who sat in front of him was older, with short steel-grey hair, and a delicate pink white scar running over one of her eyes across valleys of sagging skin. Despite that, she was quite fit for her age, and sat with a hard straight-back demeanor that belied her surprisingly gentle manner.

“I….” He paused looking out the window again trying to track single raindrops as they pelted towards the ground and failing. He sighed, “Not really, no.”

“Do you think you can try and tell me what’s bothering you?” He could hear the rain pounding against the bushes outside the window. It was a distant sound like static or the roaring of a crowd.

“I wish I could.” The chair below him creaked slightly. It wasn’t exactly comfortable;industrial and hard, but he didn’t mind that so much. He wasn’t here to be comfortable; he had come here to get help.

“You mentioned before that you were having trouble sleeping, trouble concentrating, and that was affecting your work. Is it still?”

He shifted in his seat, and below him, Waffles, his dog, rolled onto her other side service vest creaking slightly as she sighed, “No ... the sleeping isn’t much better, and I think I’ve made it pretty clear that my concentration is still shot.” He tried pointedly to look away from the window.

The rain picked up a little, “And what exactly is it that you think about during those times.” She wondered

He thought for a minute, “Nothing mostly. Sort of just on autopilot you know…. It’s easier there, like I don’t have to think so much.”

Her shiny black shoe bounced softly in the air, “So thinking has been difficult, or do you find yourself thinking about something specific that you’re trying to avoid.”

He rubbed a hand against his temple, “I… a little bit of both I guess. Um… Its like every time I try to think about something, something I really need to think about. My thoughts just keep coming back to…. To what happened.”

She tilted her head slightly focused, intently, but no so intently as to be uncomfortable, on him, “You have yet to talk about what happened.”

He remained silent.

“You don’t have to say anything today if you aren’t ready, but I think it's important, and I think you think it’s important, otherwise we wouldn’t be seeing these obsessive sort of thoughts.” her hands swirled to emphasise the repetitive nature. A silver ring glinted on her finger.

“I guess I’ve just been…. Trying to figure things out…... “

“Don’t feel obligated to push yourself. We can wait as long as you need.” A clock ticked on the wall above her desk filling the silence.. It seemed as if it would go on forever.

“I watched a man get beaten to death, and did nothing to stop it…..” His voice was sudden filling the silence of the room with a sudden heavy weight. His heartbeat picked up as if saying the words made the reality more tangible, but now it was out in the air, he found the words sliding from his mouth easy where they had once been halting, “I watched a man die…. I knew he was going to die….. I knew hours in advice hell eighteen maybe nineteen hours. At any time I could have gotten up and walked over to the guards and told them what was going to happen, but I didn’t. I could have gone to his cell and warned him, I could have told him to run when he entered the room. Hell, I could have jumped in front of him, but I didn’t do any of it.” HIs voice had risen in cadence and octaves filling the space with it’s agitation. At his feet, Waffles sat up sensing his unease turning her head to look at him, “But you know what…. You know what I did, I sat there and did NOTHING, in fact I did worse than nothing. He’s no friend of mine, that’s what I said. I looked him in the eye and that’s what I said knowing what was going to happen to him. Like an absolute BITC-.”

“Why.” her voice was stern, and the expression on her face made it very clear he was escalating out of line. He relaxed back into his seat breathing hard. His heart hammered inside his head drowning out the sound of the rain.

“Why what?”

“Why do you think you didn’t do those things.” Waffles whimpered a bit sticking her head in his lap. He hadn’t even noticed that he was ringing his hands, a habit that he had acquired after losing his leg. It generally didn’t go past that, but once upon a time it had been a precursor to hair pulling, something that Waffles had been trained to stop.

“Because I’m A B-”

“Adam.” She said sternly, “A decision is a matter of cognition, not of a personality trait. So let’s be a little more constructive. Tell me what you were thinking.”

He sighed deeply in frustration, glancing out the window again. He couldn’t even see the light post or the car from earlier. The bushes outside the window jumped and rattled rather violently under the downpour, “At first I…. I felt sick…. I wished I was anywhere but there, I wondered if it was actually real….. I wondered why this was happening to me, and how I could make this sort of decision….. And then. After all that I was, I was ...”

She waited, but when no answer was forthcoming she prodded gently, “You were….”

“Angry…. No, no angry isn’t strong enough. I was livid, furious… i….” He felt his throat constrict, “I wanted to…. I wanted.” His voice cracked and he looked away. Tears had sprung to his eyes, and he furiously tried to blink them back angry at himself. Waffles whimpered and scooted forward against his legs resting her big soft head in his lap large brown eyes looking up at him with a deep unwavering concern not understanding his pain but begging to take it away, “ I wanted to Kill him.” He finally finished voice barely above a whisper, “I have never wanted anything so bad in my life, I wanted to go down there myself and strangle the life out of him. I thought about…. About bashing his head against the concrete. I wondered what it would be like to feel his skull caving in under my hands….” He went quiet, “Disgusting.”

“Adam,” her voice was soft but firm, “ in all my years of working, I have heard people want to do a lot more for a lot less, but why don’t you tell me why you felt that way.”

Waffles shoved her snout against his hand. He had been rubbing his chest, another habit he had as a result of PTSD, a condition long dormant now resurfacing, “Number one because he was a pedophile, number two because he was a liar, number three because I know for a fact he planned on going back to his old life after getting out. He had no remorse….. He deserved to die.”

“If that’s the case than he got what he deserved didn’t he?” She wondered tilting her head to the side.

He shook his head vigorously then nodded then sighed in frustration, “yes… I…. i mean no….. No one deserves to die like…. Like that, but ...I mean maybe he did, but that wasn’t their choice to make.” He finally blurted

“So, he deserved to die, but he deserved to die as a result of justice, and not as a result of a prison riot.” The rain had died down just a bit. Distantly a momentary beam of sunlight peeked through the clouds before vanishing once again.

Adam sighed, “YES! That's it…. The justice system is supposed to take care of this, but it didn't ...”

“Then why do you feel responsible if it was the justice systems’ job?”

He stroked Waffle’s ears foot tapping in agitation, “I…. well because I AM the justice system. Not like to be a dick or brag, but out in space, I am the arm of the UNSC, Fleet commander. It is my job to deal with human issues offworld, so when the justice system fails it's MY duty to fix it. My job, my objective ...”

“So it was your job to save this man’s life so he could be properly punished?”

“Well, yes.” he rocked in his seat again, agitated, “But I didn’t. I sat there and I did nothing, and you know what. I LIKED it, a part of me enjoyed watching that bastard die. He deserved it…..” A sudden stab of guilt shot through him, and he groaned rocking softly as he lifted his head to the ceiling eyes catching onto porous surface of the panels above. His eyes burned. His voice began to crack again, “But, but then, then when I remember feeling bad for him, and it just makes me feel WORSE because he hurt kids, he was a monster, and I have pity for him! SO does that mean I’m siding with a pedophile? So…. so it was either give in and kill him with the rest of them like he deserved treat him like the monster he is…. Or or I could stand to the side and absolve myself of the murder, but do nothing and still have his blood on my hands, but also have the knowledge that I showed that disgusting fuck mercy when he didn’t deserve it. Either way I…..” His voice caught. He could feel his stomach contracting into a sob, but he forced it down head in his hands.

The room went silent, and waffles jammed her head in between his hands forcing him to quit as his hands sought out fistfuls of hair. His chest and diaphragm contracted and released but he clenched his teeth and shut his eyes. He wouldn’t cry here…. He had been weak enough.

It took a long time before he was finally able to control himself and sit back up. He had gone very hot, and could feel waves of heat wash over him from the effort .

When he looked up he found a glass of water being proffered to him, and he took unable to look at her.

“Adam, it is horrible that you had to make that decision. You have to understand that no matter what you did in that situation would have resulted in the same outcome.” He may have gotten control of his breathing, but he had worn far to thin, far to thin in the intervening weeks. He pointedly looked away feeling hot tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

His face remained blank.

“You join in, you’ve committed murder, you stand out, and you’ve let a man die, you run to the guards and you protect a pedophile. There was no decision you could have made that would have resulted in a desirable outcome… Tell me, Adam, Do you really think that anything you could have done would have saved that man’s life?”

He wasn’t able to stop it as a hot tear spilled down the side of his face. He kept his head turned only halfway towards her so as to hide the moisture. He rested his head against his hand so as to discreetly wipe it away, “No …” he finally admitted.

“Go through that with me.”

More tears. He fought desperately to keep the one eye dry as moisture pooled against his hand.

“Because I couldn’t have fought them all off even if I had tried, and the guards would have just let it happen anyway, but I could hav-”

“Could have what? Adam, you did what you could. You stood back to the hazard of your own health so as not to be part of something you didn’t believe in. You couldn’t stop it, and you couldn’t walk away, and that in itself is more than what a lot of people could, or would have done. A lot of people would have joined in to save their own skin.” It had grown darker outside, and he could see his reflection in the glass of the window. His black eye had long since faded but, Krill still urged him to rest as a result of bruising to his right kidney. At least he had only peed blood the one time.

“But I ... that's not, not the problem.” He shifted in his seat, and the dog scooted closer again, “I wanted to do those things, I wanted to join in, I couldn’t stop them.” His voice was growing in pitch again, and as it did the tears only flowed faster. They began to trickle down his forearm, and soon his other eye was overcome. He tried to wipe them away, but they wouldn’t stop. He was fighting a losing battle, and that only made him angier, and that only made the tears worse “Every d-damn t-time I fuck up…. I…. I-I'm weak and useless an-n-nd-” he snarled in frustration embarrassed and unable to look her in the eye, “I s-screw up so m-much, childish, o-over e-em-motional like a stupid, w-winey t-trusting-”

“Adam.”

“B-bit-”

“Adam!” Her voice cut through his rant leaving his silent. He turned away from her no longer able to control himself embarrassed. He just wanted to leave to never have to show his face to anyone ever again.

“First of all we are going to stop that sort of talk right now. It’s pointless, meaningless and it will get us nowhere. Now, do me a favor and take a few deep breaths and calm yourself. Finish the glass of water.”

He did as told still not looking at her. Waffles licked at the tears on his hands so eager to help him wash away the evidence. He finished off the water which helped a little to calm his diaphragm. He took a long slow, shaky breath.

“Would you like to continue this session another time?” She asked, “I can see this is hard?”

He shook his head stubbornly though he still couldn't look at her.

She sat back in her seat accepting his go ahead “Second of all, whose standards are you holding yourself to.. Who expects such impossible perfection, honestly if you expected any more from yourself, you may as well wish to walk on water too.” He allowed a rueful smile to break through on that last part though it was half hearted.

“Where are you getting these grand ideas of what you have to be?”

He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared down at the floor rubbing the back of his palm over his face. The eyepatch felt sort of cold and slimy now…. He was a mess.

“I…. Guess I don’t know.” He said softly.

“Your parents, family, crew members? How have they been acting towards you?”

He shrugged, “All surprisingly supportive…. Too supportive.” Waffles poked her head up under his arms resting her head against the side of his face scooting forward knowing he was upset desperate to make it go away. Her tail beat against the floor once and then twice.

“Too supportive. How can they be too supportive.”

He paused mouth opening and closing in confusion before sighing in frustration dropping his head; the one eye began to leak again, stupid missing eye which still had tear ducts, “I guess it just feels like…. They all expected me to…. Fall apart, and I did. Its like they understand that poor little Adam Vir wasn’t going to be able to handle what happened, so lets walk on eggshells so as not to upset him.” his voice was growing thick again. Ever time he broke, the edge got closer, and there was no way to hold it back.

“And what’s so wrong with letting yourself fall apart? Sometimes it happens, sometimes it needs to happen.”

He was back to where he was before, accept the tears fell silently now his voice remaining surprisingly calm, “Because it’s weak.”

“That’s a pretty antiquated understanding of emotion. Sounds like something a man from the 2000s would say.”

He said nothing, “Who do you model yourself after, Adam?

He sighed, “My father, I guess, Captain Kelly, my mother, my older brothers…. I guess maybe a little bit from…..movies.”

Her voice was soft, “Sounds like a lot to live up to doesn't it, and let's be honest. Not all of it is entirely true to life.” On the far wall the clock ticked, “You ask me that sounds pretty exhausting.” A distant rumble of thunder rolled across the open lawn. Wind picked up causing the leaves on the bushes to dance.

“Do you think maybe you feel the way you do because it seems you can't live up to the expectations you set for yourself?”

He remained quiet.

“Weak liable to break or give way under pressure; easily damaged.” She read aloud, “Now I find it interesting how a man who claims to be weak walks into my office on the coattails of a trauma and, instead of talking about the trauma he talks about his moral dilemma. He doesn't complain, he doesn't blame. He takes the weight of responsibility for an entire universe on his shoulders.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit late for platitudes, doc.” he muttered staring down at his hands.

“Not platitudes, Adam. Observations.” She switched her crossed ankles, “So we know you aren't weak, and you can probably tell me why you aren't useless.” A car’s headlights cut through the rain illuminating a burst of light over the edge of the leaves. When she didn’t speak he sighed.

“I’m not useless because I command an entire fleet of ships, I was a decorated fighter pilot, I do all these things etc.etc.” His voice was flat and monotone. Another slow tear dropped to the floor creating a dark circle on the grey carpet. He knew what was coming next, so he continued, “I’m not stupid or winy or a bitch, but…. I DO make lots of mistakes, I am childish, to trusting and over emotional.”

“What mistakes?”

He wiped at his eyes again. Waffles whimpered quietly her head on his knee, “Well, I’ve been cheated by a Tesraki, almost got my crew killed, Trusted an enemy and almost got my crew killed, trusted a strange alien species and almost got my crew killed, lost my eye and almost died, got captured more times than I can count, almost died more times than I can count.”

The rain was coming down in sheets again. The drops which had once dotted the window now ran down in curtains, “Adam, Trust isn’t a weakness, and mistakes don’t correlate to failure. You are dealing with an entirely new species, new problems. If you didn’t make those mistakes then someone else would have to, and who knows, for them it may actually be fatal. Almost dead and very dead are separated by miles.”

More headlights.

“It ok to hold yourself to high standards Adam, it's generally a good thing, but don’t set it so high that no one can reach.” Light was fading outside and she stood from her chair prompting him to do the same. Waffles yawned and stretched. A streak of lightning rolled across the sky like the branches of some sort of celestial tree.

He wiped at his eye again finally turning his head up to look at her.

She was smiling at him, a genuine smile, not fake or pitious, “I think we really got somewhere today leave it on a positive note?”

He nodded, and she walked him to the door, “Homework, go easy on yourself this week, ok.” The door opened, he thanked her and then walked into the hall bright with the overhead lights and the same steel grey carpet as inside the office. He steered Waffles down the hall and into the men’s restroom, vacant accept for himself under the sickly fluorescent lights.

It was late.

His gate felt unsteady and his hands braced himself upright against cold porcelain.

He learned forward over the sink to splash cold water on his face pulling off the eyepatch and washing it off before pulling it back over his vacant socket. He lifted his head and stared at himself in the mirror, messy blond hair, red puffy eyes and cheeks. But As he looked, a different face stared back at him, greying skin, yellowed sclera, and cerulean blue irises.

He had yet to tell her about that issue.

He turned away from the mirror and stepped from the bathroom into the hall.

Their car was waiting outside, but despite that, the two of them were still soaked by the time they jumped inside

Rain drummed against the car windows. He rested his cheek against the glass eye closed against the cold on his skin. It felt good…. He was quiet, and inside he felt strangely fragile like a cracking porcelain sculpture. Lightning flashed across the sky, and Waffles sighed her upper body resting in his lap lower half sitting under the dashboard. The windshield wipers drummed out a steady beat against the glass. He didn’t speak with the Driver, but paid him electronically and stepped from the car upon reaching their destination.

Wet tires against wet concrete, and he was left to push through the rain, jacket pulled up against the cold.

The interior of the ship was dark. Most of the crew had gone on leave. He walked through the dark halls alone, and imagined he could hear the drumming of the rain against the hull, but knew that wasn’t likely. He was just passing by the mess hall pausing when he heard laughter and saw a warm yellow light cut across the floor. The warm voices seemed to pull him in as the marines talked laughing and joking, but he couldn;t do it, couldn't make himself go in.

Once upon a time he wouldn’t have imagined missing an opportunity to socialize, but instead he turned to the dark hallways heart heavy. He had no idea where his feet were carrying him.

Sunny sat up at the knock on her door called from her worried musings by the hesitant knock. She wondered what the marines wanted now. With the Commander out for the day and most of the bridge crew gone, it remained up to her to keep the Marines in tact, which was a surprisingly difficult job to maintain.

“Come in!” She called

The door hissed open, and she was momentarily blinded by light throwing her hand up to find a silhouette standing in the doorway. It stepped in and the door snicked shut behind him.

Adam stood in the doorway, his body and hair damp with rain, his face with saline. His hands hung cold and white at his sides. Little tracts of water pooled around his boots and glistened on his jacket. His ears were flushed pink with the cold.

She stood slowly and quietly as if worried a sudden movement might scare him away. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her in what seemed like years, but was more like a week or two. His usually bright green eye was awash with a cold greyness, as if the cloudy sky above and seeped into his soul, but a closer inspection gave her the distinct impression of…..

Pleading?

“Sunny….” His voice was a soft rasp, thick and heavy like he was speaking past a great weight.

She missed him.

“Adam…. Is everything ok?”

His mouth twitched, his cheek quivered, his jaw worked for a long moment like he was fighting with himself internally. It looked painful, and was hard to watch. When his voice came, it came with a slight quiver, “No…. I…. its been…. A really shit day.”

She wanted to move forward, to help him, but she knew like a man drowning, he would need to reach for the help before she could pull him in. Didn’t mean she wanted to watch him drown, choking and gasping for air.

His expression was distant and glassy speaking past her more than to her, “She says I hold myself to standards that are too high.” Sunny remained quiet waiting, drawing him out, “But WHY are the standards too high? Why am I expected to fail….. WHY Does everyone have to be so understanding. Why can’t it be just what it looks like, yes Adam you fucked up and what you did was wrong and you failed. What is wrong with that?” The human looked up at her eye glistening with the vestiges of agony, “Why can’t the bar be set high….. sometimes , sometimes people just fail, and that's the truth of it. Why can’t we admit that. Why can’t anyone look me in the eye AND TELL ME THAT.” His voice was hoarse .

“Why do I have to be so accepting….. It just…. It feels like giving up. Like giving up on the man I’ve always wanted to be.”

“You wouldn’t give up, Adam….. Even if you were capable of it.” She said softly

Hed breathed in heavily air catching in his throat, “Why can’t I do this better….” he threw his hands up in the air.

“Because…. You’re only human.”

“Being human ISN’T AN EXCUSE ANYMORE!” His voice rattled off the hull reverberating through the metal. His voice snapped completely and he sagged back against the wall hand to his throat. She couldn’t stand it anymore, she couldn't watch him drown.

So she jumped in pushed past the current to catch him. He sagged against her as she fought back the current threatening to pull him under.

“How do you do it, Sunny.” he whispered

“Do what?” She wondered.

“I can’t even fight off failure when everyone is at my back…..you….. You did it and the entire world was at your heels……”

The ship was quiet, simply the soft whirr of the backup generators to pierce the quiet, “When I was young, my brother taught me one valuable lesson. He told me, Sunny stop trying to be something you’re not and may never be, but take what you have and be the best version of the person you are now…. I didn’t listen to him for the longest time…. And I suffered for it.”

She took the Human’s face in two of her hands and made him look up at her, “Maybe you can set the bar high, Adam, but you have to make sure the bar is in the same room. Because if you weren't so trusting, and if you didn’t make mistakes….. Than you would have kicked me off the ship as soon as I walked on”

Lights reflected from his eyes and she dragged, pulled him towards shore with all her might. Her voice was soft, “So I say be damned to being perfect….. Let's be honest, it's not exactly a human trait anyway.”

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raisingsupergirl · 4 years

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My Life With COVID-19: Week 1--Say Goodbye to Food

I never thought being a statistic would come with so much baggage. It's not that I thought it would never happen to me. In fact, I thought it already had happened to me. A couple of times. And maybe it did. But none of them were like this. I'm going to try to explain it as best as I can (you know, for science and future generations), but bear with me. COVID brain is definitely a thing.

I guess this story starts on 12/12/20. That's the day that my dear friend passed away. We were supposed to start a Dungeons & Dragons campaign together soon. Him, me, and three other good friends. But that Saturday, I got the text that he had passed away the previous night (not related to COVID, as far as I'm aware). Well, that following evening, those three other friends and I got together to remember him, to process some emotions, and to drink whiskey. The next day I woke up feeling… less than perfect. Of course, I thought it was from lack of sleep and too much alcohol, but it was weird. I didn't drink that much. Not to feel that bad. And there were some weird things, too. My eyeballs hurt (really bad) like I had a fever, but I didn't have a fever. And my fatigue level was through the roof. Other than that, normal body aches and lack of appetite that come with over-indulgence, so I didn't think much of it. Even when I woke up on Monday with persistent symptoms, I just assumed I was getting REALLY old and should never drink again. Yeah, I'm kind of dumb sometimes.

Monday and Tuesday could be characterized by general lack of energy, some mild congestion, and those danged achy eyeballs. And the only food that appealed to me was soup, and only in small amounts. "Just a little cold," I told myself. Even still, I had the good sense to be extra-cautious with my hand washing and mask wearing procedures. Unfortunately, I didn't have the good sense to get tested at that time. Mostly because my insurance doesn't cover testing (which is $150/swab), but also because I was in denial. I needed to work. My patients needed treatment. I was important… irreplaceable. And, of course, I didn't want to have to call my friends and tell them I'd exposed them Saturday night.

Wednesday was more of the same, but I felt even more fatigued. Then, someone else I'd come into contact with the previous week let me know that they'd tested positive. Crap. That's when the pieces started falling into place. And the last one fell as I was drinking a glass of alcohol (elderberry tincture, actually. Which I'd made myself as a COVID preventative… guess I should have started drinking it earlier…). While I sipped, I was actually hanging out with those same Saturday friends, but this time virtually. We were playing computer games. And about halfway through the glass of elderberry goodnes, I noticed that it wasn't nearly as floral or alcoholic tasting as it should have been. I assumed it was getting watered down, but suspicion started creeping up my spine. And by the end of the glass, it tasted like straight water (which tastes like nothing…). Like some infected dummy straight out of a zombie movie, I told no one and went to bed, hoping against hope that I would wake up to the smell of bacon (or anything).

When my alarm went off the next morning, I popped out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. First thing I did? Took a long whiff of my deodorant stick. Nothing. I stuck the toothpaste up to my nose. Still nothing. Brushed my teeth. Foamy nothing. Went to the bathroom. Thankfully nothing. And then it was time to go downstairs, face my wife, and finally say it out loud. "I can't smell anything. It's completely gone." And that's the moment that it became real. No turning back. One rapid test later, and my fate was sealed. My boss started clearing my schedule for the next week, and my mind started racing with all of the people I needed to call. All the things I needed to do. What my life would look like for the next ten days. Even now, I don't know if the virus was effecting my cognition and emotions or not, but I do know that I was a mess.

By the time I got home, my world was spinning. I was angry, ashamed, confused, defeated, and overwhelmed. Mostly overwhelmed. I made sure my wife had pulled our daughter from school, and then I went up to my room. Not because I was quarantining from them, but because I couldn't handle being around anyone, even those whom I loved most (I mean, I'd be spending plenty of time with them over the next week anyway, right?).

Over the next hour, I felt like someone with an STD contacting all of my past… well, you know. I texted, I messaged, I called. Everyone was incredibly understanding. They all wanted to know how I was doing. And it felt almost shameful saying that I felt fine. "Just a little fatigued, eyeballs hurt a little, some congestion. And the no smell thing." It's funny how that didn't dawn on me yet. In the flurry of confusion, I hadn't stopped to consider what life without smell would be like. That revelation would come later. No, right now I was focused on the bigger things. I wouldn't be able to attend my friend's funeral this Saturday. I wouldn't be able to host Portmas (an annual Christmas celebration with those same friends) that night. I wouldn't be able to go to work for over a week. The days would feel like months… Have I mentioned that I'm a bit of a work-a-holic? Yeah, well, there was a BIG part of me right then that thought, "God did this. I wouldn't slow down. I wouldn't quit working. Even when I was sick, I was too dumb to take a step back. So God took my smell away. It's my fault for being so stubborn. And God finally stepped in." Yeah, those are some thoughts that I'll continue to unpack over the next couple of weeks, but for now it's enough to say that my thoughts and emotions were about as confused as my senses.

Speaking of which, my lovely wife made me a can of chicken-n-noodle soup for lunch. And it felt great. Warm, soothing, and satisfying. But with each bite, reality settled in the pit of my broth-laden stomach. It wasn't that I couldn't taste ANYTHING. There was something there. A touch of saltiness and a hint of umami (look it up). My tongue wasn't completely dead… but my nose was. And so, another cascade of confused emotions. More anger. More fear. Google said "most" patients got their smell back in a week or two, but for some it could take up to a year. And a small percentage never got it back. NEVER!? And at best, I didn't know if I could handle two weeks. Honestly, I didn't.

If you haven't lost your sense of smell, I'm sure you think I was overreacting. I would have, too, before it happened to me (Yes, I'm aware of the irony of my blog post a couple of weeks ago). But I want to try and explain the seriousness of this situation to you. Maybe fore some it's not so bad—those who are suffering REAL COVID symptoms. Those fighting for breath and for life. But for those of use who feel otherwise "normal," it's a panic-inducing affliction. For example, I'm a fledgling home brewer. Do you know what all beer tastes like when you have no smell? Like water with a ghost of bitterness on both sides of the tongue. Do you know what straight whiskey tastes like? Exactly the same with just a slight warmth in the chest. And so, my brewing hobby is done. Just done. And cooking? There's no point. Everything might as well be raw cucumbers and unseasoned French fries. Texture and temperature. That's literally the only variation. Well… almost literally.

In my panic, I NEEDED to know what my limits were. I needed to know if I could find any enjoyment from food. And so, I went to the extremes. Cloves, even when eaten straight, had absolutely no flavor. Straight salt registered a little on the tip and back of my tongue. Sugar felt kind of thick on my tongue, and if I tried imagining it, I thought I could taste it a little. Cayenne pepper was a little tingly in the back of my throat, but nothing more. Horseradish did nothing at first and only a little tingling on the top of my mouth afterward (mind you, I ate enough of all of these things to kill an elephant). And finally, I took a bite of a lime. Whoa! That about knocked me over. Imagine not tasting anything for 24 hours and then suddenly biting into a lime. That's exactly what it tasted like. Okay, well, I couldn't actually taste any lime characteristics, but that SOUR sensation registered off the charts. The sensation was both hopeful and frustrating, and those two emotions fit in perfectly with my general disposition.

That night, I was mean. Cranky toward my wife. She made dinner, and I was bitter about it. Airfried shrimp and tater tots with cucumbers on the side. She was TRYING to satisfy my texture and temperature requirements. And she did well. But it was still ash in my mouth, cotton balls in my stomach. And no one seemed to understand my frustration and fear.

But that night, I realized there was something I hadn't considered, too. My family is close. We hug and kiss. We cuddle. And so, there didn't seem to be any reason for me to start quarantining from them now. Besides, both of my daughters already had the sniffles, so the likelihood was high that they already had the virus. And my wife thought that she'd already had it a few weeks before. But… if she hadn't. If she was still susceptible. I wasn't worried about her safety, so much. She's healthy. She works out, eats right, and nurtures her already strong immune system. But, if she lost her smell, too…

Okay, hear me out. This isn't just about food enjoyment or fart detection (yes, my wife giggled at the dinner table because she farted right next to me without me knowing…). It's about safety. Have you ever considered how dangerous it would be to live in a house with a gas stove if no one could smell? I mean, presumably the kids might notice something, but would they understand enough to let us know? I'm honestly not sure I would take that gamble. So here's hoping my wife keeps smelling, because I really don't want to move out.

Oh, speaking of my wife smelling, there's one last revelation I had about anosmia (lack of smell). For an anosmic person to take a shower is truly a selfless act. Think about it.

Anyway, by the time I post this (12/23/20), my quarantine will officially be over. I will have spent a week at home. So I'll definitely have more to tell. But these first few days are enough for now. Stay safe, friends. And don't forget to stop and smell the hot cocoa before you miss your chance.

#covid-19 #anosmia #no smell no taste #covid symptoms #life with covid #quarantine #momblr #dadblr #mumblr

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