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ghostnebula · 4 years

Note

I’ll gladly keep the asks coming 😘 Let’s have some Richie comforting hurt Eddie

I think I’m legitimately running out of ways to write this because it’s in almost every single fic I’ve written shjdshsdjkhf

I’m thinking college AU, therefore set somewhere in the 90s, but the Losers stick together through it. Which gives Eddie the opportunity to learn and grow as a person in some ways, but still -- old habits die hard, and old cycles of abuse die harder. In fact, sometimes they return with a vengeance :))))

(haha get it)

Anyway, what Eddie gets right is escaping Derry with his friends, owning his sexuality (albeit tentatively right now), and taking matters involving his health into his own hands. What he gets wrong is steering clear of people who remind him of his mother, but this isn’t entirely his fault, because the resemblances aren’t always obvious, and even then the association tends to be subconscious.

So when he meets this guy who he just can’t stop thinking about, and who dotes on him but in ways that are comforting in their familiarity but not glaringly obvious in their origins/associations, and he seems to... maybe even like Eddie that way, well, Eddie’s fucking gone for him. He doesn’t know why. He wants to be around him, is all. It’s like they’ve known each other forever. Incidentally, he has pretty much known Richie forever, and Richie dotes on him, too, but in ways that aren’t bordering on sinister, and Richie’s head over heels for him, but Eddie’s so accustomed to that kind of stuff that he wouldn’t realize Richie was in love with him if it slapped him across the face. He also doesn’t seem to realize half the reason he’s even chasing after this guy is because he’s trying to get over his feelings for Richie, or at least just find a different outlet for them, because “obviously” it’s never going to happen.

He’s less than a week from risking it all and just asking this dude from his program out on a date when this guy (let’s call him idk Curtis or smth) asks Eddie out, and Eddie’s fucking elated. He’s on cloud nine. He has a fucking boyfriend. “A boyfriend, Bill, can you believe that? Someone who actually wants to date me!” (Poor Bill’s ready to fucking explode, he’s just nodding along like, holy fuck oh my god how are you this oblivious oh my god I can picture another person who’d saw off their arm to date you pretty fucking easily to be honest.

Things with Curtis are fantastic for the first couple months, and then once -- about 3 months in -- Eddie has this weird fleeting thought that Curtis... kind of reminds him of his mother, sometimes. Funny, huh? Maybe it’s just that he’s so insistent on doing everything for Eddie, which is just him being a gentleman, obviously. Then there’s that time Curtis cries for a fifteen minute car ride because Eddie chose to spend the afternoon studying in the library with his friends instead of with him, and he was so lonely, and “You don’t hate me, do you? It makes me feel like you hate me when you put me on the back burner.” And, of course, Curtis asks him to move in with him, in his apartment just off campus, which means he’s not rooming with Richie anymore. It feels weird and almost awful the first few nights, but he gets over it because Curtis would be offended if he thought Eddie might like Richie (or any of his friends) more than he likes his own boyfriend.

By the time they’ve been dating for a year, Eddie’s lucky to see the Losers more than once a month outside of classes or grabbing a quick meal on campus, but he’s always so grateful when Curtis lets him spend time with them. And Curtis is (usually) so nice, and he’s always taking care of Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t even need to have a job anymore because Curtis pays for everything, anyway, and insists on never letting Eddie spend a cent, which is just so nice, right? Isn’t that lovely of him? In fact, Eddie doesn’t even need to be bothered with money at all, because Curtis handles it all.

Bev tries to tell him, while they’re waiting in line for coffee before class one morning, that she doesn’t like the way Curtis treats him, and Eddie snaps at her. He doesn’t know where it came from, or why he felt the need to be so defensive, and after he storms off he feels so terrible about the whole thing he doesn’t know what to do. He tells Curtis first thing when he sees him that afternoon, because there’s guilt weighing in his chest about it, and Curtis spends the whole evening pampering him and telling him how much he loves him and how one day, if ever it’s possible, he’s going to marry him. “Don’t you see what they’re doing, Eddie? They’re trying to sabotage our relationship. They think we’re disgusting. They think we’re sinners. They won’t say it out loud, but they’re going to try to ruin us because they can’t stand what we have. You just have to ignore them, okay? Don’t let them ruin this for us.” Of course Eddie believes him. That makes sense. Of course it does. He must be stupid for not realizing that earlier.

But as with all things doomed from the start, there’s a breaking point, and it’s the day Curtis has the gall to actually hurt Eddie. Not in a little way, like he sometimes does when they argue, or how he’s been pushing him to eat less and less because he’s “put on some weight,” or the way he’s been carefully manufacturing comments and insults to keep him down, keep him doubting himself, which in the end is just as bad as any physical hurt, isn’t it?

Eddie’s late coming home from school because he ran into Mike outside the library and they sat down to chat, and he lost track of the time, and there’s a cold feeling in his gut when he gets home and Curtis doesn’t look up from the television as he asks, “Where have you been? Your class ended over an hour ago.”

And Eddie knows, he knows they’re trying to sabotage his relationship, Curtis told him so, but part of him just doesn’t want to believe that, and Mike seemed so sincere. He never once made any kind of negative comment about Eddie’s love life. The most he’d done was ask how Curtis was faring. That was as much as it was even mentioned. So he tells the truth, and Curtis still isn’t looking at him in the few moments of quiet that stretch between them, or when he says, “Come here.”

Eddie obeys. He always does, after all. Curtis grabs his arm too hard and it hurts but he bites his lip because he should have known better, after all, and he’s stupid, and that was stupid of him, and what if Mike is just out to get them?

“Do you want to fuck this up? Do you want them to take you away from me?” he demands, face contorted by his anger, and Eddie shakes his head. He can feel tears burning at his eyes but he fights them because Curtis told him he’s a crybaby and no one likes a crybaby -- he doesn’t want to make him more angry.

“No,” he tries to insist. “I just--” But he doesn’t get a chance to finish because Curtis’s free hand connects with his cheek hard enough to snap his head to the side, and the tears overflow even though he really really doesn’t want them to, as he stands there, stunned, mouth agape, cheek stinging. “What the fuck?” he’s demanding, and Curtis is yanking on his arm to drag him closer, holding so tight he’s almost worried the bones might snap.

“Sometimes I think you don’t love me at all, you know that? Sometimes I think you’re just fucking mooching, and you don’t give a shit if I feel valued or not.”

Eddie would normally defend himself. Tell Curtis that isn’t true, that he does love him, that he shows him that every day, to the best of his ability. That he’s given himself over to him completely, and isn’t that proof enough that he loves him? Except right now, he can’t remember exactly what it is that he “loves” about this man.

The arm Curtis isn’t crushing in his grip reels back and Eddie smashes his fist into Curtis’s nose and he knows, in that moment, there’s no salvaging any of this, and wonders how he ever even cared. In his shock and pain, Curtis lets go of him, and Eddie doesn’t hesitate to get the fuck out of there.

He’s definitely crying when he shows up outside Stan and Richie’s dorm, and he’s trying to stop it because he doesn’t want them to be mad when they see him (because he’s an annoying fucking crybaby, isn’t that right?) but he’s knocking before he’s able to compose himself because he can’t fucking compose himself. He’s shaking and he ruined it but, really, isn’t that for the best? When was the last time he was truly happy with Curtis? The shaking won’t stop anyway, and he can feel anxiety building in his gut, making his stomach twist, because he has nothing now. He’s just gone and completely fucked himself over, and the rest of the Losers, well... they probably barely consider him a friend anymore, or if anything they probably think he’s a shit one, and this was a bad idea. Yeah, this was definitely a bad idea, because he’s imagining Stan sneering down at him and demanding to know why the fuck he thought they’d help him when he hasn’t been bothered with them in months, or Richie scoffing and telling him maybe if he wanted help so bad he could go ask his boyfriend, and--

The door swings open and Stan’s eyes go wide, and Eddie can’t get the words out, and he knows he isn’t having an asthma attack but this feels like an asthma attack. “Richie!” Stan is calling, but Richie’s already leaping up from his bed because he caught sight of Eddie through the gap in the door, and besides, he’d know that wheezing anywhere. Stan barely moves out of the way in time to avoid being bowled over. Richie freezes, though, halfway to grabbing Eddie to drag him into a hug, not sure that he’s alright with that (didn’t he always used to be?) and not sure what the fuck is wrong, but there’s a red mark on his cheek that’s pretty telling, anyway.

Eddie’s the one who surges forward first and wraps Richie up in a hug, because he needs it, and because Richie looks stricken, and Eddie knows somewhere deep down that Richie would never hate him. He’s always known Richie could never hate him. He has to repeat it to himself, like a mantra, as Richie awkwardly tries to shuffle back into the room with Eddie latched around his waist, but Eddie’s scared to let go. “Please don’t be mad,” he says, not quite meeting Richie’s eyes.

Everything he’s done in the last year has been so fucking stupid and he’s a fucking idiot and he’s well aware of that, so everyone else must be, too. So he excuses his behaviour with, “I just thought he loved me.” Maybe, in some way, Curtis does love him, but not the way that Eddie wants or needs to be loved, and he just wasn’t smart enough to see it before. He can barely wrap his mind around it now. But his cheek is throbbing where Curtis landed a pretty fucking solid blow, and his arm aches with the beginnings of a bruise, and he’s tired and hungry and miserable and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt less loved.

Richie, though -- Richie helps. Richie makes him feel better just by being here. By not letting go of him as they settle onto the bed, lying on their sides. Probably because he can tell how much Eddie can’t stand the idea of letting go right now. Stan brings them ice wrapped in a cloth from the kitchens and Richie holds it to his cheek for him and wipes the tears away and Eddie apologizes, over and over, until Richie tells him to stop. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, Eds. Okay? You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”

Stan whispers something to Richie as he’s pulling on his shoes, and Richie nods, eyes flickering up to look at him, but then he’s looking at Eddie again as the door clicks shut behind Stan.

“I’m just glad you came here. I really am. You know we’ve got your back, right? Whatever you need. We’re here for you.” Richie’s gone all soft, eyes shining, his hand resting on Eddie’s cheek even though he isn’t trying to dry his tears anymore. His glasses sit at an angle on his face, one side pressed to the pillow, and it would probably be funny if Eddie weren’t so goddamn miserable right now.

“I gave him everything,” he says, through the thick feeling of tears blocking his throat. “I... I just thought he loved me.”

(That softness in Richie disappears for a second -- so brief Eddie’s immediately wondering if he might have imagined it -- to be replaced by something hot and fierce and pissed, like he could burn cities to the ground if so inclined, and inclined he is.)

A tear finally slips out of Richie’s eye and runs sideways down his face to soak into the pillow. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. We’re here for you. We love you, you know that, right?”

He should. He can’t believe he’d ever doubted it, but something (Curtis) had him doubting. It’s hard to believe Richie doesn’t love him when they’re lying here like this, and harder to believe he ever thought Richie might turn him away. And as for the other Losers... well, he can only hope they’ll forgive him, in time.

He doesn’t answer because he isn’t sure how to explain that, but he’s sure that he fucked up, in some capacity, and that the love the Losers have for him isn’t completely unconditional. Right? Or is that something Curtis wants him to believe? He bites down on his lip so hard it bleeds but he starts crying all over again, anyway.

The door slams open and Bill is there, Stan behind him with Mike in tow. They file inside just as Bev and Ben come thundering up the corridor behind them, and then the mattress is shifting and dipping as several more bodies pile on around them, and somewhere he hears Stan snap at Bill to, “Take your damn shoes off, you animal,” and Richie, close above him, retorts, “Who the fuck cares? I wear my shoes in bed all the time.”

“Animals,” Stan repeats, climbing over them to sit against the headboard and pull Eddie’s head into his lap. He takes the melting ice from Richie to hold against Eddie’s cheek, which is still swelling despite their best efforts.

“Sorry,” Eddie says, when Stan tsks and shakes his head after examining it for a second, and several voices at once are telling him, “You have nothing to apologize for,” and “We love you,” and Richie smiles at him, albeit tremulously, before pressing a kiss to his forehead. Eddie hides his face in his hands because he can’t stop fucking crying but now it’s because he’s so fucking happy. Happy to be back with his friends and to know beyond any doubt that they do love him and it is unconditional and he might just be okay, after all.

#Anonymous #reddie #the losers club #a family of dumbasses tbh #they all love each other sm #ask #writing #cw abuse #cw manipulation #cw domestic violence

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rpd-rookie · 4 years

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Hello! So, I saw your post about requests and here I am. I really want to read smth about reader's workout session with Chris Redfield. Well, the reader isn't an agent, she just wants to stay in a good shape and Chris is just so willing to help her. It can lead to smut I really don't mind. :) P.S. Looking forward to the second chapter of your new Chris story. It's great.

There it is. A nice (hot) workout session with Chris Redfield that ends up in the shower ;-) Apparently, I can’t help myself. I have to write bathroom sex when it comes to Chris. Anyway hope you’ll like it and thank you for ready Under Her Large Umbrella.

WARNING: SMUT ( but it’s near the end so you can skip it if you want)

Working Out BSAA-Style - Chris Redfield x Reader (NSFW)

You were used to find an empty cold bed in the morning. It had been your routine for the past two years or so. The sacrifice to make when you date BSAA Golden Boy Chris Redfield. What you were not used to, however, was being pulled out of your bed by your feet at six thirty in the morning. “Come on, lazy bum. We said 6:15. You’re late.” You growled and buried your head under your pillow. “You said 6:15, Chris. Not me.” “I thought you wanted to workout with me today.” You could imagine his mocking smile through the tone of his voice. “Yeah, like a regular person. At a decent hour. And I imagined something like yoga or Pilate, not Ninja Warrior or whatever military training you prepared for me.” Chris chuckled and removed the blanket covering your body, making you instantly curl up because of the sudden cold. “Come on, baby. Get your sweet butt in gear and join me outside in ten.” He slapped your rear and you jumped by reflex. “Ten?” You harrumphed as your sleepy face finally emerged from under the pillow. “Yep, otherwise I’d be long gone and you’ll have to catch up on me.”

You watched him leave the bedroom, leaving you here to grumble on your own. What did you have to ask him for a workout session, again? Oh yeah, the sudden whim to stay in shape and have your summer body ready for your July bikini. But that’s precisely what it was; a whim, something far from being entirely serious, something you wanted to do but never ended up doing without an ounce of regret, like adopting a kitten or something like that. But there’s no place for whim when you share your life with Chris Redfield.

You managed to be ready in ten … well in twenty, actually. But it did not matter since Chris was still waiting for you nevertheless, stretching on the guardrail bordering the stadium nearby the BSAA barracks. “You’re late soldier.” His tone was very solemn and serious and probably resembling the one he had when he was speaking to his unit. “I’m no soldier, Captain.” You insisted on his title on purpose. “I know that. If you had been, I would have make you do a hundred push-ups for being late to my training session. So, I’ll guess you’ll just do fifty.” Your mouth opened wide. He wasn’t serious, right? You had never really done push-ups and he wanted you to do fifty of them. “Kidding.” He grinned and caught your chin to kiss your lips softly. “Should have seen your face.” “Haha, very funny.” You retorted with sarcasm. “So what’s the program, Captain Redfield?” “Let’s say few minutes of warm-up, ten laps on the track, some stretching exercise, core building and a nice shower together to finish.” Alright, he wanted you to die a slow death but at least the reward was worth it. “Or, we can skip all this and directly go to the shower. I heard that sex also helps your body burn some calories and that it’s a good cardio.” You smiled, knowing perfectly Chris would not accept the offer but you just loved teasing him. “Oh, trust me, sweet heart. We’ll get there. But first, let’s warm up. ” Of course he meant literal warm-up and not sexual warm-up. Too bad. That one you loved a lot, especially when it involved Chris’ face in between your legs. Guess you would have to spread your legs for nothing for now.

Chris clapped his hands, telling you the workout session had officially begun. As a good student, you followed and repeated all his moves, mimicking the ways he was rotating his hips then his arms, stretching his upper body, and flexing his legs before finally finishing with a series of squats. You thought you didn’t do so badly because Chris barely gave you some advice. “Not bad for a beginner.” He admitted, “Well, you should know better than anyone how good I am when it comes to warm-ups.” You said cheekily. “Oh, so that’s why your behind was so … prominent while doing squats.” You expected that naughty remark. Actually, you must admit you had thrown Chris the line on purpose. You loved him when he was all BSAA Captain serious, but you loved him also when he was responding to your occasional teasing. And right now you could have a mix of both, so why not taking the chance. “Alright, let’s run together now.”

You were not really fond of running, especially running on tracks, finding it too boring. You preferred walking or trekking in the woods. You had done that with Chris quite a few times during his rare furloughs. But you had asked for a workout session with your BSAA Captain and so you followed the lead without complaining. You both started jogging along slowly, Chris giving you some good tips to run without tiring yourself out too much. “Always run in the innermost lane of the track, it shortens the distance a bit. And focus on your breathing. Inhale and exhale using both your mouth and your nose.” You listened carefully and obeyed, happy to spend this time with him and to see Chris in a new light. He was a very good teacher and an awesome leader, giving advice without sounding bossy. No wonder he was so well esteemed and appreciated by his team.

When you started to quicken your pace, you felt your breathing and your heart accelerating a lot and soon you realised you were slowing Chris down. How could he not be tired? Even a tiny bit? “You know you can leave me behind. I’ll manage.” You did not want to ruin his training after all. “No. No way. No one stays behind, soldier. Come on.” He grabbed your arm to drag you and help you keep running. “I have a stich.” “Then imagine a horde of hungry BOWs chasing you. That always helps.” Rely on your survival instinct? Well, that’s some advice. But you had to admit that, in a certain way, your survival was at stake right now since you could feel your heart pounding in your chest like crazy. Could hearts explode? You hoped not.

You didn’t know how you managed to finish those ten laps but you did, though your lungs would forever remember them. Exhausted, panting, face completely reddened, you let yourself fall on the grass. “Kill me now.” Chris crouched down and kissed your lips softly. “I said kill me, not kiss me. But I’ll take it.” He chuckled, stood up again and extended his hand to help you get up. “Come on, stretch up a bit. You’ll feel better.” You grabbed his hand and he pulled you up with an incredible ease despite you being a total dead weight right now.

“Come on do as I do, otherwise you’ll be aching.” Again, you mimicked his moves, stretching your upper and lower body. And it felt actually really good and soothing. “Okay, now on the ground. Core exercises.” “You can’t be serious.” You weren’t sure you would be able to keep up. “Then we will be good to go. I promise.” He winked and knelt on the ground. Then he rested his forearms on the grass and extended his legs so that his body formed a straight line. You knew that exercise. You used to do it in high school. But it’s been a while since high school. Nevertheless, you put your body in the same position and glimpsed at Chris. “How long?” “Until I tell you it’s over. Now stop hiking up your butt like that.” You felt Chris gently kick your behind to make you drop your hips a bit. “You usually never complain.” You mumbled, trying to keep the joke to yourself. “What did you say?” He asked, though you were certain he had heard you. “Nothing”

You ended your intensive training with some butterfly sit-ups, something called ‘dead bug’ (a fitting name for you right now) and a series of old-fashioned push-ups. ‘Alright, enough for today!” Chris declared as he quickly stood up. “Did I pass the BSAA admission exam?” You asked, getting back on your feet, all sweaty but happy that the workout was finally over. “You did, rookie.” He nodded and you smiled proudly. “Well, that was easy.” “ However, there’s one last thing you must do to be fully admitted. Something to ace the test, let’s say.” Chris smirked and you bit your lips, understanding exactly what he meant. So, Chris wanted to play today. Fair enough. Let’s play, Captain. “And what is that, Captain Redfield?” “Join me in the shower in my personal quarters and I’ll show you.” He dragged you against his strong body, his hands pressed against your lower back. “Is that very professional, Captain?” “It’s part of the training program, rookie. I believe you can’t say no, especially after wiggling that gorgeous butt for an entire hour right in front of your Captain.” He groped your ass and lay a warm kiss in your neck. “Now come with me.” “Roger that” you purred and he chuckled, amused yet already terribly aroused judging by the way his chocolate brown had suddenly darkened.

You and Chris almost ran back to your place. And needless to say that, as soon as the door slammed shut behind you, you ended up in his muscular arms again so that he could carry you quickly to the bathroom, making you lose your sports shoes on the way. “My clothes!” You laughed when Chris entered the shower with you, still dressed. But he couldn’t care less and immediately turned up the tap.

The cold water instantly squirted on you both, making you yelp. But you didn’t mind. The cold water was just like Chris’ sudden carelessness, refreshing and welcoming. “What’s happening to you?” You wondered, beaming at him. “Don’t you think I’ve noticed all your little allusions back there?” He caught your lips, his hands roaming all over your body and undressing you hastily. “Those little allusions? That turned you on?” “Oh sweetie, anything you do is turning me on when you wear those skin-tight yoga pants. But right now, I want them off.” And he pulled them down with one swift move, along with your panties, the second he finished that sentence, kneeling down in the shower as he did to hoist one of your leg on his broad shoulder. Then he kissed your thighs on and on until he reached your pussy where he placed another kiss to keep you waiting, while his fingers were too busy spreading your warm lips and playing with your clit. You shivered, impatient and looking at Chris with pleading eyes through the water running over both your bodies. Fortunately for you, he was not in the mood for much teasing today and he soon lapped your slit up to your clit where he decided to linger a bit to suck it greedily. A loud moan escaped your mouth, which encouraged Chris to be even more ardent than he already was. He swirled his tongue on your bud, pulling it occasionally in between his lips and let a finger enter your core to fuck you. You buried your hand in his wet hair to prevent yourself from slipping in the shower because of the exquisite wave of pleasure drowning your body right now. “Chris. Chris, please get up.” You asked, not willing to reach your orgasm just yet.

Chris complied after one last loud kiss on your clit. As he stood right in front of you again, largely towering you because of how tall and massive he was in comparison to you, you realised he was still wearing his tank top and his shorts. So you removed them slowly, leaving a trail of kisses on his strong abs and chest as you did, enjoying the sensation of his rock hard muscles against your lips. When his shorts and his boxers hit the shower floor, you took his erected length in your hand and knelt in your turn. You started pumping his cock, staring at Chris right in the eye, before finally kissing his tip and sucking it like a lollipop. He hissed and tensed at the sensation. “Don’t tease me too much, baby. I’m that close to explode already.” You didn’t answer but you guessed taking his length in your mouth would be the perfect way to show him you’d do as he said. So, you engulfed his cock deep in your mouth and started bobbing your head. A growl escaped his throat and you felt him instantly relax as his head tilted back against the shower wall. Hands massaging his balls, you alternated between sucking and licking until Chris grabbed your ponytail and pushed himself deep in you, making you gag around him. “That’s it, take my cock, baby.” You kept going, leaving a lot of saliva around his thick length and then you felt Chris hoisting you up by your arms to press his lips passionately against yours.

“How do you want it?” He whispered, still close to your mouth. “From behind.” You wanted it rough. Maybe not a wise idea after the workout you had just had but if you are going to be aching for days, might as well be for a good reason. “I thought so.” Chris turned you around and spanked you as he pushed you against the wall. You placed your hands on the tiles and bent over so that he would grab you by the hips. “You know how to please your Captain, don’t you?” He roared as he spread your legs and went to tap his cock against your entrance.

Then he sank into you with ease, making you moan his name because of how surprisingly deep he already was. Hands on your waist he started pounding you hard and fast. Your head almost hit the wall under the strength of his thrust and the weight of his muscular body. Him inside of you was just the most divine sensation in the world. He filled you so perfectly. “Oh my god, Chris” He smirked, circled your waist with one arm to keep in place and put his hand on your head to press your face against the tiles, establishing his dominance on you and using this position to go balls deep inside of you. “You like that, baby?” You cried out. “I didn’t hear you” “Yeeess.” You whimpered, your eyes closed. He slapped you again and you screamed, clenching your walls around him. He was relentless, so strong, so fast, so deep you could hear his balls slap against your clit and his hips smacking your behind. Those sounds plus the sound of the running water on both your bodies. Goodness, this was arousing. “Chris, I’m gonna cum.” You cried out as you felt your orgasm building up in you again. “Good. Cum with me.” He pushed you flat against the wall, hand still holding your hair, and hardened his pace, aroused by your beautiful body completely at his mercy.

It only took a few seconds for him to cum deep inside of you with a loud growl, spilling his load in your clenching pussy as you were reaching your peak as well, screaming his name like never before. A few last rough deep thrust and Chris pulled out you, leaving incredibly satisfied yet shivering and even more exhausted than before. He smiled, proud of himself, as he gazed his white seed oozing out of your pussy. “Yep, you passed the test, baby.” He joked and he lay a soft kiss on your shoulder while you chuckled. “Perfect.” “Next test next week.”

To spend another amazing moment like this one with your BSAA Golden Boy, you could only agree.

#chris redfield #chris redfield x reader #request #one shot #resident evil

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nyanpoe · 4 years

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(Rough) summary of the last NatsuYuu arc

Featuring chapters 106 and 107, “Visiting a late friend”.

Note that my japanese isn’t the best, so i might have misunderstood some things.

Also: my own personal notes are in cursive.

In chapter 106 Natsume takes the wrong bus home after going to some far town (if i remember correctly Touko had asked him to run an errand or smth). Yorishima gets on that same bus and after seeing each other (they were like the only ones in the bus) they start chatting. If i remember correctly, Yorishima had offered to show him the correct bus/way home, but he was on his way to return a book to an old friend (named Kusakabe) he used to exchange letters with who had already passed away, so Natsume offers to accompany him.

We get some more insight into Yorishima’s character, how he’s pretty grumpy, asocial and a shut in. If i remember correctly, in the book he was going to deliver, which was one that Natori retrieved from his mansion in the Miharu arc, he found a letter where Kusakabe told him to go visit him someday.

When they get to the house of Yorishima’s old friend, they are greeted by his 3 beautiful daughters AND feel a weird presence in the house.

The chapter ends with Yorishima telling Natsume that Kusakabe only had 2 daughters, not 3.

Here 2 cute screenshots i took of the chapter

Chapter 107 (later part) starts with one of the letters Kusakabe wrote to Yorishima, where he talks about how he can hear his daughters (note: 娘, musume) played despite having told them to being quiet as he was writing. He also notes how he likes it when it’s lively, and contrasts it with Yorishima’s hypothetical reaction.

The daughters (who are all a bit weird and very pushy) talk a bit about Yorishima and how much their father used to talk about him. Once they leave the room, Yorishima and Natsume discuss how one of them might be an ayakashi, as he is sure Kusakabe had always wrote in his letters about only 2 daughters.

Yorishima starts cursing about how nothing good happens whenever he leaves his house and apologizes to Natsume for dragging him into such a mess. Natsume then realizes he feels like his old self, and reassures him that going all this way for his friend is a very important thing and he'll tag along, for Kusakabe's sake, and mentally adds for Yorishima’s sake too. Natsume then kicks Nyanko-sensei outta the room and tells him to go investigate which daughter might be the imposter (since he was just eating cake and being an ass lol).

Natsume asks if there’s lead to tell apart the fake one, but Yorishima says that none of them resemble Kusakabe physically, although their mannerisms sometimes do.

AND WE GET A FLASHBACK OF THEIR COLLEGE TIME.

In it, Kusakabe tells Yorishima (after failing to feed him an onigiri) about how he should have also gone watch the meteor shower, how pretty it was etc and how the stars seemed to go and fall from all directions, to which Yorishima was like bruh how could that be and if it wasn’t perhaps a tanuki or ghost playing a prank on him. Kusakabe says that maybe that was the reason why the rest didn’t seem to react to it, but that was all the more reason why it would have been merrier if Yorishima had been with him.

Yorishima immediately tells Kusakabe that he should confess to Kyouko-san already and that he actually would have wanted to see the meteor shower with her instead, leaving the other quite dumbfounded as meddling into other’s affairs (or even caring) was pretty out of character of him. Yorishima just answers that if his roommate is being a pain he won’t get peace either so he should be done with his business. He also tells him that he’s a good man, so there’s no way he’ll get rejected.

~end of flashback~

After that we get a 4 pages Nyanko-sensei pov of spying on the girls, who start acting all creepy, making him freaks out and run away.

The last page has a letter from Yorishima to Kusakabe, in which he thanks him for the last letter and congratulates him, saying he was surprised when he learned about his 2 daughters.

Back to Yorishima and Natsume, Yorishima seems to hold his arm, making Natsume worry and ask if it doesn’t hurt (thinking to himself that it’s the rumored ayakashi arm, and wonders if it’s really true) but the other says he was just deep in thought. They discuss about the daughters again, saying that if they look like kusakabe, what similarities they have etc. Since they dont look alike natsume asks if they dont look like the wife then, but Yorishima says he actually doesn’t know about the wife, neither name nor face. He never got to meet her, as he never met Kusakabe after college again. He says that Kusakabe wrote whatever came to mind in his letters and never got to tell him about getting married not his daughters being born, but mentions that he used to date a girl called Kyouko when they were in college. He says that they looked very happy and (not sure of the jp wording here) just looking at each other/at them? made them blush.

Natsume assumes that that must have been his wife then, but Yorishima says that she had died in an accident. He talks about how Kusakabe used to be pretty depressed after it, but since he didn't want to make Kyouko sad he came back to his usual self eventually. Still, he didn’t date anyone after that, that’s why he was very surprised when reading the letter talking about his daughters. Knowing that he was able to form a family, after everything that happened, made him so happy he started trembling.

Nyanko-sensei interrupts them and cries a bit about how the girls were Too Much. After that, the lights go off and Yorishima runs to check that the girls are ok. He starts mildly gay panicking bc he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to his friend’s house. He says to himself that it would have been better if Kusakabe had at least told him how his daughters were called, and remembers the note in the book asking him to come pay a visit someday.

He runs into the youkai and asks who is she, to which she replies that she is kusakabes daughter. Yorishima says that he only had 2 so that's not possible but she says that Kusakabe just never got to tell him about the 3rd (among us voice kinda sus). She tells him that if he catches her she'll tell him the full story. While chasing for her, he starts shouting that it’s Kusakabe’s house, even if he passed away, saying in his mind “isn’t anywhere anymore”, it’s the house of his dear friend, and he won’t forgive her if she tries to do something to his beloved daughters.

He catches the youkai and: turns out all the daughters were DOLLS.

Apparently, Kusakabe bought 2 dolls at an antique shop and when writing the letter, he used the word musume, which can mean either daughter or simply young girl. The daughters say he had realized that Yorishima misunderstood and thought he meant biological daughters, but decided to play along and keep using musume when talking about them. And so, when Yorishima visited him, he would learn the truth. He looked forward to when he would come and find out. That’s why the dolls decided to carry on with that wish, and tell him about how fun and merry Kusakabe’s time there had been.

(Here comes the part where I’m not really sure about some things, and I’m not sure either what they are referring to Exactly so I might have misinterpreted it.)

The dolls say they were actually upset at him for never once visiting Kusakabe, but that seeing his arm they understand he couldnt come. Then, Natsume thinks to himself "to his dear friend... (deepl translation:) in the midst of all the bewitchment...". Yorishima here regrets not being more sincere in his replies to the many letters Kusakabe sent because he thinks that’s probably why he stopped sending them (i think?),and the daughters ask him if he knows why he died. When Yorishima says he heard he died of illness, they say: "yes, the reason is similar to yours (that i understand maybe i read it wrong). he simply stopped sending letters when he lost the strength in his handwriting". (when he didnt have enough strenght to write properly basically, bc that’s shittily worded). Here they show that Kusakabe told his daughters that Yorishima is very intelligent and his own handwriting was very strong and beautiful, so he would notice and get weird worries.

The daughters then say that there are a lot of letters he never got to send.

In one of those letters, he writes Yorishima that he had ordered a new doll for his daughters, so it seemed like his house would become even more lively (and also something about a job but idk if it refers to the doll or smth else). A sepparate bubble shows: “one day, when you come...”.

With the book being returned, the daughters have then acomplished their mission. When they leave Natsume wonders what will they do from now on. Here Natsume wonders about Yorishima’s regrets, the reason why he couldnt pay a visit to his friend, and his own duty with the book of friends.

Yorishima thanks Natsume for his helps and Natsume says its a good thing he came to see him (aka Kusakabe). He is holding the book open, and as the wind makes the pages flip one last note, with a pretty shaky handwriting ,appears between them. Natsume asks what does it say.

Yorishima says that it just says as usual, just some foolish things.

#spoilers #better link and share privately instead of reblogging #because i added some manga screenshots

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houseki-no-suffering · 5 years

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Pssst.... gush about some thing you’ve wanted to for so long but haven’t found the ask to do so! I really like reading your metas or off-the-wall posts.

aw ty!

mmmh usually i just crank out a random meta when i feel like it, which i havent had the energy to do in a while. so have a lot of hcs about gem language, gem society and how it resembles a totalitarian system cause why not, this is already a dystopia.

goes from cute to shady real quick, have fun

Gem Vocabulary

gems have no gender, they dont age, they dont reproduce. the whole vocabulary about relationships, aging and sex must be completely different in gem language. they probably lack a lot of words we commonly use, and have unique words for things we dont have (like winter duty, patrol duty... i wouldnt be surprised if gem language had unique grammatical features for those)

this is one of the reasons why its so unfair of aechmea to call cairn ‘wife’ and ‘princess.’ the gems have no concept of wife-ness, we dont know if a gem equivalent of marriage exists, but its definitely much, much different from what the lunarians (and us) perceive as one.

do gems have anything akin coming of age? this could be weird bc gems can potentially live forever, but they can also be abducted by the lunarians at any time, so who’s to say how long a lustrous will live? how do you calculate being ‘of age’? is it by calculating the average life-span of a gem?

how do they measure time and seasons? we know they have winter and summer and phos mentions ‘spring’ in chapter 20, but what about months and lunar phases? do they have words for that or are months just too small a timeframe for the immortal lustrous to utilize? how do they measure time? in hours and seconds? weeks? different units altogether?

Gem Relationships

similarly, gem relationships are codified in a completely different way. we know they have a concept of romance bc dia ships phos and shinsha and makes comments here and there about other gems being in love.

at the same time, the relationships btw alexandrite and chrysoberyl, padpa and rutile, ghost/cairn and lapis etc are little different from ‘pure’ sibling/sibling relationships or senpai/kohai relationships.

this is not to say that they’re all romantic in nature, but the way they’re codified in canon (especially in the way the characters grief for their partner) makes me think that even if the gems have no blood/physical kinship with one another they have a very articulated system of establishing family bonds.

dia and bort are clearly siblings, but the same can’t be said, for example, for rutile and padpa, even if they were partners and even if they display a similar junior/senior relationship. this means that relationships are predicated on something else in hnk, and kinship, family and romance are all codified in a different way.

think of vulcans in star trek: physical contact such as two fingers touching, holding hands and kissing is unknown of (save for very specific circumstances). and vulcan people have a completely different way of expressing intimacy and romance than humans.

this makes me think: just how many canonically romantic relationships are there in hnk (if any) that we’re simply unaware of bc the way gems codify and express romance is so different from ours? is romance even common? rare? perceived as weird? useless?

what about other relationships? the gems use ‘little brother/ older brother’ but what if this is just japanese approximations? what kind of relationships can lustrous language really express and how different are they from ours?

Imagination

as @ruddy-rutile pointed out some time ago, the gems lack a concept of fantasy. thats why i posted that panel about alex’s original lunarian designs. sure, it’s funny, but it also makes you think: these gems are not raised to think outside the box and they can do it without being told so only under exceptional circumstances.

of the vast library of texts that ghost (and lapis) used to take care of, just how many are novels and fiction? none of them? a small amount? a decent amount? in a society thats as focused on practicality, efficiency and conservatism as the lustrous’, how is fiction perceived if perceived at all?

is there art? red beryl’s craft comes very close to art when they express their feelings about ‘fashion for fashion’s sake,’ but it’s an exception that the other gems find hard to grasp.

phos is often told to stop fantasizing about the world and get things done, the only tale we know the gems are told is the actual story of how their world came to be. the gems always talk about real things, stuff that happened, and make and do things that have a practical use.

even bort’s jellyfish diary is just made up of a recollection of what happened when they tried to feed them. still, the fact that bort names the jellyfish makes you think that these rocks do have potential for fantasy, theyre just not used to it

Totalitarianism and Privacy

to make this even more shady, here’s your gentle reminder that:

- gems’ rooms have no doors. the only door ive been able to find is the one in shinsha’s room (ch 2) and that is because shinsha’s room is closed off to other people and full of mercury. its like putting a patch on smth you dont want to deal with (much like shinsha’s whole character arc tbh)

- the gems have little to no free time. or their free time can be revoked any time in case an emergency occurs, sensei is napping etc. the gems’ time is rigorously managed by jade, euc and sensei. each gem has a place to be and a time to be.

this means that a missing gem can be found at all times and slackers can be identified very easily. they all have a job and they have to follow it. this is not to say that they have no fun ever, but leisure time is rare and (at least as far as we know) its not contemplated when tasks are assigned each day.

the mere fact that there is a morning assembly and tasks are assigned each day makes you think. is this communism? is this totalitarianism? but most importantly, is this a scary dystopia that hits you in the face like a brick the third time you reread ch 2?

- sameness > equality. i already went over this in the past. gems society underlines sameness and conformity over anything else. the gems think theyre equal but theyre actually ‘similar.’

a system based on equality emphasizes differences so that every individual can do the best with what they have got and get back what they need, according to their personal needs.

these gems emphasize sameness: everyone is upheld to the same standards, even when those standards dont match with a gem’s unique characteristics (ie phos cannot be a fighter, no reason to keep saying stuff like ‘if only you were stronger/you’re useless’ etc. they’re a rock with an imagination in a world where dull reality is the rule. just make them write theater plays and play with slugs with shinsha, wth)

It’s real 1984 hours:

all of the above means that:

- your sense of self is subordinated to the group. if you dont belong you’re simply a nothing. at times, the gems almost display a collective consciousness (a pretty hostile one too): everything must be decided together and done together

- you are what you do. gems identify completely with their job. thats why a job is so important, thats why this system is so fucked up. self worth is not inherent, it depends on what you can do. talk about a breeding ground for mental health issues

- you dont have a saying in picking your career or deciding for you future. thats up to sensei (and maybe euc and jade). unless you have a very strong affinity with a certain task (like red beryl and alex)

- youre expected to follow orders all the damn time. no matter how much sensei wants his gems to exert free will, they still prefer to do what theyre told. ill admit, its much easier than taking your life in your hands and decide what youre gonna do with it, but damn if it isnt depressing. and childish

- euclase and sensei are the authority. sensei and euc are the powers that be. in the sense that they assign tasks, they decide on times and battle plans, on purpose etc. lets not forget that euc was the one to take on sensei’s role after he ‘resigned.’

i wonder what would happen if euc were abducted and the gems had no one to follow anymore, no orders. who’d be the new leader? would there be one? lets not forget that no matter how gentle euc is, phos is shit scared of them.

- thought police is a thing. to end this meta on what is probably the shadiest note: surveillance is a thing. the gems report on each other, it’s thought police, no sugarcoating this.

there’s no privacy, no secrets. even antarc reads rutile’s diary. this goes from cute and childish (’you did this one wrong thing, im gonna tell sensei’) to absolutely fucked up (’you did this one wrong thing, im gonna tell sensei’)

#houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #hnk #meta #best #im a sociologist what did ya expect #pls feel free to add on this

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pickalilywrites · 5 years

Text

anastasia au~ please remember to check out @ressnie‘s anastasia au fanart its very beautiful and she worked v hard on it ^^ as for me, an anastasia au is smth i have been wanting to write for a long time but i was too shy to ever write it >///< i hope you guys enjoy ^^

A Grand Scheme

Rivetra. Anastasia AU.

Finding a Place Called Home Series: Part i

5276 words.

Buy me a ko-fi!

The group of four huddles together, wrapped in their old, ragged coats, and walk across the dismal streets of St. Petersburg, talking in low whispers. There are others like them in similar coats that are falling apart at the seams. The people’s heads are down and their eyes on the ground as they shuffle across the icy roads. They are all the same - starving, but with no money to pay for food. Some jingle the few coins in their pocket, wondering if they have enough to haggle for a loaf of bread even if the loaf is broken and stale. Then again, perhaps it’s best to starve for tonight and hope for a better tomorrow. Only the rich do not have to worry about such things, but they are nowhere to be seen on these streets. Those who have money travel by car, but most stay indoors where they do not have to interact with wandering beggars.

“I’ve heard of a get-rich-quick scheme,” Auruo, a sandy-haired man with a worn cap on his head, says in a low voice to his friend. His eyes shift around nervously, checking the people around them to make sure that their conversation is not being overheard.

“We’ve tried a dozen of them, and none of them have ever worked out,” Gunther mutters. Like Auruo, his eyes shift nervously before he ducks his head down.

“Perhaps they weren’t as quick as we thought they would be,” Petra suggests. She hears Eld chuckle beside her and she smiles even though she knows his laugh is empty. It’s a faint reminder that happiness does exist, although she can hardly remember when it did. “Maybe we should try waiting a little longer.”

Auruo scowls at her but quickly wipes the sour expression off his face. Even the briefest sign of displeasure - no matter the reason - can be interpreted dangerously if the wrong people are watching. He walks with them in silence for a moment and takes a deep breath before continuing. “Do you remember the execution of the Ackerman family ten years back?” His words are spoken so quietly that Petra almost doesn’t hear him. When she realizes his words, she almost wishes she had missed them entirely.

“We shouldn’t be talking about this,” Gunther hisses. It’s uncharacteristic of him to snap, and this little outburst causes Eld and Petra to look at him in alarm, their terrified expressions begging him to calm himself before others suspect them of planning. Quickly, he regains his composure and he hangs his head in shame. Still, he whispers, “Nobody speaks of this even today. Besides, we were so young when it happened. What could this possibly have to do with us?”

Auruo grips his friend’s arm excitedly, forgetting himself for a moment. “There are rumors!” He only remembers to quiet down when Gunther wrenches his arm from Auruo’s grip and hastily shushes Auruo. The sandy-haired man pulls his cap down over his ears and looks over excitedly at his companions. Petra prays that the others walking around them don’t notice her friend. If a displeased expression in Bolshevik Russia is bad, then a giddy expression is even worse. “Rumors that there was a survivor! The prince...they say his body was never found at the site. They say he’s still alive...and there have been those coming out claiming to be him. Nobles outside of Russia...if we manage to sneak out of this country and find them, they’ll offer money in support of the lost heir. We’d have enough money to get our families out as well!”

Gunther opens his mouth to speak, but Eld speaks up first. “Even if it’s true that...that he’s alive, that has nothing to do with us.” Eld’s stern expression is enough to wipe away Auruo’s smile. A few years ago, Eld might have joined in with Auruo’s daring schemes, but he’s grown cautious ever since his marriage with Rosalind. It’s understandable, of course. There’s too much to lose for him, and happiness is so fleeting in the world they live in. Of course, he wouldn’t risk something so precious on a rumor.

Petra laughs softly, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m not even sure where your proposal was going,” she tells Auruo. She smiles at the ground, looking at her feet so that her smile remains hidden. “Would one of you three pretend to be the prince? None of you are handsome enough. Nobody would fall for it.”

They shuffle across the streets, Auruo kicking at the snow sullenly. Petra doesn’t have to look to know that he’s pouting. “It’s not a matter of handsome enough. I’m sure that I’m handsome enough at least, but my features don’t match the Ackerman family’s at all. They all have dark hair, although I could always dye it…” He doesn’t seem to remember that he’d have to dye his hair repeatedly for the rest of his life for this scheme to work, or perhaps that detail doesn’t bother him at all. He’s always been quite devoted, although this plan seems far too dangerous for him to pursue on his own. “But we could always find someone else to impersonate him. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find someone with dark hair and light eyes, after all.”

Gunther and Petra simply nod, not wishing to crush their friend’s hopes, but Eld’s mouth is set in a thin line, signaling that the conversation is over. Auruo, taking the hint, remains silent for the remainder of their walk, but his expression remains thoughtful. It’s clear that he won’t forget this plan anytime soon.

The other three mutter about other ways to scrounge enough money to feed their families. It’s not enough to do honest work. The wages are poor no matter where you work, and the cost of food is too high. They hardly have enough money to pay rent in the crumbling apartments they call home. It’s shameful, but they’ve stooped to stealing from the rich and forging documents for those brave enough to escape, although Eld refrains from these practices now that he has Rosalind. Still, the others share the little profit they make with him so that he can feed his family. Today, the three have only managed a handful of rubles and a few crumpled banknotes.

“Not our best day,” Gunther mutters as they split the money in a dark alleyway between apartments. He stands with his back to the outside, hiding the money from any greedy eyes from the outside. After Petra offers him his share - the second largest so that he can feed his parents who are no longer able-bodied enough to work - and shove it into his pocket.

“It could be worse,” Eld reminds him, but even he looks disappointed at today’s profit. But it’s not as if they could have done any better. He refrains from complaining and pockets his money. When he sighs, a puff of white escapes his lips. “We should start heading to the shops before they close up for the night.” As he steps out into the street once more, the others follow closely behind him. He turns around to give Auruo and Petra a lopsided grin. “Stay out of trouble, the two of you.”

It’s so refreshing to hear Eld joke that Petra almost smiles. “Don’t lump me in with him,” she says with a pout. “Didn’t you hear his plan earlier? I could never come up with something so reckless!”

“Hey, weren’t you even the slightest bit interested?” Auruo asks, offended. He tries to elbow her in the ribs, but she dodges him expertly. “Admit that it intrigued you a little bit! I saw that spark in your eyes, Petra. You can’t deny it!”

Petra shakes her head at him, frowning. “And if I was? It was a fleeting interest, but I see now that it’s foolish to hope that we could pull off such a grand scheme,” she says with a tired sigh. It’s one thing to steal things and forge documents, but it’s another thing entirely to deceive the whole upper class. And that’s only if they’re able to pull off the scheme under the noses of the Bolsheviks. If word got out that they were helping the last surviving Ackerman - whether or not the man they ended up recruiting is a true Ackerman or simply another fraud - they would be swiftly executed. “And besides, where would we even be able to find someone that could resemble the Tsesarevich?”

Auruo lifts his head up slightly, and Petra can see from his expression that he’s still confident in his plan. His eyes scan the crowd, looking for potential candidates. “All we need to do is find someone with dark hair and light eyes. It’s fine if he looks only a little bit like the late Empress. He was only a boy when the palace was burned down and the Bolsheviks took over, so it’s not as if people know what he looks like now.” He looks hungrily at the crowd of beggars, hoping that at least one of them matches his vague description. He glances a second longer at any stranger with dark hair, analyzing their facial features as he tries to remember what the fallen Empress looked like. “That man, maybe. Or that one. Or even that man over there.”

His friend hardly looks at any of the candidates that have been proposed. Petra’s eyes simply glaze over them as she dismisses them one by one. “Too pretty. Too short. Too pompous.” It’s better to shoot her friend down now rather than later. He’s already gotten too excited over something that could never happen. “Auruo, think about this rationally. This isn’t like anything else we’ve done. If anything goes wrong, we could face serious repercussions. Not only us, but our families are likely to get punished as well. Your brothers are still so young. Do you want them to suffer for an impossible plan?”

Auruo stops in his tracks, his hand clenched into fists. He bites his bottom lip. As much as he wants to lash out at her, he knows he can’t. Besides, she’s only pointing out the obvious to him. “I don’t,” he whispers through gritted teeth. He swallows hard, hoping that his tears won’t spill over. “But I’m tired of being unable to do anything for them. What we’re doing now, Petra...it’s not enough. At times, I’d rather do something reckless with the hopes of earning enough money to help them escape rather than scrounging for money only to watch them slowly starve away. I know Gunther feels the same way, and Eld too. And don’t you wish the same for you and your father?”

Of course, she would. Anyone would, but the stakes are just too high. “It’s dangerous to even entertain this idea, Auruo. We should just give up now,” Petra murmurs. She tugs his sleeve, gesturing for him to move along before anyone can become suspicious of them. “Besides, it’s not enough to find someone who resembles the Tsesarevich. We’d need somebody who’s as desperate as us to follow through with it.”

It is only then that Auruo keeps quiet, but Petra knows he’s still dreaming up a way to make the plan work. She’s known him for nearly her whole life, and he’s the most stubborn person she’s ever met. It would take a plan that’s even more reckless to make him forget about this one.

The two of them make their way to the market, a street or rundown stalls filled with stale bread and rotting fruit. Anything edible has already been bought up by government officials, the only people rich enough in this country that can afford to buy anything. Petra can’t remember the last time she had been able to eat an unbruised apple or a fresh loaf of bread. Still, she shouldn’t complain. There are many that are unable to eat for days because their wages are not enough to buy even half a loaf of stale bread.

Petra and Auruo walk through the stalls, ignoring the ravenous stares of the vendors that are hoping that they’ll manage to get another coin or two. Even though food is their trade, it looks as though even the vendors are starving. They’re covered in rags, but Petra knows that they are skin and bones underneath their coats. It hadn’t used to be this bad when she was younger. She remembers a long time ago when the vendors still had meat on their bones and the people, though poor, still had enough money to afford at least one meal every day. Although a better future had been promised after the revolution, it has yet to come. She’s old enough to know now that it will never come.

The two meet at the end of the stalls, huddling together as they share their measly purchases. Today, they’ve managed to buy three badly bruised apples and two loaves of bread that look as though rats have eaten at them. But they’ve had worse days. Besides, it’s not as if the food is completely inedible if they just cut off a bit of the bread and eat around the bruises. Even this food, as miserable as it is, is better than nothing.

They split it the usual way - Petra with one apple and half a loaf while Auruo takes the rest. It only makes sense since he has the bigger family. She’s tried to give him more in the past, but he’s always refused. His pride would never let her go to bed on an empty stomach. At least with this, his brothers can go to sleep with bellies half-full. They can worry about tomorrow’s meal tomorrow.

Hopefully, they can make it home without another dangerous conversation. They were lucky they haven’t been overheard, and Petra’s unsure that they could get lucky a third time. She becomes a little less certain when she glances over at Auruo and sees his thoughtful expression. It’s clear that he’s been mulling over the plan this entire time even though he should have abandoned it long ago. He should save it for tomorrow, she thinks, or at least until they’re indoors. They have a lesser chance of being caught at dreaming up something so treasonous, but she’s unsurprised when he opens his mouth. She’s so angry that she thinks about stomping on his foot for half a second, but she’s afraid of the attention such an action would cause.

“Auruo, drop it!” Petra hisses under her breath. She tries to keep her voice low and undetected, but she’s so incensed at her friend’s recklessness that it’s difficult to keep quiet. “Do you not care at all for our safety? These unlikely riches are giving you delusions of grandeur. Is it not enough that we’re surviving already?”

“How reckless, Petra?” He ignores her entirely, looking past her. It’s so unlike him to ignore her completely, that she forgets to be infuriated for a moment. Slowly, she turns her head to follow his gaze, finding herself staring at a man that Auruo had previously identified as a potential candidate - a short man with dark hair and an unfathomable expression on his face. The man seems to be preoccupied with something else, walking determinedly through the crowd, and does not notice the two of them staring at him at all. “You said we would need a reckless man. How reckless do you need him to be?”

She doesn’t answer for a moment. Instead, she scans the crowd for the man’s target - a high-ranking government official strolling about the stalls and sneering at all the rotten fruit - and is almost frozen in horror. Petra grips Auruo’s arm and begs, “Please, Auruo, please forget I said anything about it. Let’s just go home. Can’t we just go home?”

He wrestles his arm away from her and only asks, “You know what to do, right?” He doesn’t even give her a backward glance. He proceeds to follow the man he had set his eyes on, knowing that Petra will follow him in the end.

She knows better than to go along, but she does anyway. Even if she knows this is likely to end badly, she can’t leave her friend to suffer the consequences on his own. Heart pounding in her chest, she trails after him, hoping that her nervousness remains undetected. After all, she’s been through similar situations. It’s exactly like stealing the way she did before, but this time there’s a third party involved. She can’t think too much about how this will affect the outcome.

The two follow the man closely, and Auruo times it at just the right moment. As soon as the man slips past the official, brushing about him ever so slightly that even Petra can’t be certain that he’s stolen something, Auruo collides violently against the man. They both stumble so hard that they knock into the official too. Seeing her chance, Petra takes a deep breath and swoops in as the three men stumble about before falling onto the snow. Just as the dark-haired man falls, Petra manages to slip her gloved hand into his pocket, and she’s relieved when she finds a leather wallet - clearly too fine and expensive to belong to someone like him - and slips it into the pocket of her coat. As others gather around to observe the spectacle, Petra makes her way through the crowd, tracing back the steps of the men until she stands where the official once walked. Hastily, she drops the wallet onto the ground beside her feet and hopes that nobody has seen her.

She holds her breath as she turns to where Auruo is. Apparently, everyone is too distracted by the scuffle to pay any attention to her. There are so many people that Petra can’t see properly, but she can at least hear the voices of the thief and the government official shouting.

“What the hell did you do?” she hears one man shout. Petra is uncertain who it was that spoke, but she’s certain that the gruff voice belongs to the thief that Auruo had been pursuing.

“I just slipped! It was an accident!” Auruo says. He sounds strangled, although Petra can’t see who it is that is choking him. She prays with all her might that her friend manages to get out of this scrape. If she could, she would go and defend him at this very moment, but the timing isn’t right. If they want this plan to work, she needs to come in at precisely the right time. “I’m sorry! I’m very sorry!”

The man continues to bark at Auruo, but Petra cannot make out the words he shouts. In the background, she hears more talking - a calmer but nonetheless annoyed voice - that attempts to speak over the others. She can only assume that this voice belongs to the third man.

Suddenly, the third man loses all composure, and Petra hears him shout, “My wallet! I’ve lost my wallet.” She closes her eyes as she hears his voice escalate, accusing both Auruo and the real thief of scheming to steal from him. “Ungrateful scum! After everything the Bolsheviks have done for you thus far! How dare you pull off such a scheme and act innocent?”

Petra is so nervous that she’s uncertain she can even speak. She must manage though, because her voice manages to ring out as she asks, “Excuse me, sir? Did you say you lost a wallet?” All heads turn to look at her, and she swallows nervously. Gingerly, she nudges the wallet with her toe before bending to pick it up. She holds it out awkwardly, waiting for the government official to get up and take it from her. “There is one right here. Perhaps it fell from your pocket?”

The man’s steps are heavy against the snowy gray slush on the ground. She’s never been more scared in her life, but she attempts to put on a brave face as he approaches her. She’s stolen from people before - rich people, well-off people, people who obviously had connections with the government and were able to live comfortably - but she had never been so desperate as to steal from someone who was actually involved in the government. People get their hands cut off for looking at Bolshevik officers the wrong way. She fears she could face a fate much worse just for standing in the way of an official.

As soon as he approaches her, he snatches the wallet away from her. Even though she’s free of his gaze for now, just being in his presence is enough to frighten her. It must be because he’s clearly from a different class from her - from his well-groomed mustache to the fine metal bands around his wrists to his fur-lined coat. It’s clear that the two of them are from completely different worlds. Even if he can do without the money in his wallet, he’d never let her have it, and he would never understand why she would do something so desperate.

She watches as he counts the money, muttering under his breath as he checks that every banknote is safely in his wallet. When she sees that he’s nearly done counting, she reaches out to grab his wrist. “I didn’t take a single bill from you! I left it just as I saw it, sir!” She’s unfazed when the man rudely shakes her off, too preoccupied with counting his money to want anything to do with her for the moment. She slips her hand into her pocket. “Please believe me!”

Behind the man, Auruo watches nervously, struggling not to strain his neck and seem too invested in the conversation. The man with the dark hair is also there, but he’s much more reserved in his emotions. There a slight spark of interest, but not in the dialogue. Instead, he seems more interested in what Petra has slipped into her coat pocket.

“Don’t touch me, wench!” the man spits at her. He glares at her, and Petra finds it strange that he is so enraged at her when he should be enraged at the government who had promised that people like her would no longer be living in poverty after the revolution. “I know how thieves like you operate! You’re probably in cahoots with those two. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were!” Before Petra can even blink, she finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun pointed straight at her. The look the man gives her cannot be described as menacing for he truly believes that he is in the right to punish her so harshly for a crime he is not even certain she has committed. “If I find even a single ruble gone from my wallet, I won’t hesitate to pull this trigger. Rest assured, I will be certain that your friends share the same fate.”

Auruo steps forward, opening his mouth to intervene, but Petra gives him the slightest shake of her head and he steps back. It kills him to be unable to do anything, she knows, but the official will be sure to shoot Auruo if he steps forth. And Auruo has too many people depending on him, so he can’t die today.

Petra chances a glance at the man beside Auruo, wondering if he feels the urge to step forward and help, but he only stares at her with cold gray eyes. She feels a cold feeling of dread shoot down her spine, and she can’t help but think that they’ve chosen the wrong man.

It seems that a lifetime has passed by the time the man finishes counting the money. He lowers his gun, but it is Auruo - not Petra - that breathes a sigh of relief. The man turns around, nodding to the dark-haired man and Auruo. “It seems that everything is in its rightful place. You’re all quite lucky,” he says, pocketing his wallet. He’s so pleased that he doesn’t notice that anything else is missing. “Be sure not to get into any other trouble. It would be terrible to have anything happen to you.”

Petra’s only truly at ease when the man walks away, turning his back on all three of them and pushing past the crowd so he can continue on his way. She doesn’t even wait for him to disappear completely. She turns her heel as soon as she can, desperate to get away from the crowd’s attention. Of course, she doesn’t wait for Auruo. Leaving with him would attract too much suspicion. She knows she’ll meet up with him eventually just like how she’ll meet up with the raven-haired man.

She slips into an apartment building, one that has windows that haven’t been cleaned in years and snow piled heavily onto the roof so much so that part of it must be collapsing, and settles in the middle of the dark stairwell. Surprisingly, it is not Auruo who reaches her first, but the dark-haired man.

“Hey.” He grabs her roughly by the wrist, his grip tight. She tries to break free of his grasp, but he holds firm. His gray eyes flash angrily at her, and he hisses, “Where is it? I saw you take the watch. Now give it to me.”

She’s absolutely certain now that they’ve picked the wrong man. Petra resists the urge to stomp on his foot. Instead, she finally pulls away from him and wraps her arms protectively around herself. “You can have it,” she tells him with a scathing look. Ungrateful prick. She almost took a bullet to her head because of him, and all he cares about is a piece of jewelry. “I don’t want the damn thing anyway. But I’m not going to give it to you right away.”

The man stops, surprised, but his expression quickly returns to anger. “Don’t be stupid! If you’re giving it to me eventually, just give it to me now!” he growls. He grabs her by both shoulders this time, shaking her roughly. If Petra hadn’t kept her hand gripped tightly around the watch in her pocket, she’s sure it would have fallen out by now.

Down below, the door to the apartment building swings open and the sound of boots hurriedly rushing up the stairs. When the two turn their heads, they see Auruo running towards them, his face red. Auruo, upon seeing his friend being shaken so violently, bounds up the steps and throws a flying fist at the man, causing him to let go of Petra and fall over. Petra steps back in alarm, but Auruo has no concern at all for the man. His focus is entirely on her, cupping her face in his hands. He’s out of breath, panting as he asks, “Are you alright, Petra? Has he hurt you at all?” Without waiting for an answer, he hugs her tightly, holding her close to his chest. “I should have listened to you before! I regret doing something so stupid and forcing you into it as well. Let’s just forget it, Pet, and I promise I won’t ever do something so foolish ever again!”

It would have been better if he had said this from the start, but they have gotten too far to forget about it now.

“Don’t be stupid. You wanted this, didn’t you? Do you think I stared down the barrel of a fucking gun just for us to turn back now?” Petra snaps, glaring at him. She goes over to the other man, offering a hand that he reluctantly takes. To the man, she says, “It may have caused you more trouble than you cared for, but it was the only way to capture your attention and perhaps convince you to work with us.”

The man looks at her with a wary expression but says nothing.

Beside her, Auruo begins to reach out for her, silently pleading with her to withdraw, but she shakes him off before he can rest his hand on her shoulder.

“I trust you’ve heard of the rumors about the Ackerman family and the possibility of the Tsesarevich surviving. There have been many people coming forth claiming to be him.” Her gaze stays on him, but he never wavers beneath her glare. She nods her head towards Auruo. “My friend here believes you could pose as the lost heir.” She hadn’t agreed at first glance, but the more she looks at him, the more she thinks he could do. He’s by no means handsome, but who is in this miserable country? He might be gaunt with sunken in cheeks and dark bags under his tired eyes, but he has the dark hair that the last Empress had and the same gray eyes. Now that she thinks of it, even their bone structure looks vaguely similar, although that may be because the man’s gauntness makes his cheekbones more prominent and his chin more pointed than they should be. Maybe she’s desperate in seeing these similarities, but she’s certain that the nobles offering money to the lost prince are desperate as well.

She pauses, waiting for Auruo to speak, but he only gulps nervously as he looks from Petra back to the man.

The man takes a deep breath and raises an eyebrow. “We could get killed if we’re found out.”

“We’re well aware,” Petra replies firmly.

He leans back against the wall, his arms crossed against his chest. “And this is a scheme that I’ll have to be pulling off for my entire life,” he continues. “That’s only if we manage to convince everyone I’m really the lost prince to begin with.”

Petra nods.

The man glances at the both of them. “Are the two of you really that desperate?”

Auruo opens his mouth to speak, and Petra knows he’s about to say no. They’re not that desperate. They just had a lapse in judgment, a silly thought in their head that they hadn’t thought through. But Petra steps forward and speaks first.

“Aren’t you?” she whispers.

He stares at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. After a while, he straightens up, unfolding his arms and shoving his hands into his pockets. “If you’re serious about this, then I hope you have a plan.” He kicks a foot towards Auruo. “It seems your friend isn’t as on board as you are. But if you’re serious about it, I’ll meet you here next week and we can decide where to go next. I might know someone who can help us.” He begins to walk down the stairwell before Auruo calls out to him.

“If we’re doing business with each other, we should probably know each other’s names, shouldn’t we?” Auruo waits for a moment, but the man doesn’t reply when he turns back to look at them. He licks his lips anxiously before saying, “My name is Auruo. The woman with me is Petra.”

Once more, then man does not respond, and Petra wonders if he’s going to run away with their names and report them to the authorities. She’s sure he’ll receive a generous reward for it. To her surprise though, he opens his mouth and says, “Farlan,” before descending down the stairwell and disappearing.

“Farlan,” Petra repeats, but the name sounds strange on her tongue. She can’t picture the man having such a name, but it’s not as if she knows him that well either. She turns to Auruo and asks, “What was the name of the Tsesarevich?”

“Levi,” Auruo says quietly. “His name was Levi Ackerman.”

“Levi,” she echoes. Somehow, the name suits him much more.

#rivetra #petra ral #levi ackerman #auruo bossard #eld jinn #gunther schultz #snk #anastasia au #finding a place called home #celebrating not failing my class :D

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rattlung · 6 years

Text

rivers and roads pt 3

whats up it’s ur boy skinny penis back on his bullshit with another chapter of that fnv mcgenji fic no one but me asked for.

I wrote this in like two days and hardly edited, but yknow, fuck it. if your preferred jam is ao3 you can read it there too. if smth isn’t tagged that you’d like to see tagged let me know

“From where you’re kneeling, this must look like an eighteen karat run of bad luck.” She said this while gesturing with her gun, the metal of it shining against the lanterns. It wasn’t too bright, but his head throbbed and the shine squeezed at his brain. When he didn’t make a move or try to say anything, just squinted up at the woman, she crouched down and patted his face twice, like a mother with a petulant child. “Ay, pobrecito…”

The smirk could be heard in her voice, he didn’t have to stare to see it. He couldn’t look away.

She gave a theatrical sigh and a played-up shrug when she stood again. “Truth is… the game was rigged from the start.” The woman pointed the gun, and he stared down the barrel. She didn’t stop smiling, he didn’t look away.

She fired.

=+=

The walk to Primm was not a long one. Before the sun rose over the hills, McCree could make out the few buildings and the winding track of a wooden roller coaster behind them. It was a pleasant surprise, as he thought he’d be going further than that before he reached another settlement. He made a mental note to study the Pip-Boy’s mapping system thoroughly to learn the roads better. Unreliable distances meant unreliable food and water rations, a dangerous mistake.

Mr. New Vegas’s voice carried him over the final hill, dipping straight into an overpass, the bridge leading to the entrance of the town on the left. McCree stayed right so he could cross once he reached it and kept his eyes on the cityline. There were no lights on, which he guessed wasn’t very odd, seeing as it was hardly five in the morning. It was doubtful a lot of people would be awake.

“Hey!”

McCree jolted and reached for the pistol at his hip. The shout had come from in front of him and was followed by a man hurrying toward his direction, dressed in a military esque uniform the same color as the dirt that dusted his boots.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The soldier demanded, stopping a good distance away from McCree. “Primm is off limits to civilians. Head back to Goodsprings or wherever you came from - before you get shot.”

McCree regarded him with an unimpressed look. “‘Preciate the concern, sir, but I can take care of myself.”

It was the trooper’s turn to raise a brow, giving McCree a once over. “I have my orders.”

“What’s goin’ on in Primm that needs stayin’ away from?” He asked instead of rolling his eyes.

The man appeared to age several years at just hearing the question, obviously troubled and doing a poor job of hiding it. “Convicts broke out of the prison up the road, took over the town. Anyone there is either dead or boarding up their windows. That, and the tribes of raiders causing trouble in the nearby areas.” He lifted up the goggles attached to his helmet to rub at his eyes and sighed deeply, exhausted. McCree would have felt bad for him if he’d liked him. “You really would be better off heading back.”

McCree looked back to the military camp he had not noticed during his approach. In the rising sunlight, the tents appeared to be more stones and collapsed homes against the horizon, but now that he was made aware it was hard to ignore. A few other men and women strolled around tiredly in matching gear as the man before him. His eyes were drawn toward the flag hanging limp above it all, and then the wind blew and he saw it: a two headed bear. NCR, the New California Republic. A democracy, expanding its uninvited reach from what was left of California. McCree thought he must’ve worked for them a few times, because he only knew them for their money.

“Shouldn’t you be helping?”

“We’d love to,” the soldier stated, sounding unenthused, “but they don’t fall under NCR jurisdiction. Even if they did, we’re in no shape to provide any support.”

McCree gave the collection of people behind him a pointed look. “You’re not?”

“No equipment, not enough hands to provide backup if need be. The convicts are armed with explosives, they’d slaughter us.” He crossed his arms, seemingly finished with McCree. “If you’ve got any more pressing questions, talk to Lieutenant Hayes. He’s in a tent down the road.” He turned away from McCree and started marching back to his post. “Stay on the west side of the road if you don’t want to get shot,” he called.

=+=

Lieutenant Hayes wasn’t in better spirits than his trooper that sent McCree his way, but he was polite. He greeted McCree with all of his titles that he only half-listened to and told him the same thing the other soldier did but in more detail. Not enough supplies, not enough men, convicts holding the town hostage, nothing they could do.

“They’re taken to calling themselves Powder Gangers,” he had said. “We think it’s because of the explosives meant to clear boulders they had stolen. They organized faster than anyone had thought - well, most of them, at least. This group split off from the main force, so they seem to be on their own.”

“What about the prison?”

“Most people just call it N.C.R.C.F., that’s NCR Correctional Facility. Convicts staged a coup; killed the guards and took over the prison.”

McCree left the tent unsurprised. The wasteland had never been a safe place. Thugs and raiders torturing innocents wasn’t a new development. The idea of basing the group off of an obsession with explosives, though, that was different, McCree had to give them that. He’d seen enough “cannibal” raider groups to last a lifetime.

Still, he thought back to Goodsprings, the man that had intercepted him and Hana at the Prospector Saloon, and the N.C.R.C.F. printed across his back. He hadn’t been dumb enough to think him a real security guard, but his presence in town was more troubling now knowing his origins. McCree retreated back to the overpass, keeping the idea of returning to Goodsprings in mind. But, firstly, he has to make sure there isn’t any trace of the woman in the lilac suit in Primm. If there wasn’t anything he’d be back at square one anyway.

There was a makeshift blockade on the west side of the bridge made mostly of wood planks and old rubber tires, a woman standing behind it at the post with a rifle in hand. “You’re going in there?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She scoffed, like she was surprised someone could be so stupid, and said, “Careful of the mines. Laid ‘em out in case they tried to initiate an attack.”

Most of the buildings he passed were either boarded up or hollowed out, crumbling toward the street. Among the trash and rubble were small pools of dried blood and bullet casings; the NCR hadn’t been overstating the situation in the slightest. The layout of the town - from what he could see as he approached off the bridge - was simple, unlike the winding road and similar buildings of Goodsprings. What was left of the main road was shaped in a ‘T’, headed by a large hotel with the roller coaster he had seen from down the way looming over it. An appropriately shaped sign titled the hotel “The Bison Steve”.

The front of the building to his left face the heading street, but McCree’s attention was drawn to the square office stood on the opposite side of it. Its roof was outlined by neon-light lettering reading “Mojave Express”. He recognized the company’s name, the very same company that issued the delivery order that had been left on him when he’d been attacked.

A gunshot rang out over his head. He heard the yelling from further in the town when his hearing cleared after the deafening pop. Two men, both dressed in armor that resembled the man’s from Goodsprings, rounded the corner.

“Get the fuck outta here,” one hissed, raising his pistol with a wild look in his eyes.

McCree didn’t say anything in return, only retrieved his own weapon in kind. He shot down the second man who had advanced even further than the first with a deadly looking blade. It clattered to the pavement, along with the man’s body, and the other yelled wordlessly. He fired at McCree, but the closest he came was a few bullets whizzing over his head. McCree put him down quick, once in the shoulder, second clean in the head.

They didn’t have much on them in way of supplies besides a few extra caps and ammo. The knife the thug had was deadly, but not in the sense that the cut would kill you. Rather, the rust and old blood it left behind would cause some sort of infection that’d finish you off. That, and the fact that the blade wobbled in its hilt, was reason enough to leave it behind. The gun the other had McCree unloaded and dropped in his bag.

When he’s sure no one else was on the streets looking to shoot him in the back, he makes his way to the Mojave Express.

There was a body propped against the side next to the door, a courier, by the looks of the messenger bag strapped around his shoulder, contracted with the NCR. The bag was covered in the same symbol printed on the flag the troopers had stood under. McCree opens the flap, finding a few bottles of clean looking water and flat bread wrapped in an extra t-shirt. McCree transferred the contents into his own bag before coming across a crumpled piece of paper underneath it all.

The ink was smudged in places, but there was no mistaking the contents of the letter. It was nearly an exact match to McCree’s own delivery order; the only difference being the manifest and the delivery order number. This man, Courier Four, was meant to deliver a pair of furry dice. He had no such thing on him, so McCree could only assume he had been stopping in to finish the contract and had been killed for his pay.

McCree folded the paper neatly and set it with his own, and left the man on the street.

=+=

Inside the Mojave Express, there was only an empty space behind the counter to greet him. Everything was silent except for his footsteps on the wooden floors, so he didn’t call out, not expecting anyone to be out back. It was a normal express office as far as he could tell; cleaner than most but McCree had a sneaking suspicion that was due to the raiders picking houses apart for supplies.

Besides crates of papers and bottles, the only thing interesting on the counter was a rather large piece of metal. It must have been some type of robot, he decided upon closer inspection, round and a little bigger than a dodgeball. He’d never seen anything like it before, had no idea what sort of function the little bot was supposed to be capable of - or how it would even function in the first place. Was it made to roll around? He doubted that, the several antennae melded in its base would make that difficult. He rolled it over to its side, revealing a miniature ventilation system on what he supposed was the bot’s underside. For cooling - or maybe a propulsion system so the bot hovered a few feet off the ground, maneuvering that way. A flying robot. Yes, McCree definitely wanted to see that bot working.

He ran his fingers over the metal casing, over a bullet hole, and against the plastic of a bumper sticker plastered on its side. It was bright red, even with a layer of dirt, and the lettering was blocky, reading “Roosevelt Academy; A Proud Bastion of American Ideals!", all white besides the large, bolded word “Bastion” in a gaudy yellow. There was a license plate on the other side of the bot, number itself unintelligible. The only thing that was left untarnished was the Great Midwest, Illinois, 2062.

As far as he could tell, there was no serious damage to the bot. There was no doubt it had seen some action, though, if the bullet holes were anything to go by. Whoever worked in this building had apparently tried their own repairs; piles of screws and scrap metal were strewn about the countertop, along with a few tools. McCree retrieved a screwdriver from the pile and opened the outer casing of the bot and peered inside. He grunted to himself. There were servos and gyroscopes that looked twisted and out of place, probably in need of recalibrating, something he’d be able to do himself if he had the know-how. He didn’t. What he could do, however, was replace the parts that needed fixing. What was laying around would be useful, but he needed more if he wanted to see this bot - hopefully - in the air.

Across the street from the Mojave Express building was something called the Vikki and Vance Casino. All of the windows were boarded up, and the only accessible entrance to the building was through the double doors from the heading street. McCree walked close to the walls and with his eyes on the road rather than in front of him.

Inside was a drastic difference to the exterior and last building he had been in. Countless people were milling about, everyone in the town who survived must have holed up in the casino once the convicts hit. The very entrance served as a barricade to the rest of the casino floor, all the lanterns lent to it to keep it nice and lit. It made the rest of the space difficult to see, as his eyes were still adjusted to the bright sun, which is probably what the folks had been hoping for.

An old man stood from the slot stool where he’d been sitting, not raising the pistol he had in his hand but not loosening his grip on it, either. McCree didn’t go for his own weapon, wanting to convey he meant no threat in the easiest way possible.

“I don’t know what it was that brought you to Primm, youngster,” the man started, voice smoother than what McCree would have expected, looking as worn as the man did, “but you might be wantin’ to rethink your plans. Town’s gone to hell.”

“Didn’t notice,” McCree said quietly, mostly to himself, but the man heard him and seemed to get some type of amusement out of it. “Who are you, if you don’t mind me askin’.”

“Johnson Nash, husband to Ruby Nash. Livin’ in Primm going on eight years now, thick ‘n thin.” He told McCree this all proudly, another smile crossing his features when he mentioned his wife. McCree decided he liked this man, and was glad he didn’t walk in the casino with his gun pulled. “I’m mostly a trader,” Nash continued, “not that that’s worth much with things the way they are. ‘M also in charge of the local Mojave Express Outpost.”

McCree tore his eyes away from where they had wandered as he listened - an old, shot up car on display with a protectron in a tiny cowboy hat patrolling in front of it - and stared back at the man. “I’m a courier with the Mojave Express.”

Nash gave him a strange look. “Well, I don’t have any work right now, sorry to say.”

“No, it ain’t - I lost a package I was supposed to deliver.”

“Oh, well alright. I can tell you everything I can. You got a delivery order you can show me?” McCree shouldered his bag over to rifle through it, retrieving the slip of paper and handing it over. Nash read it over and his brow raised, but he didn’t exactly look surprised. “You’re talkin’ about one of them packages. That job had strange written all over it, I tell ya, but it wasn’t like we were gonna turn down the caps.”

He handed the paper back to McCree, who returned it back to his bag. “What was strange about it?”

Nash settled back onto his stool, setting his pistol back on his lap and wiping his hands on his dusty overalls with a sigh. “That cowboy robot had us higher six couriers, each one carrying somethin’ a little different. One had a pair o’ dice, another a chess piece - that kind of stuff. Last I heard from the office, payment was received for the other five jobs.” He raised his brow again, nodding at McCree. “Guess it was just you and your chip that didn’t make it.”

“When you say cowboy robot, do y’mean that one?” McCree pointed to the back of the casino and Nash’s eyes followed his to the Protectron shuffling around.

Nash laughed once with a shake of his head, “Nah, that’s Primm Slim. He’s been here longer than me, I’d recognize him. Naw, this feller was much bigger, with a screen showin’ a smilin’ cowboy’s face.”

Victor. So there was no coincidence in the robot’s unlikely presence when he had been attacked, Victor was supposed to be there. But why? And no robot would do something on its own prerogative, so who programmed it? Who was watching for McCree?

“The first deadbeat we hired for your job cancelled,” Nash went on when McCree didn’t say anything. “Hope a storm from the Divide skins him alive,” he cursed, and even though McCree had only known him for about five minutes, he was sure this display of anger was uncharacteristic for the man. He seemed to think so, too, because he sighed again and shook his head. “Well, anyway. That’s where you came in.”

“They cancelled?” That was suspicious, like everything else about the whole ordeal. Had they known what would happen if they were to carry the chip?

“Yeah, he got this look on his face when he saw your name down on the courier list, expression got turned right around. Asked me if your name was real, and I said sure as the lack o’ rain, you was still kickin’. Then he turned down the job, just like that. I asked if he was sure - it was good money.” Nash shrugged. “‘Nope, let courier six carry the package,’ that’s what he said.” He gave McCree a long look, and then, grimly, said, “Like the Mojave’d sort you out or something. Then he just up and walked out. Never saw ‘im again.”

The idea of the courier stumped McCree. He knew plenty of people from his line of work, but none that would turn down money for him. At least he didn’t think he did. He accepted that, because of his most recent gunshot wound, he wasn’t as read up on his own history as anyone would like to be with themselves. Some things were fuzzy, others were gone completely. He could know this man, but there was also the possibility that he didn’t know him at all. Just another mystery to solve.

“Y’know who he was?” McCree asked Nash, already knowing the answer. “Where he went?”

“No idea,” Nash answered, just like McCree thought he would, but he still managed to feel a little disappointed. “Sounded like you two had some history for him to act like that - and turn down the money, too. Hope he didn’t see any trouble in that package of yours. Maybe he thought your name was bad luck.” Ain’t that the fucking truth. “Not for me to say,” the man finished with a shrug.

McCree couldn’t help but heave out a frustrated sigh. He scrubbed at his face, pinched at the bridge of his nose, then sighed again. Nash at least looked a little sorry for him. McCree would take what he could get.

“My package - it was stolen from me,” he informed. “Couple of guys with skulls painted on their faces, a woman in a purple checkered suit. They wouldn’t’ve passed through here, would they?”

Nash looked up, rubbing his chin in thought. “Well, now that ya mention it, a few nights back a townie was out at night scavenging for some supplies. He said he saw a lady in a daisy suit comin’ through with a couple of Los Muertos thugs, talking ‘bout a chip.”

It was something, a big something. It was evidence that he was on the right path, that the people who attacked him were here before and that they were leaving a trail. It should’ve made him happy, but it just made his chest tighten; didn’t ease anything, only filled him with more anticipation.

“That woman, she shot me. I need to know the best way to get to them.”

Nash didn’t seem too hung up on the prospect of McCree getting attacked, just continued to rub at his chin and think for another moment. “Well, the best way to do that would be to talk to Deputy Beagle. He was keepin’ some tabs on ‘em, slinkin’ around Bison Steve when your pretty lady and her thugs rolled through. He may’ve heard where they were goin’.”

McCree nodded, remembering the hotel on the heading street. “Thank you kindly, sir.”

“Don’t mention it. Before you go, lemme warn ya about somethin’,” Nash called as McCree turned for the door. “The Bison Steve, it’s where all the gangsters are holed up. They took Beagle hostage after they killed the sheriff. Guess it took ‘em a go of it to get ransomin’ right.”

“Good to know.”

“Just be careful out there, son.”

McCree smiled. “I can take care of myself just fine,” he assured for the second time that day.

=+=

The interior of Bison Steve was about as one would expect it to be after being overrun by criminals. Garbage cans were knocked over, the floors were covered with the trash from said cans, along with rubble from failing walls. Only a select few lights overhead still worked and even those flickered. There were vending machines that still hummed, though, with a few bottles of cola left.

McCree navigated the halls of the hotel quietly, picking up those bottles and anything he saw that seemed to work - or had once worked - by using a battery or similarly electronic. The footsteps he heard around him didn’t make him uneasy, but he still waited until he caught each man off guard and alone before he confronted them. The halls were long enough, the were walls thick enough, and was McCree fast enough to handle every convict quietly without causing too much of a commotion.

They hardly carried anything interesting, maybe a few sticks of dynamite and a pocket full of ammo, or a chem or two. Sometimes they had caps, other times they had bills that reminded him of old world cash, but those were printed with newer faces and other symbols. NCR cash. Made sense, them coming from one of the NCR facilities; was probably the only thing the guards had on them in the way of money when the convicts killed them.

From one convict he took the previously stolen guard armor and ventured into one of the hotel rooms in the hall. He tossed the chest piece onto the bed and searched the wardrobe against the wall. McCree appreciated everything Doc Amari had done and given him, but the vault suit she provided did little in way of protecting - from the sun and from bullets. He didn’t expect to find much better in the old clothes he found, but at least he would be more comfortable.

He shouldered off his bag to dress in some faded-from-age jeans and a collared button-up, then folded the vault suit and stuffed it into the bag. The blanket from the bed came with him after he strapped on the chest piece and laced up his boots. He checked it for stains - blood or otherwise - before he decided on any worth. It was red and thin, but large enough to wrap around his shoulders and cover the bold N.C.R.C.F. across his back. The last thing he needed was to be mistaken for a powder ganger and be shot down by an NCR trooper later down the road.

With the bag back around his shoulder and dressed in his new rags, McCree felt more like himself than he had since he’d been shot in the head. He adjusted the “homemade” serape to sit more securely and made for the door, but then he saw it. On top of the wardrobe he had rummaged through, seemingly untouched by the havoc around it and pristine as could be, was a desperado cowboy hat. McCree grinned when he pulled it down, gave the brim of it a few whacks to shake off any dust it had collected, and place it on top if his head with a content sigh.

Now he felt back in his own skin.

=+=

He found Beagle on the bottom floor in the back of the hotel, in the dining area’s kitchen. He was knelt in front of the fridges, hands bound in front of him. He looked ragged, his white hair wild and his face dirty, exaggerated by the pout pulling at his expression.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to rescue me?” He asked, having undoubtedly heard the gunshots that had took place just outside where his captors had been loitering. “I’d cross my fingers, but my hands are numb.”

McCree regarded the sorry looking man with a raised eyebrow. “You must be Deputy Beagle.”

“Why yes I am,” he replied, insolently in turn for McCree’s flatness. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m in a bit of a predicament here. Would appreciate it if you set me free.” Beagle held up his hands wired together, a deliberate gesture.

McCree made no move to untie him. “I hear you might have some information I need, some words about a few Los Muertos and a woman in a purple checkered suit.”

“Indeed I do, good sir, and I would be thrilled to share that information with you as soon as I’m freed from captivity. I’m gonna need to be in a calmer emotional state for my memory to function as we need it.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, McCree narrowed his eyes at the man before him just slightly. He absolutely did not want to bother with this conniver after the trouble he’s put him through - Nash did not mention the incinerator the leader had been sporting when McCree found him. Unfortunately, Beagle did not waver. With a grumble, the cowboy knelt to mess with the knot, pointedly ignoring Beagle and the victorious glint in his eyes when McCree pulled the bonds free.

“Well, that’s just marvelous.” The deputy stood, shaking out his wrists and flexing his bloodless fingers. “I’ll be makin’ my way outside, now. The airs, ah,” he glanced behind McCree and at the smouldering tables and singed bodies. “Well, it’s a little close in here.”

He checked the kitchen for anything useful, coming out with a few more bottles of water, and met Deputy Beagle outside of the Bison Hotel. He was looking out over the streets with his eyes narrowed and his revolver drawn, looking like a sad excuse for a western hero rather than the man who had just ran through the hotel lobby with his hands over his head in fear.

“Hey, Deputy.”

Beagle jumped, spun around, saw it was McCree, and changed his demeanor back to the calm and suave hero. “Well, that was quite the adventure,” he declared, like he had much to do with it. “We taught those convicts a thing or two, didn’t we?”

McCree decided not to roll his eyes. “Sure.”

“Breaking myself out of a hostage situation - not to diminish your role in the whole thing, of course - but it was quite thrilling. Problem is, there’s still no law in Primm,” he went on, which solidified McCree’s suspicion that Beagle was, in fact, being one hundred percent serious in his claims. He didn’t dare argue, didn’t exactly want to. “What’re we to do the next time ruffians menace us and hold us hostage?”

Grow a pair, McCree wanted to tell him, learn to use that gun instead of posing with it, quit your hero act, be one instead of pretending, among other things. “If yer boss is dead, don’t that make you the new sheriff?”

Beagle’s eyes widened. “Oh no, I’m just a deputy! And I can’t be a deputy without a sheriff. It’s called chain of command .” McCree felt his jaw set firmly. He wanted to hit this man. Beagle chose not to notice this. “We need a new sheriff, someone brave like you, but more of a homebody. Someone with experience who’ll settle down and watch over us.”

“Know anybody who’d fit the requirements?”

“I heard some of the Powder Gangers talkin’ about someone in the prison named Meyers. Said he used to be a sheriff ‘fore he got locked up. Then there’s the NCR just over the bridge, they’re likely to jump at the chance to control another town.”

McCree didn’t like his options. After having just run enough of the criminals out of town, the convict sheriff was a bad idea for obvious reasons. On the other hand, he wasn’t comfortable with turning the town over to the NCR as there were so few independent cities left in the desert. McCree thought back to the tired soldier he had spoken with, the state of the military camp he belonged to, and decided that the NCR wouldn’t do Primm much good, either.

“I’ll help you bring law back to Primm,” he told Beagle anyway. “Just give me some time to find someone.”

Deputy Beagle’s face lit up. “You will? That’s just marvelous! I’ll start thinking up questions for the interview!”

He turned to walk away, heading for Vikki and Vance with an excited bounce in his step before McCree called out to him. “You still owe me some information.”

The man wilted, but only for a moment. “Ah, yes. My memory is much clearer now that I’m free.” Again, McCree refused to roll his eyes. “I was sku - uh, performing recon on the Powder Gangers when some Los Muertos guys arrived with your friend in the suit. They were talking about some delivery they took from a courier. Assumin’ that was you.”

“Seems about right,” McCree conceded.

“They said they would be headin’ through Nipton to Novac to meet a contact there.”

McCree let him handle his Pip-Boy just long enough to mark the road he needed to walk to follow his attackers’ route, then he was off again. McCree was glad to see him go.

=+=

Before he left town, McCree was sure to stop in and thank Johnson Nash once more, and ask about the robot in his express office. A courier had dropped it off months back, he found out, and Nash got it working again but only for a while. He explained to McCree that he was planning on using it for courier work, but he hadn’t any luck with getting it running again. He gave permission to McCree to tinker with it, and promised him the bot if he got it working. The prospect of a new, fancy toy buzzing around was enough to get him to try. As he left the casino to make his attempt, Nash commented on the fruitlity of the whole thing, said he’d just take it to the Novac scrapyard and be done with it.

McCree ignored him, and worked for the better part of three hours, shocking himself numerous times and cursing out loud more times than that. The machine sputtered to life when the sun began to sink, the casing snapping shut on its own and the body of the bot rotating so it could propel itself into the air. The sudden reaction gave McCree a jolt, stumbling off his stool and onto his feet. He stared at the robot cautiously, not exactly knowing what to expect from it. It would be his luck to have the thing start up on a combat mode.

Instead of incinerating him where he stood, the little robot beeped a few times, tilting down enough as if it was staring at McCree.

“Well,” McCree said, hands on his hips. He nodded at his work and let himself feel proud for a moment. “Would ya look at that.”

The robot beeped again in response.

It seemed to be running fine, it’s flight wasn’t jagged or shaky, and there was no smoke - McCree always took that as a good sign. He grinned, eyes catching on the hideous bumper sticker on the bot’s side once again.

“A Proud Bastion of American Ideals, huh?” A confirmatory beep. “Alright, then. Let’s hit the road, Bastion. Could use help like yours.”

wwhwhwhwheeeeew lmao. yeh.

#mcgenji #jesse mccree #genji shimada #kon's a writer

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g0ldpainted · 7 years

Text

King!Noctis reacting to S/O announcing pregnancy

Hey :3 it’s been forever, oh my. >.< I’ve been working on some stuff and this ended up being the next thing I decided to upload.

All other chocobros will follow within the next days! Due to the length I chose against squeezing them into one upload.^^

Edit: Gladiolus can be found here. Prompto can be found here. Ignis here.

For Noctis, I decided that it plays after the game. However, there are no spoilers in here (I think), so you should be fine even if you haven’t finished the game. [let me know if you think smth is a spoiler, pls.]

Genre: Fluff, no sadness, alternative ending, pregnancy announcement

Words: 2500+

The queen of Insomnia was nervous, incredibly nervous. For the past 6 years, they had been dating and about three years ago, he popped the question: Noctis proposed to her. There was no doubt she'd say yes. Everyone knew about their relationship, it was never a secret, to begin with. The entire nation eagerly awaited their engagement. Their wedding was enormous, every corner of Insomnia celebrated their relationship. Posters, cakes, special merchandise, a beautiful dress,… it was perfect.

There was only one question that bothered both of them: When's the next prince coming? Or will it be a princess? Is she pregnant?

Friends joked about it, especially Prompto, the news reported on it and whenever the queen was just a tiny bit bloated, they assumed she was pregnant. Rumors spread like wildfire. Unfortunately, they never were expecting. It was quite common that the next heir was born either shortly after the wedding or conceived within the next months. But it's been over three years by now. People even went as far as to doubt their marriage. Reporters spread fake news regarding split ups all the time. To stop those comments, the queen did her best to show public affection to her beloved whenever she could. But that wasn't enough.

Part of the nation still stopped believing in their relationship. Not once did they consider stress playing a big role in this. The couple wanted nothing more than a baby, but that was easier said than done.

(there’s a read more here)

For years, they had been trying to conceive but it was to no avail. Well, the queen was pregnant, twice. But she so happened to miscarry within the first two months. No one knew except for Noctis and a few selected friends. That information luckily never spread through Insomnia. Losing two potential heirs took a toll on their relationship, caused more trouble than they believed it would but in the end, they came back stronger. The bond they had, the love they shared was unbreakable.

But due to public pressure, they even went as far as to get a calendar for the queens most fertile days. They kept track of her cycle and even planned when to make love. She took pills to boost her hormones, too. But unfortunately that caused even more unnecessary stress; both of them ended up too stiff to engage in the act. Most of the time, they weren't in the mood or either of them was too tired and therefore, they gave up planning. It was too much of a strain.

"It'll happen when the time is right", they both always said to themselves. And now the time had come.

It wasn't planned, wasn't expected but it sure was a happy surprise. However, the queen decided to keep it a secret until the critical time was over - which was surprisingly hard. Only selected royal nurses got to know. They had to provide her with tips and appointments for ultrasounds and other preventative check-ups.

The pregnancy hit her hard, morning sickness was a daily issue, her back hurt and sometimes she experienced small cramps. Luckily, Noctis was busy for most of the day and when he came to their room later at night, he didn't mind rubbing her back and taking care of her - after all, he loved her more than anything.

The only thing that worried him was her lack of interest in him. She constantly declined any advances of him, claimed to have a headache or feel bad - which was true, he just didn't know it was. He sulked about it every now and then, believing it to be his fault and worrying about his marriage when really she just dealt with pain and definitely didn't need her sore breasts to be fondled with. Little did he know that their relationship was finally about to take the next step; starting a family.

After two and a half months of dealing with a frustrated Noctis, morning sickness, work, the fear of losing and all kinds of pain, the queen asked her dearest husband to take a day off. Being the pessimist he's always been, he immediately prepared for the worst, believing that their relationship was doomed to fail. And now she was standing in their room, fidgeting with the first ultrasound photos of their heir. Or well. Their heirs. She was nervous, shaking lightly while Noctis got ready in the bathroom. They both settled for comfortable, baggy clothes. Even though they'd spend the day together, they wouldn't leave the castle. They decided on walking through the indoor garden instead.

Just as the king stepped out of their bathroom, the queen stuffed the photos into her tiny clutch. It was the only reason she was willing to carry it with her. Guards were at every corner, if she'd need anything they'd get it for her, there really was no need for carrying a bag at home. And Noctis thought so too.

"Why are you preparing that thing? I thought we were staying here," he wondered, running a hand through his slightly wet hair.

"Oh.. Uh, yeah! I.. Just wanted to.. Take some handkerchiefs with me! You know.. Allergies and such," she hastily replied, awkwardly smiling at him as she quickly closed her clutch.

One of Noctis' brows raised in suspicion: "Your pants have pockets, though.. And since when do you have allergies?"

"But.. It makes me look weird. I prefer carrying them around in a bag. And perhaps I'm just.. Uh.. Getting sick. But I've had issues with pollen lately.." she reasoned, hanging her clutch around her shoulder.

"You're weird," Noctis stated, frowning lightly but grinning at the same time, "But that's why I love you."

His wife was screaming internally but only flashed him her brightest smile. He soon held out his hand for her to take. In these 6 years of being together, he never stopped holding her hand. It was his way of knowing she was still with him. It reassured him. And, as always, she laid her soft hand in his. The only difference was that her hand was shaking - from excitement. Of course, he noticed, but he decided to keep that to himself, assuming it's her shaking from fear of telling him about wanting to break up. With each step they took to the garden, the pace of her heart sped up. She wasn't worried about him reacting negatively. No. She knew he'd be happy and was overly excited to share the news.

"It's been a while since we spent an entire day together.." the king broke the silence, squeezing the hand of his beloved queen softly.

"Indeed. I'm glad we could find some time for us," she replied, her voice shaking lightly.

"Oh yeah, I missed being with you," Noctis admitted, glancing down at his queen.

"I missed you, too," she smiled up at him.

Although her smile was genuine, it seemed a tad bit fake. The corners of her mouth weren't lifted as far as they usually were. Something was bothering her. At least that's what Noctis saw. And he was partly right. They walked the last few meters in silence. The tension between the two grew, both could feel it weight them down. And then they finally reached the beautiful garden. Roses, lilies, amaranths, frangipani, hydrangea and some sylleblossoms in memory of Lady Lunafreya. The garden was lively, full of blossoming flowers and trees. A pond was right in the middle of it, harboring tons of koi of all sizes and colors. Once they walked over the bridge above the pond, they found themselves near a small playground which was created for Noctis when he was younger.

"This garden truly is a master piece. You did a good job deciding on the flowers and taking care of them," Noctis praised her, attempting to lift the heavy mood off of them.

"It's mostly our gardeners, though," she replied, "But I'm glad you like the flowers I chose."

"Well, but you're contributing some hours into it, too," he reasoned as they walked through the greenest parts.

"Indeed," she agreed, anxiety rising the closer they came to the little playground.

A few more meters filled by a terrifying silence was what it took for her to set her plan into action. Of course, she wouldn't just blurt the news out. This was something way too special.

"It's amazing your father built such a wonderful playground for you," she began to speak, breaking the silence between them.

"Yeah, he did a great job. He.. He didn't just let instructors build it either; he helped them," Noctis proudly explained as they approached the royal playground.

It wasn't just a simple playground, it was designed to resemble a castle and was full of Lucian signs and official flags. It even had a throne room which was located on top of a tower that Noctis used to climb up to when he was a child. However, aside from the "adventurous" way up, there were also some simple stairs leading up to it. The throne room usually had two chairs; one for the king and one for the queen. Or one for Noctis and one for his dad - that's how he used it. But now it had two, smaller chairs added to it. Both specifically designed for a prince or princess, for their children.

"I'd be a shame if it went to waste.." she mumbled, biting her lip harshly for a moment.

Noctis looked at her, was about to ask if she was okay but before he could do that, she let go of his hand and ran over to the ladder leading up to a first platform of the playground.

"We can't let it go to waste, c'mon!" she ordered with a smile spread across her face.

Surprised by the change of attitude, the king frowned lightly but, of course, hurried after her.

"Hey.. What're you d-" Noctis wanted to speak, climbing up the ladder while his queen disappeared onto another platform by walking over a chain bridge.

She giggled while her heart was almost beating out of her chest from excitement. Noctis started laughing as soon as she saw the genuine smile of her. They chased each other through the entire playground until the queen finally arrived in the throne room.

"Slow poke!" she shouted, teasing him playfully while she quickly opened her clutch and pulled out the ultrasound photos, placing one on each little "throne" ahead of her.

Afterward, she quickly walked to the side, looking out of a "window", enjoying the sight of their garden from there. It was still just as beautiful.

"Old man, hurry up!" she continued to tease him, her heart almost bursting through her chest.

"You're too fast for me, I lost track of you for a second.. Sneaky little-.." he finally made his way up the tower into the throne room.

It was decorated just a little bit. Not too much. A couple balloons were floating around and a red bow was wrapped around each little throne. That should've been enough to give him a hint, at least that's what his wife thought.

"What's going on?" he wondered, taking a first few steps inside.

She didn't look at him, didn't say a word either - he was supposed to explore and find out on his own before she'd say anything else. However, she couldn't hide her happiness and excitement; her smile was brighter than ever. While she listened to Noctis footsteps, she almost squealed out loud - but she held back, only let her head hang in an attempt to hide her smile.

But he saw her smile. And in that exact moment, all his worries were erased.

With slow, steady steps he walked over to the thrones. Of course, he noticed that two of them were new. That bow was unmissable. And he immediately got the hint but refused to believe that it finally came true; that their dream was finally coming true. But then he saw two photos, the ultrasounds. His mouth fell ajar as he bent down to pick them up. And that's when his queen turned around. She wanted to see his expression, his joy. The moment he saw her name on top of it, (Y/N) Lucis Caelum, tears welled up in his eyes. The king that was known for being rather unemotional gave in to his emotions, let tears run free from his happiness. After taking a first quick glance, he turned his head towards the mother of his children, the love of his life.

"A-are you..-?" he wondered, unable to finish his sentence as his voice cracked.

Although it was so obvious, he needed reassurance, needed to hear it from her.

"Y-yes honey, I'm pregnant," she assured him, tears filling her own eyes at the sight of her husband shedding a few tears.

He stepped closer to her. She met him halfway, closing the distance between them entirely. Noctis took one of her hands in his, holding both ultrasound scan photos in one hand.

"And..-.. Twins?" he stuttered, his mouth still opened widely.

"Twins," she continued to assure him.

The king shook his head in disbelief, pulling her into a gentle embrace right away.

"Oh six.. We're going to be parents," he whispered into her ear, "O-of twins, too."

She giggled at how flabbergasted he was. Immense happiness filled both their hearts and relieve washed over them.

"(Y/N), we're going to be parents!" he exclaimed, his lips forming a huge smile.

"Yes! Yes, Noctis. We're going to be parents" she reassured him again while he cheeks began to ache from smiling so brightly.

"How.. How Long?" he asked, creating a tiny bit of distance between them so he could look into her gorgeous eyes.

"A little over two and a half months," she answered, wrapping her arms around his neck, "Almost three. And exactly 74 days."

He pulled her back into his embrace, kissing her hair over and over again: "Holy six.. I love you so much."

"I love you, too," she mumbled, playing with the back of his hair.

"I promise I'll do my very best to protect you. Forever. All of you. You and our babies," he whispered, gently placing one of his hands on her stomach, "You mean the absolute world to me. I'm so.. - thank you so much."

Before she could say another word, he trailed kisses from her ear to her lips. Once he reached them, he placed a soft yet very passionate kiss on her lips. She was his world. She was all he ever wanted; his best friend and his lover. He couldn't imagine the world without her - and certainly didn't want to. He loved her with all of his heart. And now, more than ever, he needed her to know how much she meant to him. That's why he spent the rest of the evening showering her with his love; placing kisses on either her lips or her stomach, holding her gently and pampering her in every possible way.

For the first time in over two centuries, the Lucis Caelum lineage was expecting twins. The kingdom was bound to applaud to this - they'd be overjoyed as well. You bet that once those two bundles of cuteness are born, uncle Prompto, uncle Gladiolus and grandmum Ignis will shower them in gifts and cuddles. Not even they can resist two adorable mini Noctis'.

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