Reader is Yuu with an implied family with siblings. Not re-read or edited.
One day you realise that there is just a bit too much food on the table. It takes eating with the others to truly notice, but it starts with Grim complaining.
"We've been eating the same thing for days now!" And you laugh because it's true. After eating it fresh the first day, you tend to pack up and store the rest equally in the fridge and freezer because, yes, it's a lot. Dishes that are soups, or meals that are cooked in the larger pots and pans. Food that is to be served with rice on the side, portions that are bigger than your face. That isn't to say that you had a lot of thaumarks on you as you're just good at making bulk purchases worth it.
Everyone laughs at Grims moping, remarking of how he should be greatful you're feeding him at all. The banter is great.
But you're picking at your packed lunch now.
Why do you cook so much? Why do you reach for the bigger pots and pans? Why are your portions always for more than one?
From the fog of your mind, you see... your kitchen. Or you think it's your kitchen. It's not the kitchen back at Ramshackle, but the one from before Ramshackle. You're bustling around the counter, chatting to a faceless figure by the table, and reaching for seasonings without even looking. You're opening cabinets and finding what you need easily and asking the figure to make some rice to accompany whatever is in that pot. There's the squeals of children and hearty laughter from the other room. And hands, there's a hand at the small of your back and you think it's a motherly touch because how else can you describe the gentle way they press you to the side of their body.
For the next few days you can't eat properly. There's weight at your gut that substitutes for food and you don't make anything more. When your friends come over to invade the living room of Ramshackle, you don't have much snacks to offer them.
Peering into the fridge only reveals the stacks of containers of food you were eating days prior. You're mulling about maybe something you can make for them when,
"Whoa, talk about excess. Grim wasn't kidding." Ace's voice is right behind you.
"Ugh, sorry guys. i don't think I have anything proper to really feed you guys--"
"Is that some sort of egg salad?" Deuce's hand slithers forward to grab at one of the containters. "You have bread?" Nodding you gesture to the other cabinet. "Then I'll snack on this-- Er, if you wouldn't mind."
Epel peers from the doorway. "You don't happen to haf' some meat in 'er do ya?" Your fingers linger, before meekly pulling out a corrisponding tupperware.
"It's a bit stiff though, Epel."
"Hah, I'll jus' throw it on tha' stove or somthing. If it's still tough, I dun' care. Sometimes just gotta eat the greasy foods." He takes the tupperware and slaps it into a pan to heat it up. The aroma of sizzling meat is quick to attract both Sebek and Jack who add to the noise of chatter amongst the others, the former mostly.
You find yourself to the side, watching as they scour through your leftovers, opening and nodding at the meals inside before choosing which to heat up. And it's loud, but not grating. They're navigating through your space with expertice, slipping past each other and peering into cabinets. Jack's making rice and Sebek is counting the plates (whilst also making sounds whenever he sees a chip in the odd one or two). Over the stove Epel and Ace are jerking their hands into the pan, nipping their fingers to the corner pieces of the meat to just 'check if it's ready to eat'. Gathering the spoons and forks, Deuce nibbles on a piece of his egg salad sandwich before disappearing in the living area where everyone is setting up.
The dinner table has been set. You don't feel entirely there, floating to a cushion on the floor as your left overs are bought over to the table plate-by-plate. Everyone sits around you, Grim settled into your lap as he nibbles on a piece of fried fish, and they're passing the dishes around.
You've eaten these things before but you've always eaten them with Grim or alone when Grim takes his naps early. Instead of one set of cutlery scraping at porcelain, there's multiple sets-- a symphony playing to their hunger as they gather more to pile onto their plates.
Pulling the belt loops of the twst cast to quiet them up or get their attention. It’s strangely intimate.
Words keep spilling from their lips in heaps, like a waterfall it’s continuous and pounding as you blink at them slowly. It’s not that you’re not interested on what they have to say but, by whatever God up there, you swear it’s been a good 30 or so minutes. While on a good day you’d be down to listening to them dog on-and-on, you’re aware that time spent with them privately can sometimes be a hard thing to come by.
So your fingers start to creep to his belt loops, hooking around the one by his back. He’s staring contemplatively at something in the distance, arms folded and mouth still yapping on.
Tugging him towards you is a gentle affair. His body yields to the force, feet slightly dancing to keep himself from colliding fully with you. He’s stopped speaking and is now looking at you.
There’s a flush at his cheeks, spotting his neck as he trails your arm which snakes to wrap around his waist and is still hooked to his back belt loop.
why is it all in bullet points? idk :> one day i will flesh this idea out, but i just really wanted to get this out before my dreams for the next few days is just this lol.
"And… let's talk about your love life."
It was a quiet afternoon on the pier; a summer buzz blanketing the residences of the shore as the rumble of the rollercoaster in the distance groaned. One such man had taken shelter from the sweltering heat in the cloth-covered stall of the fortune teller.
The guy in front of him was… shady to say the least; the man was in a pressed suit in the middle of summer, gloves and jacket and all.
He was sceptical, but he was also incredibly bored. So, agreeing, he splayed his hand palm-side up.
He peered over his glasses frame. "It'll be extra for that."
Tsk.
"Aha, dear customer. It seems you'll be having an encounter that'll change your life very, very, soon."
“A man, oh it kinda looks more like a woman-- well the encounter will definitely be with a person. Hmm, well it seems to be on the shoreline. Perhaps heading north-- in the evening…” blah blah blah
Well he's killing time at least and it’s not the worst place to be rotting his summer away in.
Exiting the tent he revels in the sticky, salty air and heads down the steps towards the shoreline.
He'd like to dip his toes in the water, kill the heat some more.
And then he sees them.
He sees you.
You're certainly a sight for sore eyes. Flushed from the sun, digging your feet in the sand. You sway gently with the waves, rhythmically matching the seas tune. The sun behind you douses you in liquid gold. It's like your clothing is just artistically draped onto you, white silk against your skin. There are shells piled into your arms, cradled as you continue to collect, bend and gently poke into the ground.
He's a long ways from you but it's like the world around him silences-- enraptured. He can no longer hear the sound of mechanical enjoyment, the rollercoasters and man-ran stalls. No sounds of children crying or couples bickering. Just the sounds of the waves accenting you.
And you're getting further and further away, shyly toeing towards the half-submerged tide pools.
He has half a mind to not bother you. It's a bit weird to trail after you, isn't it? You hadn't even noticed him as you were minding your own business.
But the words come back to him, the same way the water laps at his shoes.
"An encounter…"
At first he's only walking towards where you've disappeared over the horizon. The leisurely pace he treads, a product of hyping himself up for conversing with you, if you're still in the area. But then he hears a short yell and his heart staccatos.
Chasing after you is easy, sand being flicked up with every gallop towards your direction.
There's butterflies in his stomach from how your voice was carried in the wind-- is that what you sounded like when you were hurt? Or was it a yelp of surprise? Even scared, you sound so...
He scolds himself for even thinking of the other sounds you'd make.
When he reaches you, you're drenched and sat on a sloped rock.
The tide pool itself is shaped like a crescent, the open mouth leading directly to the sea-- and the waves are really working up a storm, as the tide has gotten inches higher from where it was just a few hours ago. At the centre of the crescent shape from where you're sat is a small rock pathway.
Your face is contorted, eyebrows furrowed and mouth pressed to a thin line. Slumped over your leg, you clutch at the leaking wound at the side of your shin.
"Oh god, are you alright?" He calls out to you, body leaning in your direction. It's cute how you jolt to attention, dishevelled.
At first it looks like you're analysing him, and so he tries, "I'm not here to harm you." Palms facing up, showing that he had nothing of a potential threat on his person. "I… I just heard a shout-- a scream. I thought someone needed help and you…"
"I scraped my leg… But… Uh, I'll be alright."
Your voice is light, fluffy even. He soaks it into his system like a sponge and wishes you'd talk more-- god he'd do anything to make you talk more--
"Do you need help?" Dumbass, he thinks to himself, of course you need help. He'd reprimand himself further if his mind hadn't frozen at the way your lips curved to a smile.
"It'd be nice if you could help me," calling out to him you kind of beckon him with your hand. "Come. Come help me." Stumbling to the edge, he prepares to step.
"What's your name?" He's afraid of coming off a bit too strong, but he needs to know. He can feel the water seeping into the canvas of his sneakers, pooling at his toes, but he only steps closer with one foot on the first stone of the pathways towards you.
The shape of your name casts into your lips, but the waves at the moment steal your voice. What? What did you say? He can't hear you, and he says so.
Carefully, he commits his weight to the first stone before moving to the next.
It's a short way to you, but he's slow to make his way as the water spits and crashes against the pathway. Torn between you and the stone he’s stood on, his eyes flicker between the two. Your hand is still stretched, as still as a marble statue. Waiting for him. A heat filters to pool in his ears the closer he gets to you. There's a flicker of hope tickling his spine as he imagines the words he'd say when he gets you off this rock-- he'd ask further if you were alright and if maybe you wanted him to accompany you to the lifeguard's tower to get you patched up. You'd say yes and then he'd follow up with shy conversation leading to the eventual exchanging of numbers. Then he'd for sure ask you on a date, maybe visit the small restaurant overlooking the cliffside a short walk away. Circle back to the pier, win you a couple of prizes from the vendors there… Visit the fortune teller and give him an extra tip.
He's so close to you now. Balancing on the next rock is hard, and he focuses to where his foot nearly slips. It would be terrible to embarrass himself by falling into the water-- troublesome too from how his shoes would be waterlogged and maybe tangled in the seaweed he could see dancing below.
The next stone is even smaller and he gets why you could've slipped here because, he's swinging his arms to regain his balance. But he sees your hand just in front of him and he clasps his to yours, fingers tightening.
Your smile is so bright, stretching to your eyes as your cheeks squish and mould into something Cheshire like.
He winces, your grip firm.
"Thank you." And he's tumbling as you yank sideways.
Water fills his lungs, salt attacking his tastebuds and stinging his eyes.
No one hears you when you're drowning, especially in the sea. The water crashing against the rocks is already loud in itself, and the fact that you have to fight between sputtering out water and kicking your legs to stay afloat and shouting is a battle in itself.
He screams to you, help him god-damn it. Fucking wench, why did you do that-- he'll actually drown at this rate. You're a bastard for tricking him like that-- a whore.
But your eyes are vacant and unfocused. You don’t see him, but you’re looking at his direction.
And then he feels something squeezing his leg. He's kicking harder now, has the thought to untangle the kelp or something he probably accidentally tangled into—
When he looks down, he doesn't see a clump of black wrung around him. Instead, there is a pair of half-moon eyes peering from beyond the water, coloured a sandy brown and warning sign yellow.
-
The water starts to turn a beautiful pink reminiscent to the colour of the coral and anemones dotting around your home. He, the man, is quick to have been pulled under with a trail of bubbles popping to the surface; at first it stays in once place, before the shape of him thrusts forward-- he rushes through the water like a bullet, tearing to circle the rock you sit upon.
A warm sensation spreads across your stinging wound. When you look down there are a set of eyes fluttering back at you.
"Jade, stop that..." His tongue slips back into his mouth.
He parts from your calf, propping his head by your thigh, smiling. Floyd surfaces for a minute, eyes peeking back at the two of you. There's little disturbance as he moves almost jerking back and forth before his head fully floats above the water with a satisfied sigh.
"Was that all of him?"
"Dunno,” he burps out. “Definitely not all of him though.”
“Can you check?”
“Will I get a prize for doing it?” Glaring, you flick droplets at him with your free foot. He splashes back, waving an arm at you.
Clasping the foot, Jade cradles it to his chest. "Then… what part did you eat?"
"Dunno. An arm?”
“Floyd.”
“Hmph.” He dives back down, body folding to flicker into the deeper waters. After a moment, he resurfaces carrying something by the way he sways a bit more unevenly. “It was an arm.”
hello!!! thank you for visiting :> I go by niiarus/naami/hilt and this is my sideblog where i think ill be twst related writing/ramblings/drabbles etc.
my personal blog is @breadbreadbreadbread (so if anyone following sees im pretty quiet in interacting, it’s because i cant do nothing on this sideblog and idek what a sideblog was when i restarted tumblr 😭).
my art blog is: lickthehilt
REQS ARE: not yet open while i do maintenance
❌ no reposting onto other platforms ❌
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