#angry marshmallow

[iamcharliemichaels]

Angry Marshmallow

Builder/Logan

Fandom: My Time at Sandrock

Rating: Teen

Tags: Romance; Fluff & Humor; POV First Person, Established Relationship, Found Family, No Beta, we die like Yan’s dreams 

Word count: 1192

AO3, @ficwip5k

Summary

A hero’s battle with monsters leaves him saddled with unintended consequences. 

Author's Notes:

The story is inspired by this fanfic by bittersweetlyblue on Tumblr.

The horizon exploded with the beautiful hues of gold, crimson, and deep purple as I finished delivering the last commission for the day and dragged my aching feet towards home.

My breath hitched as I saw the green goo that welcomed me in the yard; several droplets on the sand. I followed the offensive goop and found it smeared all over Rambo's reins and saddle, and splattered on Logan's discarded boots, which were left at the entryway. The wood made a loud cracking sound as the door almost flew off its hinges as I entered the workshop, breathless, frantically searching for my husband. The same colored sludge continued inside, sprinkled, marring my pristine hardwood floor, leading up to the mudroom, where I heard the shower running.

I felt the stinging, and I pressed the back of my hand on my eyes.

He's home.

He had been gone for three days with the sheriff, monster hunting. They were tasked to investigate the reports of new monsters that had crossed into Eufaula's borders. The beasts apparently were terrorizing the smaller villages around Sandrock's periphery.

I paced maniacally through the tiny space, waiting; the water stopped, and I listened as the footsteps approached the door.

The air rushed through, and I took in lungfuls; the relief washed over me as I beheld the massive figure who stood, damp, at the open doorway; the towel hung low on his hips, affording me a glimpse of his familiar happy trail, as he violently rubbed his head with the facecloth drying his…

"Your hair." I shrieked.

The room hushed.

His sea-glass blues met my now flickering, turbulent blue-green ones, refusing to settle into one, always both, which were staring at him, questioning.

The floor shifted; wide-eyed, the words dissolved inside my throat as my chest constricted, gazing at the shape of him.

The lines on his face deepened, resulting in a genuine, confused frown, and the wide smile on his lips dissipated, slowly replaced with befuddlement. "What'd?"

"No…no…no…" I mumbled in bewilderment, laced with fury, uttered as if in reverent prayer, as I shook my head. "It's gone…What—What have you done?"

The silence that followed the question now hung weighted.

His shoulders slumped, and he approached, arms outstretched in a bid to wrap me into an embrace, and he cooed, "Oh, darlin'."

A loud exhale left my lips, eyes wide as I withdrew, taking a few steps back until I reached the edge of the counter. The anger wrapped in sadness bubbled over, and I raised my hand, begged, "Stop."

He paused close, but not touching, and I felt the heat that emanated from his skin. The smell of vanilla, soap, with a hint of leather, flooded my senses, and I tilted my head up, and my gaze lingered on his shiny head before meeting his gaze. The dam broke, and the tears stained my cheeks as I asked, my voice barely audible. "Why?"

"The mission, the monster attacked, the green goo stuck to everything, impossible to wash off like gum in my hair…" He cut himself off mid-sentence as he saw the sadness in my eyes, which made his heart spasm, and he apologized, "I'm sorry, darlin'."

My eyes fixated on his head and whispered, "Your hair—"

"It'll grow back."

"It's gone."

The desolation in my voice both amused and broke something inside him.

***

The puffiness in my eyes was evident as my gaze focused on the fire. A momentary distraction from the heat that pooled and vibrated through me, I watched the embers weave themselves in and out of the deadly flame in a dance I knew would end up with them as soot on the base of the hearth by morning.

The cushions beside me dipped and creaked in protest as the heavy figure collapsed into the space, close but not touching. He handed me a cup of tea, my hands tightened around the mug, the warmth, a comfort from the turbulence I felt in my chest. His familiar smell invaded my senses, now mixed with the scent of antiseptic, citrus, and sweat.

"It's done. Darn thin' hard to scrub off like glue stuck to everything." He complained as he repeatedly flexed his hands, trying to relieve the numbness.

I huffed in silent protest.

"Oh, darlin'..."

"I hate it." My tone offered no refute.

"I slayed monsters, saved a few lives, I reckon."

I snapped back, "I don't care. Your hair."

"The green goo wouldn't come off—"

A weak sob escaped me.

'It's just a haircut."

"It's an abomination."

"I'm still handsome."

"You look like an egg."

"A handsome egg."

A hint not exactly of a smile danced at the corner of my lips, but something adjacent to it. He noticed, and a flicker of hope sparked inside him, and he grinned; he reached his thumb, gently brushing the remnants of tears. A relieved sigh escaped him, and he leaned his bald head onto my shoulder.

"It'll grow back."

I visibly shuddered at the feeling of the tiny knives that were now stabbing the nape of my neck.

"Come touch it."

"No."

He took my hands into his, gently massaging my palms with his thumbs, and placed them on top of his head. I imperceptibly trembled as I tentatively grazed the barren landscape, and I slowly ran through the emptiness where I used to card my fingers through his chalk-white, beautiful locks. A precious pout formed as the tiny spines tickled my skin and the tips of my fingers; a whisper of dread cracked down my spine, making the hairs behind my neck stand as I made several passes.

I whispered, "I still hate it."

"But yer love me."

His lips found mine, soft, tasted of sunshine and coffee, laced with promises of love and forever.

In between kisses, I whimpered and sobbed, "It's like kissing a thorny jumper—a prickly pear—an angry marshmallow—"

"He ain't no Rapunzel no more," Andy shouted mockingly from his bedroom on the second floor.

"Not helpin'—Do yer homework."

He chuckled as he tucked me into his impossibly large arms, kissing the top of my head, and he trailed his hand up and down my spine. My entirety melted into his embrace, and he inhaled the shape of me.

"I missed yer, darlin'."

A knock at the door pulled me from my haze, and I gazed at Logan and at the clock which reflected the late hour.

His breath deepened, and his demeanor shifted into the monster hunter as he approached the entryway. I watched him open the door. After a long pause, his laughter reverberated through the walls. My brows knitted as my gaze transfixed on him as he stepped aside, and the silent footsteps of the Sheriff entered.

My eyes widened as my hand instinctively cupped my mouth to stifle a scream, and, or a laugh; I was not entirely sure as I stared at Justice's bald head.

A bright blush was already deepening on the sheriff's face, which was spreading to his ears, and a weak apologetic drawl fell from his lips, "Sorry to intrude, folks, but Heidi kicked me out and forbade me to come home until I grew my hair back."

[pilitella]

@tmarie82 help, I can't draw him properly I know he's judging me lmao

[gothshy]

“If anypony needs me I’ll be in my Creativity Room! Working. Vigorously!”

[molesaretakingovertheworld]

Thinking about it Mickey Milkovich is basically an angry smol marshmallow who could kill you if he really wanted to and i love it (him)

[notmakingwaves]

it’s been like 24 hours and I’m still laughing about the memory of that shit post generator thing with “you wouldn’t download your straight people” with Sebastian’s picture but I can’t find it and I’m mad.

[savannahsdrabbles]

Quick procrastination doodle. XP It took a while, but even Raph can't resist Sophie. XD

[dawntreaderflynne]

Buying Time

My dog was snoring the other night, so I wanted to write a cute a fluffy story about Raphie snoring.  And then Skits happened.  So there is still floof, but there is also SAINW. :3

Buying Time

Mikey could see the storm brewing.  Not that Raph was particularly difficult to read anyway, but this was something different.  The dark clouds hovering over his head were practically visible, and with every day that passed, Raph became more tense, as if he held lightning within his body and he was struggling to keep it in.

Mikey glanced down at his bandaged stump and sighed a little.  He’d hoped that Raph would begin to settle now that he was starting to - literally - get back on his feet.  He’d seen the way relief had nearly broken Raph when he’d finally blinked his eyes open and knew where he was...although when Mikey had looked at the calendar, the date was several weeks later than he remembered.  He’d seen the lines of worry and anger on Raph’s face, but all of that had disappeared when Mikey’d managed to say his name.  Raph had buried his face in the blanket and pressed his head against Mikey’s side, and the tension had crumbled away from his shaking shoulders.

But ever since then, the anger had been creeping back in day by day.  Raph wasn’t always a walking storm cloud; Mikey could usually tease a chuckle out of his brother, and April had been commandeering Raph more frequently to babysit.  Holding Maria never failed to bring a smile to his scowling face, even if Raph was still too nervous to stand up once the baby was in his lap.  Even so, the brief moments of relaxation began to help Raphael less and less, and it was only a matter of time before something had to give.  

“Raphael,” Splinter said, waiting for breakfast a few days later, “you are not sleeping.”

“Huh?”  Raph lifted his head, looking confused and defensive.  “Whaddaya mean?  I sleep.”

“Not enough.”

“Leo doesn’t either,” Raph said sullenly.

“Hey, I’m making you breakfast,” Leo protested from over by the stove.  “Making wild accusations is a good way to get eggshells in your food.”  The hot skillet hissed as he cracked eggs into the pan.  Raph just rolled his eyes.

Maria’s quiet chattering mingled with the sound of the television as she and Casey played with blocks on the living room floor.  The lull in kitchen conversation allowed the news anchor’s voice to be heard clearly, in spite of the static from the spotty satellite signal.  “- police commissioner will be giving a statement at noon regarding the increasing gang violence.  Last night, a standoff with the Purple Dragons left two officers wounded and caused thousands of dollars in property damage.  Both officers are in stable condition and expected to recover.  In sports news, the Giants’ preseason opener kicks off next week with…”

The air in the kitchen suddenly seemed thick and stifling.  The swig of orange juice Mikey had just taken seemed sour in his mouth, and he had to swallow convulsively against the urge to spit it out.  Nobody had mentioned the Purple Dragons since they'd rescued Mikey from their clutches and taken refuge at the farmhouse, and hearing the gang mentioned so casually was jarring.  Every whisker on Splinter’s face was stiff as wire, and the sizzling of eggs in the pan seemed loud and discordant in the silence.  A growl rumbled deep in Raph’s chest like distant thunder.  

Only when the sharp smell of burning eggs wafted from the stovetop did Leo’s rigid stance break.  He looked down with a startled twitch.  “Uh!...Sorry, Raph, I’ll have to start over.”  His voice sounded slightly higher than normal, taut like a string about to snap.

“Don’t bother.  I ain’t hungry.”  Raph planted his hands against the edge of the table and shoved himself back.  Mikey’s juice wobbled precariously, and tea sloshed over the rim of Splinter’s mug.

“Fine,” Leo said briskly.  “It’s time for a run anyway.”

Raph wrinkled his nose in confusion.  “Thought you ran this morning.”

“I did.  You didn’t.  Come on, get moving.”

Despite the fact that Raph had been about to storm away from the table, he settled heavily in his chair and scowled at his brother.  “I’m not going running.”

Leo dumped the burned eggs in the trash and put the pan in the sink to soak.  “Raph, you’ve hardly left the farmhouse since we got here.  You’re going to get out of shape.”    

“Hey, I train!”

“Katas, sparring, and your punching bag isn’t enough.  You’re going to lose your endurance if you keep this up.”  Leo folded his arms across his chest.  “Get moving, Raph.  We’re doing intervals.”

Mikey winced in sympathy.  Intervals meant half-mile sprints broken up by short periods of strength training or sparring.  He darted a surreptitious glance at Raph.  The rage that had bubbled to the surface at the mention of the Purple Dragons hand become tangled in annoyance...and then his expression cleared just a little, and Mikey caught the flash of understanding and - incredibly - relief as it skated across his face.

“Fine,” Raph said.  He climbed to his feet and headed for the door.  “Try to keep up.”

Leo gave Splinter and Mikey a thin smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.  “See you guys later.  We’ll change your bandages when I get back, okay?”  He patted Mikey’s shoulder briefly as he passed, then followed Raph out the door.

“‘Kay, see you,” Mikey answered.  He was aware of how absent he sounded.  He didn’t look at Splinter when Leo was gone, directing his gaze instead to the cooling eggs on his plate.  He wasn’t hungry anymore, either...but he knew if he didn’t eat, his family would worry, so he pushed the food around with his fork for a minute or two before forcing himself to swallow the rest of his breakfast without tasting it.

-----

Leo came shuffling up the stairs a couple hours later, leaning against Mikey’s doorjamb.  “Hey.  You ready?”

Mikey grimaced theatrically, but set aside the comic book he’d been reading.  “Yeah, I’ve read this one a bunch of times already anyway.”  He scooted to sit at the edge of the bed while Leo pulled the bandaging supplies out of the top drawer of the dresser.  Leo looked sweaty and tired, and there was mud caked in the scutes of his shell.

“Good run?” Mikey asked.

“I think so.”  Leo hesitated before giving a weary shrug and sitting on the bed next to Mikey.

“When April asks about the dirt on her quilt, I’m totally ratting you out.”

That made Leo chuckle.  He began unwinding the bandages around Mikey’s stump.  His brow furrowed, but in concentration rather than concern.  Mikey focused on staying relaxed...but to his surprise, he found that he really didn’t need to try that hard.  Leo’s touch was featherlight as he removed and replaced the soiled gauze and, more importantly, the raw flesh was healing quickly.  With every day that passed, the pain was less.  Mikey found that, for once, he had breath to talk.  “Where’s Raph?”

“Hm?”  Leo glanced up but didn’t stop working.  “Oh, he went to the barn to clean his sai, but he was going to come in after that.”

“...Is he okay?”

This time, Leo’s hands stilled for a moment before he reached for the bandaging tape.  “He’s okay.  He just needed to - ”

“ - blow off a little steam.”  Mikey finished with a smirk.  “That sounds like the Raph we all know and love.”

“What about you?”  Leo carefully applied the last piece of tape and started gathering up the supplies again.  “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah.”  Mikey gingerly lifted the bandaged remnant of his arm and wiggled it around a little.  “Hardly hurt at all when you changed the bandage.”  They smiled at each other, both knowing that Mikey hadn’t really answered Leo’s question at all, but neither willing to  press the issue.

Leo rested an affectionate hand on Mikey’s head, then headed off down the hall to the shower.  Mikey stared at his discarded comic book for a minute or two, but realized he didn’t want to stay in his room any longer.  That was a change, too...early on in his recovery, the bandage changes had left him shaky and sore, and he’d taken to hunkering down in his room for a while until the pain subsided.  

Now, Mikey left his comic book on the bed and headed downstairs in search of Raph.  He didn’t have to look far.  Raph had come in from the barn and made it as far as the couch, where he’d flopped on his stomach in a loose sprawl.  His limbs were heavy and lax, and as Mikey stood there watching, he heard the soft but unmistakable sound of snoring.

Mikey gave his head a fond little shake, then crossed the room and sat down in the narrow space between Raph’s head and the arm of the couch.  “‘Bout time you got some sleep,” he said under his breath.  He hadn’t said anything at breakfast, but Splinter had been right.  Mikey knew that none of them had been sleeping well, really...but when Raph was awake, Mikey could hear him pacing above his room.  He’d been hearing it a lot.

But now Raph was dead to the world.  He hadn’t even shifted when Mikey sat down so close to his head.  Mikey draped his arm across his brother’s shell and settled back with a sigh.  “I’ll have you know, you’re lying on the remote,” he said.  “Even though you’re not watching TV, this still counts as your turn.  As soon as you move, it’s mine.”  Raph just sighed in his sleep.

Aside from the sound of running water from the shower upstairs, the house was silent.  Mikey had been getting to the point where the forced inactivity was starting to pluck at his nerves, but he could feel his tension draining away with each of Raph’s slow, steady breaths.  “This is nice,” he said softly.  “Remind me to have Leo take you for a walk more often.”

Mikey knew it wasn't a permanent solution. Sooner or later, they were all going to need to take a good, hard look at their situation and figure out exactly how they were going to cope with everything life had thrown at them. But not just yet. For now, they could just shut out the world until they were strong enough to face it again.  He leaned his head back against the couch and relaxed, content just to sit and wait for his brother to wake up.

[huggingmarshmallows]

AUTOCORRECT LEGIT RUINS MY MEMES OK. IT'S RUDE CAN YOU LIKE NOT?