Midas x Meowscles (FORTNITE FAN FIC)

Shock

After hitting the ground, Meowscles grabbed Midas' hand with the desperation of a thousand African children clawing up a hill for a bowl of rice and plantain.

"Midas! Your hand!" He exclaimed, eyes wide and deep like potholes in a Spanish road. Where there should've been solid gold, it had rusted and eroded like a cheap Gucci bracelet from Depop. The Zika virus had once again caught up with him.

"Meowscles you're not a fucking woman so shut up. If you want to look after me, go into the kitchen and make me a sandwich you good for nothing fleabag." Midas snapped, snatching his hand away.

"I was only trying to help." Meowscles said, his abs rippling furiously like the 2004 Indonesian tsunami.

"I'm fed up of you trying to help!" Midas screeched like an air raid siren. "You're like a parasite on my back! Like some tick sucking away at my blood, every day further sticking your little legs into my skin. I try to pick you off but your legs pop off and stay buried deep in my flesh doing the cha cha slide day and night. When I try to sleep all I can hear is 80's reggae music in my mind on a loop. If I have to hear Bob Marley's voice again, I WILL forcefully destroy my own eardrums. Every time I close my eyes, I can see green, yellow and black. Do you know what those colours are, Meowscles? The Jamaican flag. I've already rubbed baking soda into my eyeballs to try and rid myself of this curse, but all it's done is peeled off my sclera. Now I can't see any distinct shapes, but by God can I see colours more vividly. And do you know what colours I can see? Do you know, Meowscles? Because if you don't say the Jamaican flag's colours, then I'll rub baking soda into your eyes and force you to live this reggae hell with me. Every time I think it's over, the sound of bongo drums thumps and throbs along with the constant pain inside of my head. I've listened to every genre of music there is, Meowscles. But nothing ever replaces the reggae. It's like white noise to me now."

Meowscles looked deeply uncomfortable. He liked reggae music, and briefly considered Midas' offer to rub baking soda into his eyes. But then he remembered the real problem.

"That doesn't change the fact that you need to see a doctor." He calmly replied. 

Midas' upper lip curled like a quaver crisp from Walkers. But, reluctantly, he agreed.

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As they arrived at the hospital, Midas began to have terrible flashbacks about his grandmother. He voiced his concern to Meowscles, who prompted him to talk about the incident that led to her being banned from all medical facilities in the area. 

"That's awful." Meowscles said sincerely once Midas had finished venting. 

"That's my Grandma for you. And you wonder why I hate women." 

The two continued into the hospital, only to be stopped by a nurse.

"Oh my! Are you in labour?" She exclaimed, waving over another nurse with a wheelchair. Although she was only 3 foot tall, she pushed Meowscles down into the wheelchair with such ferocity that both of his kneecaps instantly shattered. 

"I- Um, no we're actually here fo-" Moewscles started, before being interrupted by the nurse.

"Oh you poor, poor fat kitty. Look at your swollen stomach!" She prodded a finger into his bellybutton and wiggled it around. He liked the feeling of his organs being molested, although he'd never admit it. 

Midas was fuming in the corner, one of Bob Marley's title tracks blasting inside of his head. Much like gangrene, his fingers had started to turn black and hinted towards falling off. But he wasn't going to stop the interaction; he had to know whether Meowscles was pregnant or not.

"I'm not pregnant actually, we're he-" Meowscles was once again interrupted.

"Oh, joy! You'll be pleased to hear that you're pregnant with not one, not two, but seven babies!" She clapped her hands together in delight. 

"I can't be pregnant!" Meowscles shouted. But it was too late. Midas had already left.