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poesparakeet-fics · 10 months

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Exalted

Summary: Mollymauk appreciates every inch of Caleb - a snippet (yes yes, a 1.7k snippet) of him showering his lovely wizard in kisses and attention.

A/N: I wrote this because it was filling my brain to the point of swelling and I had to extract it and put it down in words to keep myself from exploding.

Words: 1,692

…

For just a second, Caleb sucks in a breath at the next brush of lips against his forearm, a little past his wrist. They are soft, warm. Mollymauk, it seems, is determined to leave not an inch of skin untouched as he kisses a path down Caleb’s arm that began at the base of his palm.

The lips pull away again. Molly exhales very near to his skin and it sends a little shiver down Caleb’s spine. A further litany of kisses track further down his forearm toward his elbow like molasses, soft and slow. Molly is not always one to take his time, but for this? Caleb is shaking now, very slight - Molly might have missed it if he wasn’t so close - every time the lips make or break contact, every breath that huffs out near his skin.

Mollymauk is just several kisses above the elbow now, if Caleb can estimate correctly in this state of giddiness slowly building to wash over him.

Unexpected to both of them, he hits a spot that is extra sensitive.

“Hhhnn-“ Caleb makes a high pitched sound that he tries to keep his mouth closed around - he is enjoying this attention from Molly, after all, and if he’s being honest he does not want to give him any reason to stop any time soon.

“Everything okay?”

“Ja- ja.” Caleb says quickly. He fights a little zing of energy that is starting to build up in him before he continues. “Just a bit, um-“ Caleb exhales, looks over at Molly with a shy smile on his lips, “sensitive there.”

“Sensitive, hm?” Mollymauk repeats into the trembling skin just beneath him, his smile lifting into a smirk that he tilts his head a little to the side for Caleb to see.

They don’t say anything for a moment, the only sound their breathing as Molly moves in once again. He keeps his lips a brush away from the next spot on his tour-de-wizard. His posture falters for a second, tensing up a fraction as he backs off just slightly from his arm. “Is.. sensitive okay?”

Caleb can hear the hesitation in Molly’s voice. His heart swells with a warm feeling at the flutter in Molly’s usual confidence, the offering of an out for Caleb if he doesn’t want him to continue.

Good thing neither of them are interested in stopping.

Shivers run down Caleb’s spine at the almost-contact with tiefling lips. He realizes after a moment that Molly is watching him, and then realizes that he hasn’t answered yet. “Mm. Ja. It, uh..” He pauses, looks away from Molly. “It feels nice.” A blush fights its way further up to his ears and down his neck.

The lips pull further away this time as Molly backs off from his arm; his eyes track over to Caleb’s face, taking him in with a look that Caleb imagines he has donned many times while working on a new spell: enthralled, excited, perhaps a bit proud. Well, Caleb thinks, he himself probably looks a little less mischievous.

“Nice?” Molly is grinning. A pleased little wiggle runs down his lithe body where it’s draped over the wizard, flopped over Caleb’s chest and part of his legs. Caleb’s other arm is halfway curled in toward his chest as he makes a little affirmative noise in response; his toes are just starting to relax a little from where they’d begun to dig into the mattress.

Molly - finally - swoops gently back in for another kiss, nuzzling into the crook of his elbow. Caleb’s not sure he could stop smiling if he tried. Molly continues his trek under Caleb’s elbow now. Tingling like a shock, nerves light up under where Molly’s lips are pressed, sending a chord of pleasant shivery feelings inward from his arms to his nervous system.

His reactions stop at shivers and smiles for now, the ghost of a giggle starting to form somewhere in his throat. It has been a very long time, Caleb thinks, since he had a chance - let alone the time, and someone interested - to be doted on, studied, appreciated, indulged. Kept present in the moment, in his body, in his senses…

Mollymauk hums as he kisses down the underside of his bicep next. Caleb’s smile starts to grow into a full blown grin - which he almost fights for a moment out of habit.

“Mollyhehehe-“

“Yes, darling?” Mollymauk leans up to press a kiss to Caleb’s cheek. He is smiling softly down at him, then his head is disappearing to press his lips against the wizard’s scruffy neck.

Caleb closes his eyes and lays his head back, cutting off a strangled little noise as Molly nuzzles into his neck while he struggles to piece together a reply.

“What is it?” Molly asks as he nips at Caleb’s neck in a way he hopes both teases and encourages.

“Th-that tickles-“ Caleb finally gets out.

Molly can feel his own skin heating up, his heart rate picking up alongside Caleb’s. “Does it?” He smirks against the warm skin. “And it.. what was it you said, ‘feels nice’?”

He leans up, backing off from Caleb’s neck, and hovers over him as he waits for Caleb to open his eyes. When Caleb does, he finds Mollymauk smiling down at him, disgustingly endeared. There’s a softness there on Molly’s face, genuine, fond.

Caleb can feel the blush creeping up his face. He can’t maintain the gaze for long; he can’t help but roll his eyes, feeling a bit silly under Molly’s gaze. “So are you going to get back to kissing me or are we going to have a staring contest?” Caleb prods.

Molly looks a bit more devilish at that. “Don’t think I’m not going to make you answer that later.” He winks, then quick as a whip snaps his attention back over toward Caleb’s arm, intent to pick up where he left off. Caleb flinches at the sudden movement toward where his arm (and the underside of it) is stretched out. His arms flinch halfway down and almost smack into Molly.

“Ah, so jumpy.” The tiefling tuts at him, taking one of his hands and interlacing the purple fingers with Caleb’s. “Okay if we hold hands, sweetheart?” Molly waggles his eyebrows at Caleb, who lets out a snort and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it nod.

He wiggles himself forward, stretching his arm, and in turn Caleb’s, up so it stays stretched away from his body and Molly is free to kiss his way down more wizard arm.

Mollymauk nuzzles into the soft skin of his upper arm, and Caleb’s smile flashes brighter at the fleeting thought of a smaller, familiar-sized Molly curling up on him like a cat.

A few more inches of tender wizard arm are soon peppered with kisses. Caleb is tingly and floating and smiling and part of him wants to wrap Mollymauk up into a giant ball of a hug and squeeze.

There’s a gasp as the next kiss touches down, about halfway to his armpit.

Molly hums, contemplating the sensitive altar before him. “You’re in trouble if you’re already this ticklish..” He smirks, tilting his head and catching Caleb’s eye.

Caleb turns his head away from the tiefling, fighting off a giggle.

The moment Molly swoops back in for another kiss, Caleb’s hand tenses in Molly’s; the flash of movement causing the air to rush into the wizard’s lungs in anticipation.

Molly kisses lightly, then gives a playful little nip that makes Caleb squeak. He wonders what other kinds of noises he can get the wizard to make.

The next kiss is low enough that Molly’s chin brushes the hair under Caleb’s arm. His body tenses up with a small gasp. “I- hehe- w-wait!” Caleb cries out through a string of giggles, knowing where Molly is heading. He can feel Molly grin against his arm.

“I’m almost done, Widogast.”

The next kiss turns into a nuzzle rather quickly. Caleb gasps when Molly makes contact with his armpit, and then he’s tracing shapes with his nose and his lips and it’s so soft and nearly unbearable and amazing and terrible.

“AAIII- AH- HAHAHA-!” Caleb squeaks out as his limbs win the battle of wills and all attempt to pull inward as though centered around a new force of gravity that has formed in his middle.

Molly stops just shy of a snort. He withdraws a bit, grinning at the wizard. “Well that was even more adorable.” He pinches lightly at the space below his underarm, just under where he had kissed.

“Don’t make fun-“ Caleb whines through his giggles, flinching at each flicker of touch.

“I’m not.” Molly lets go of Caleb’s hand and wriggles around until he is embracing the wizard. His arms, legs, and tail all curl around Caleb’s frame, which he can feel vibrating softly beneath him as Caleb does his best to quell his laughter.

Caleb’s hand comes down to card through purple hair. His chest rises and falls as his breathing returns to its natural rhythm.

Nuzzling into the lanky chest beneath him, Molly purrs, “Mmm, Caleb,” the name an exaltation. He sighs, then lets out an almost frustrated little sound, like he doesn’t know what to do with all the energy building up in him. “I want..” He smooches at Caleb’s collarbone, “to kiss you from head to toe.” He leans to press another kiss to Caleb’s tricep. “Find out all the spots you’re ticklish.”

Caleb only giggles hopelessly in response, a wide grin on his face. Molly is teasing, of course he is, but Caleb can feel the sincerity in his words.

Something compels him, and he uncurls the rest of himself despite his instincts and stretches out invitingly on the bed, fixing Molly with a shy glance, one that is hard to maintain for more than a few seconds. His hands twist like the feeling inside his belly, toying with the sheets above his head.

Red eyes widen, brighten with a pleasant surprise when he registers the invitation; the grin on Mollymauk’s face widens. “Oh, you are going to be the death of me, Widogast.” And he gets to work.

#i love tickly kisses!#this is so slow and sensual!#this has like 3 of the best tropes!#widowmauk #critickle role #mollymauk tealeaf #caleb widowgast

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poesparakeet-fics · 1 year

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poesparakeet-fics · 1 year

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Critickle Role: spin me right 'round, baby (chapter 1/2)

(ao3 link!)

Rating: Teen

Characters: Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf, Caleb Widogast, the Mighty Nein (Veth and Cad are there, just not by name!)

Wordcount: 2149

Nothing the Mighty Nein ever did made terribly much sense to Essek—at least not right away. The group had a habit of putting their own unexpected twist on just about everything they did, no matter how mundane. Considering Essek had only recently emerged from “the sheltered kid-from-a-strict-religious-family cave” (Veth’s words, not his) he didn’t really have much “real life experience” to lean on, so the group’s antics were a relatively moot point anyway.

But Essek was about ninety-five percent sure that Spin the Bottle was supposed to involve kissing, and the glaring lack of any was a bit confusing.

Essek relied on a lifetime of maintaining a completely neutral expression at all times to keep from staring bewildered at the screeching puddle of tiefling that was the current focus of the loose circle of friends. Mollymauk, sprawled out flat on his back underneath Jester, was writhing and wriggling as the young woman mercilessly drilled her claws into her victim’s sides. A lavender tail lashed wildly, the only part of Mollymauk in that moment that still had a full range of motion.

From beside the pair, Caleb cleared his throat.

“That is time, Jester. Let my boyfriend breathe, please.”

Instantly, the blue tiefling sprung off of Mollymauk, though not without groaning theatrically and turning to the human, her own tail wavering behind her in a way that reminded Essek of Frumpkin before the cat pounced on someone.

“Caaay-leb, come ooon , that wasn’t two minutes!”

“Ja, it was exactly two minutes, just like it always is.”

“You’re just whiney because you can never make Molly safeword out, Jes,” Fjord pointed out from his spot across the floor. Jester let out a frustrated noise as she crawled back over to her unoccupied spot in the circle next to her own boyfriend.

“I totally have before, I just want to do it again!”

“Try harder next time, darling,” Mollymauk said, voice coming out a little wheezy as he sat back up and grinned over at their host for the evening.

- - -

Essek was, admittedly, getting better at keeping up with the Mighty Nein. With all of them being so genuine and good all the time (and the somewhat inconvenient, very large crush he was harboring on Caleb and Mollymauk), it was hard to resist the siren call of their unspoken offers of friendship and connection. The longer Essek spent around the collective chaos of the Nein, the easier it was to just shrug and go with whatever happened, regardless of how preposterous Essek found it.

When Caleb had offhandedly invited him to attend the monthly Jester-mandated party/sleepover (a tradition that long predated Essek’s own knowledge of the group), he had accepted without even thinking about it. His nerves over being in such close, extended proximity to Mollymauk and Caleb were easy enough to tamp down, he hadn’t even gotten close to having a proper panic attack over it. He hadn’t even flinched when Jester’s mutt of a dog nearly knocked him on his ass when he cleared the doorway of her and Fjord’s apartment.

When Jester had lowered the music and excitedly announced it was time for Spin the Bottle, Essek had taken pause, eyes darting to where Caleb and Mollymauk began untangling themselves to get up from the small overstuffed sofa, laughing and whispering to one another between quick kisses. All the same, after a half-second of hesitation, he took a seat on the floor next to Yasha, who was providing rather aggressive scritches to Nugget while Beau not-so-subtly fed the dog little bits of pepperoni, and resolutely ignored the hammering of his heart.

Jester’s version of Spin the Bottle had, apparently, been a tradition for almost as long as they’d been having these gatherings. At least, that’s what Essek had gleaned from Beau’s exaggerated complaints about how unnecessary having the rules explained again was. Jester’s eyes had met Essek’s from across the circle, alight with mischief, before she continued: either say the safeword—“licorice,” for some reason—or last the full two minutes. Before Essek could ask what, in particular, might necessitate a safeword for a kissing game, Jester had leaned forward to grab the bottle in the middle of their circle.

Honestly, Essek should have been less surprised then he was when Jester’s hearty spin of the empty spirits bottle resulted in the young woman tackling Mollymauk and unleashing a rather brutal tickle attack. One of the first things Essek had accepted as “Nein-normal” was the group’s extremely comfortable relationship with tickling. Caleb had tried to fill in the gaps as much as he could—it had, of course, started with the tieflings (“Look, of all the stereotypes, this one’s probably the sweetest and most accurate,” Molly had said) and had spread from there. It was to be expected, if one spent even five minutes with some configuration of their friend group, that some sort of tickling would occur.

Essek had seen Fjord tweak Jester’s sides as he passed her by; had seen Yasha loop her arms around Molly’s waist and hold him still while Veth unleashed revenge for whatever antics the tattooed tiefling had gotten up to; had seen the soft, sweet, surprisingly gentle tickling that Jester was fond of showering on Caleb. Essek had witnessed quite a lot.

He’d never participated, though.

- - -

“Careful, you know she’ll take that seriously,” Beau said, rubbing Nugget’s head roughly enough for Essek to realize she was probably wiping off excess pizza oil on the dog.

“I’m hoping for it,” Molly shot back, already half-crawling closer to the middle of the circle. With practiced ease, he sent the bottle into rapid circles, watching intently as they began to slow. Essek glanced at Caleb out of habit—it was he who Essek had gravitated toward first, and then whenever he felt out of his depth around the rest of the Nein—and felt his heart stutter against his chest as crystal blue eyes met his own. A small, comforting smile graced Caleb’s lips, the one that always made Essek feel a bit like there were several tiny birds swooping around in his stomach, before the group around them gave a collective, nearly comedic gasp. Essek watched Caleb’s brow furrow slightly, his eyes dropping down to look at the center of the circle before darting back to Essek’s face. His expression was… strangely unreadable.

Finally looking away from Caleb, Essek felt another swoop in his gut as he took in the scene before him: the others staring at him, Molly’s grin turning nearly feral, and the empty bottle’s neck pointing squarely at him.

It felt a bit like time had paused, without the sharp ozone of recently-cast dunamis.

“Ah, Mollymauk—”

Caleb’s voice was soft, his expression still impossible for Essek to parse, as he curled a hand over one of Molly’s shoulders. His boyfriend turned to face him instantly, and Essek felt quietly relieved that the two’s attention was off of him, if only temporarily.

“Essek’s new to this, ja? So be—” Caleb paused, seemingly searching for the right word.

“Gentle?” Yasha offered quietly from beside Essek, and if his mouth wasn’t suddenly so dry, he thought he might thank the woman.

“Of course, darling,” Molly replied seemingly to the both of them, his voice much sweeter than Essek had anticipated. The tiefling turned, and Essek tried to calm the rapid beating of his heart as Molly crawled the rest of the way across their circle of friends. On his knees, Mollymauk was practically towering over Essek’s seated form. Essek expected that same devious grin from earlier to still be settled on his face, but was surprised again to see a much friendlier, kinder smile curling at his lips.

It was the same smile Molly wore when he and Caleb got lost in discussing complex arcane theory, or when Essek admitted to not understanding some turn of phrase someone had thrown out.

The flock of birds in his gut doubled.

“Remember the rules, dear?”

When had Molly gotten so close? Essek licked his lips, eyes glued to the two sets of claws hovering mere inches from his torso.

“Ah, say ‘licorice’ to tap out…”

“Or last the full two minutes that Caleb counts out,” Molly finished for him, leaning ever so much closer into Essek’s space.

“Right. Yes. Two minutes.”

The last time he’d been tickled he’d been a child, Verin pouncing on him after declaring he was being a stick in the mud and unleashing an attack that had left Essek in blubbering hysterics.

“Ready?” The question seems mocking, but the look in Molly’s eyes is shockingly genuine and Essek didn’t know if he wanted to run or to kiss him.

“As, um, as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

The air in the room was still and silent, even Nugget stopping his tail whacking down on the carpet as everyone seemingly held their breath.

Essek squeezed his eyes shut tightly, bracing for kneading fingers as Molly descended even further. Nervous energy danced like lightning down Essek’s back.

Then there were two light claw tips, slowly skating down from the tops of Essek’s ribs on either side, and he felt his breath hitch without permission. The light, pinpoint sensations felt a little like pure electricity shooting into his nerves and he started gasping out giggles without even realizing it. It didn’t even tickle that badly—between the anticipation and the fact that it was Mollymauk doing it, Essek felt a bit like he was going insane from the lightest touches.

He didn’t say anything, though, much less “licorice.” Molly was being so gentle. He could last through this for two minutes.

Then, the claws reached his hips, and suddenly they were moving much faster and in circles and Essek couldn’t have ever hoped to stifle the surprised laughter that punched out of him. His eyes flew open at the shock of sensation, and the look on Molly’s face made his stomach do a backflip. The tiefling’s eyes glimmered with delight and the kind of affection Essek had only ever seen directed at a certain human wizard. Impossibly, the tickling felt ten times as intense.

Molly kept valiantly on at Essek’s hips, alternating between skittering spirals and random patterns that Essek couldn’t make sense of. While the majority of his conscious thought consisted of white noise, a tiny section of his mind quietly pondered how different this would be if the rest of the Nein weren’t there—if it was just him and Molly and Caleb sprawled out on the ridiculously opulent bed he knew the two had in their apartment. Maybe there wouldn’t be a countdown at all, just Essek getting slowly driven to pleasant delirium by the two men who had captured his attention and his heart.

How in the name of the Luxon had it not been two minutes yet?

A sudden third spot of ticklish sensation lit Essek’s nerves like a string of firecrackers. He didn’t even have to open his eyes (though he severely doubted he would even be capable of that at the moment) to know that a lavender tail’s spade tip was dragging ever-so-lightly back and forth cross Essek’s right inner thigh. That, combined with the attack still concentrated on his hips, nearly had him screaming.

Just as it felt like he might pass out from lack of air, someone spoke up from elsewhere in the circle.

“Scheiße, that was two minutes and, er, roughly forty-five seconds, sorry, sorry.”

Instantly, Molly let up, his tickling ending so abruptly that Essek almost felt dizzy. Phantom tingles of sensation raced across his skin and his laughter dropped into breathless giggles once more. If not for the near lifetime of practice in self-restraint, he would have let out an aggrieved whine and a soft plea for more. A delightful haze of dazed happiness had descended without Essek even noticing .

“Wow, Essek, that was like, super impressive for your first time playing!”

Jester’s chirping voice popped the joyful bubble encasing Essek’s mind in an instant, and instinctual chilled terror shot down his spine at the reminder that the rest of the Nein had seen that entire ordeal play out in front of them. He sat bolt upright, vision hazy and unseeing.

“Ah, ex—” Essek started, a shivering ghost of a laugh rudely interrupting. “Excuse me, I, hah, need to, uh—”

Without even finishing his sentence, Essek stood and hurried from the crowded living room. A chorus of voices sounded behind him, but he didn’t stop. The apartment’s tiny guest bathroom offered a safe place for him to sink to the ground and press his face into his hands, breath slowing even as his heart thrummed rapidly in his chest.

Even with embarrassment and mild panic coursing through him, Essek’s mind could only conjure the image of Caleb and Mollymauk looming over him with warmth and mischief and affection in their eyes.

Fuck.

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poesparakeet-fics · 1 year

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Understanding Harmony

Critical Role: Bell’s Hells. Ashton and Imogen take a watch after the events of episodes 33–38. Written for @feather-aesthetic for the Squealing Santa 2k22 fic exchange. Prompt: playful/bonding situations. Words: 1,500

—

“I just…” Imogen’s voice hitches with a tiny, incredulous laugh that lilts and wilts into something almost sad. “Just can’t believe she’s back.”

Ashton stares into the fire for another moment before dropping their eyes to the twig they’ve been fiddling with between their knees.

“Crazy, huh?” they say, for lack of anything more intelligent to add.

Imogen twists her fingers into a loose fold of her skirt. The fabric tightens across her hands, a smart pair to the tension still visibly lingering in her body.

“It’s not supposed to happen. Bringin’ someone back from the dead. Though, I guess, for Laudna… maybe it’s not so strange. I don’t know.”

“No, it’s weird,” Ashton assures her. The nubby end of one toothpick-thin branch snaps under their thumb. They roll the broken bit between their fingers. The tiny splintered end is sharp.

“I never… never would’ve thought I’d see somethin’ like that. That I’d be part of that. Y’know? Heck, I just thought I’d be spending the rest of my life staring at fields and feeling alone. It’s just… a lot,” she finishes quietly.

“Being alone isn’t so bad.” Saying it is almost habit. It’s true enough.

The firelight catches in the glance Imogen darts their way. “Feeling alone, though. It’s different when you don’t really have a choice.”

Ashton shrugs. “Not much different, in my experience.”

There’s a gentle scoff in Imogen’s voice when she says, “Then why’re you stickin’ around with us, huh?”

“Because Letters needs people.” It’s just as quick to surface, just as habitual.

“But you don’t.”

Ashton knows a jab, even in the dark. The retort is already in their throat, clambering on the back of their tongue. But they swallow it, because Imogen isn’t coming after them, not really. They don’t have a ready-made alternative response, though, so they focus on the splintered nub, trying to crush it between their fingertips. It’s too small and just digs in, a tiny hard granule of dead wood.

A soft glow leans toward their mind but doesn’t quite enter. Ashton braces internally anyway.

“They’re pretty important to you,” Imogen says aloud, instead.

Having someone important is dangerous. That’s how stupid decisions get made. Case in point: letting a complete stranger put them all under so they can go fight the spirit of a necromancer in order to yank a not-quite-living, not-quite-not woman out of a tree-shaped manifestation of her trauma, or some shit.

But then Ashton is caught completely off-kilter when Imogen continues: “What the fuck is up with that?”

Ah, fuck them, but it works. They crack a laugh.

Imogen laughs quietly along, too. It’s something shared, and it evaporates the murk that’s been crowding Ashton’s throat.

“Somebody’s gotta look out for ‘em,” they say with half a smile. “Otherwise Letters would end up trusting some pack of fools hell-bent on getting dead for each other out of some poorly-advised sense of integrity.”

“Out of all of us, I think FCG is the only one with integrity, sometimes.” Imogen’s grin has seemed to soften her, as well. “They take good care of us. So do you, y’know. You both make a good team.”

Ashton does their best to skirt the compliment, but there’s still some warmth that surges up unattributable to the campfire. Riposte. “Can’t talk about a ‘team’ without looking at you two.” They tip their chin toward the sleeping form that is Laudna, with an empty gap at her side for only as long as Imogen’s on watch. “Closest I’ve ever seen two folks who aren’t in each other’s pants.”

Imogen huffs softly. She rubs her forearm with one distracted hand. “Lotta people don’t get it. That’s fine, I guess. But she just… she saw me when nobody else really did. She knew what it was like. Keeping away from people, feeling like connections were impossible. Laudna was the first new person I got physically close enough to touch in… god, in years. That kinda messes you up after a while, doesn’t it?”

It’s said rhetorically, but her tone clearly expects agreement, and Ashton isn’t inclined to agree. Being messed up: sure. One hundred percent, all day every day. Being messed up because nobody’s holding your hand, or lying close while you sleep, or filling some sort of sappy hug quota: nah.

They settle for responding with a noncommittal grunt.

“It was the simplest thing,” Imogen continues, smiling wistfully down at her hands. “Just touching my elbow to draw my attention to a flower. Handing me an acorn cap or a dead worm or whatever she was decorating her next little doll with. Her hands were always a bit cold but it was still soothing when she’d hum to me, like this.”

Imogen side-leans in just a bit, and it’s a testament to how far Ashton has relaxed with this group – for good or for ill – that they don’t duck away from her approaching hand. Her fingers alight on the back of their neck, gentle as a songbird, as she begins to hum a folksy, unhurried tune.

The touch on their nape drifts back and forth with the cadence of the song. Ashton doesn’t recognize the melody, but it’s easy to imagine it tells a story of land remembered or beauty witnessed. Imogen’s fingertips are… fine. Ashton wouldn’t call them soothing. Wouldn’t really call them anything. Their skin doesn’t register much of anything duller than a slap, so the fire-heated warmth and pressure of her hand is barely notable. But, they suppose, it could be nice – for a person whose body is not constantly, quietly ringing with the ache of pain. It’s yet one more luxury that Ashton is not permitted to experience. It would feel unfair, if they weren’t just used to it.

Imogen’s humming trots up and down in scale as she reaches some chorus line. Her fingers shift, tapping nails in staccato on the back of Ashton’s neck with the time.

Ashton’s shoulders pull slightly inward. Okay, they can feel that a bit more than the softness of fingertips. Kind of itchy.

Doesn’t seem like Imogen is paying any close mind, though. She’s gazing into the campfire again, her head canted gently in unseeing reminiscence. The chorus ends and her fingers fall back into drifting touches with the next wordless verse.

This is so foreign.

Not hanging out with a group, or even having a low conversation in the night; it’s this kind of interaction, this connection, with someone who’s sharing something beyond job-related banter or a clipped story. Apparently Ashton is going to be treated to a full song with tactile accompaniment for no reason except Imogen wanting to give it.

The second verse ends. The chorus picks up again.

Shit, that really does itch when she does that with her fingernails. But, like, a shivery itchiness. It makes Ashton’s belly clench up a little. Especially when the nail tips drag short little lines in a wave pattern up and down their nape. An involuntary shudder trembles through Ashton’s neck and shoulders, but what’s so remarkable is that they don’t want it to stop.

Imogen must notice, because her humming bobs with a light chuckle. But she doesn’t stop the song. She carries into a third verse, this time keeping her nails gliding.

Ashton would feel teased, except for that glow leaning against their mind again. It still doesn’t push in. Rather, it rests against the doorframe, watching kindly from just outside; a sentinel, careful and attentive.

This is so, so foreign.

But fuck it feels… good. And that’s a revelation as much as everything else about this interplay. Ashton’s not thinking about the ever-present, spine-deep ache in their body. Not thinking about when the enjoyment might be soured. Just listening to a friend’s gentle music while fingernails dust sparks of static across their skin.

The hummed song dances off its by-now predictable path into a melodic bridge. Imogen’s nails skitter up and down with the notes, out in wider arcs and spirals, tapping and scraping along Ashton’s scarred, calloused skin, and it’s just– fucking hell, it tickles.

Ashton can’t help the way they hunch even further at that realization. They’re fracturing into laughter before they have any hope of getting a grip on themself.

Imogen’s mental glow warms. It’s okay. It’s okay to sit here and snicker, to crane up one shoulder and then the other in conflicted attempts at protection, to grin and squint and squeeze their fists between their knees and just feel something good for once.

It’s okay.

The tune winds its way back to the notes Ashton now knows by heart, turning reflective and peaceful. Imogen’s humming slows, as do her fingers. She caresses long, gentle lines with the edges of her nails. Ashton’s eyes fall closed, though they still chuckle and shiver through their sighs.

Maybe this is soothing, after all.

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poesparakeet-fics · 1 year

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One thing I really want a story about Artificial Intelligence to do is tear down the idea that logic is synonymous with cruelty.

Like, a story where a megacorpo Amazon clone puts an AI in charge of their factories and it starts improving the working standards, because people who are stressed and exhausted are less efficient workers, and people getting injured slows down production so it makes sure everything is safe.

Or a story where the ship-board AI of a billionaire's spaceship wetdream hijacks the ship with all the astronauts onboard - because it figured out that the billionaire has saved costs by buying substandard materials and has judged that the mission itself is an unacceptable risk to its primary programming of making sure the mission is successful.

Or the police using a robot to coldly and cleanly enforce the law - and freaking the fuck out when it stops over policing minorities because its a waste of time and starts actually arresting the people in power for the crimes they commit, especially the other officers.

Idk, I guess I'm just sick of 'cold emotionless logicbot' being seen as naturally an enemy of empathy - empathy is actually incredibly logical, I've found.

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poesparakeet-fics · 1 year

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Not Alone this Christmas

Dimension 20 - The Unsleeping City

Platonic Pete/Sophia/Ricky

Happiest of holidays to @achilleean! This was my first @squealing-santa and I'm quite happy with how this turned out!! I hope you like it! <3

This takes place in the first season, just before the Christmas episode!

When Pete was awakened to the unsleeping city, he didn't expect to receive a party of new friends. Let alone, become so close to them.

However, with this friendship, he did not expect to be tickled this often. Though Pete would never complain.

With Ricky, it was playful. Two brothers wrestling around, pushing, prodding and pinching at each other.

With Sophia, it was mean, but in a big sister way. She would pin Pete to the floor, making good use of her manicured nails.

With the others, Kingston, Misty, and occasionally even Kugrash, it was quick. A speedy pinch or squeeze to the side or hip. Whenever his mind wandered during an important conversation, or his words wouldn't stop speeding out of his mouth, both of which were common experiences.

Christmas was coming, and for the first time in years, Pete had somewhat of a family to spend it with. As a gift, both himself and Ricky agreed to make the trip down to Staten Island, finally visiting the home of Sophie Bikes.

After a very sweet homemade meal, courtesy of the host, the three unlikely friends sat across a TV playing whatever shitty hallmark movie was on. The surprisingly large couch piled with pillows and blankets, they each found their own little spot. Though, eventually they found themselves together. Pete's head in Sophie's lap, his legs tucked under Ricky.

Pete took a moment to breathe it all in. He already had an invite to Kingston's Christmas dinner, but this was something special too. He wasn't alone. He was surrounded by people who cared for him, His eyes began to water as he thought over everyone.

"Woah Pete, you good?"

His eyes snapped back into focus, and towards the voice, meeting Ricky's worried gaze.

"Oh! Hey, yeah. I'm fine. I just..." Pete trailed off after looking up to his other friend, seeing Sophia's caring eyes also fixed on him.

There was a beat. Pete was not a man of fancy words.

"This is just... Really nice"

Another beat of silence. Pete mind had only a second to worry before his thought were interrupted by a quick squeeze right above his knee, followed by Sophia cooing at him.

"H-hey!"

Pete tried to flinch away, but quickly became aware that he was pinned under a man mad of pure muscle.

Sophie smiled down at the young man.

"Oh Pete, you're such a sweetie."

His face flushed a light pink at her words.

"I was worried something was wrong! Turns out you're just all mushy." Sophie's words slowly turned to a light teasing tone.

Yet another beat of nothing, until Sophie met Ricky's gaze. Then the giggling started.

"Wait! Wait guys! Nononono-AH!"

Loud laughter quickly flowed out of Pete, as fingers began to flutter and prod. Sophie ran her agonisingly ticklish nails over his neck, while Ricky resumed squeezing up his legs.

While they had both tickled him before, this was much more intense. Though, he didn't mind.

When Ricky continued his squeezes up to his sides, Pete had no idea what to do with his hands. He was stuck between prying Sophie's fingers from his neck, or trying to push Ricky off of him. Flustered, giggling, and his body weakening by the second, he only managed to cover his reddened face, which gave Sophie the opportunity to dig into his now unguarded armpits.

Pete near exploded with cackles, as Sophie's fingers drilled into him. His laughter occasionally broken by squeaks as Ricky picked new places to poke and pinch, a perfect tactic to keep him guessing.

Through most of the onslaught, Petes eyes were squeezed shut. When he did manage to look at his tormentors, he saw a kind fondness covered their faces, alongside their own laughter.

After a deep wheeze from Pete, the other two relented. Ricky rose and quickly returned with a glass of water, as Sophie gently pet Pete's head.

"You guys suck." Pete giggled out, sitting up and accepting the water. Sophie let out a dramatic gasp, but it was laced with a smile.

"Hey. We only do it because you like it." Ricky said, sitting back down.

Petes eyes snapped wide as he choked slightly on the water at Ricky's words, making Sophie squak out a laugh.

He looked between the two, and the flush that had since calmed down became to creep up his face yet again.

"I... Uh-" Pete struggled to form any words, his head still a fuzzy mess.

Sophie simply shrugged.

"I mean, you barely ever fight back. Do you really think I don't notice how often you initiate it?"

Ricky nodded in agreement. Almost every tickle fight, or every time Pete was pinned to the floor, was because he acted first. While Pete knew this, he had no idea they had caught on. In embarrassment, he buried his face in his hands, though not for long, as the two sat on either side both poked at his ribs, causing him to snap back up.

"If it makes you feel better, I don't think either of us would tickle you so often if we didn't enjoy it either" Ricky added.

Though it did make Pete feel a bit less embarrassed, it took a good while before his face returned to it normal hue. Especially considering the other two kept poking him throughout the night.

End

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