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mercurysnitch · 2 years

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Mother Mercury Part 5: The Show Must Go On

Summary: Trouble is brewing when Mel returns to the set of Bohemian Rhapsody after Thanksgiving break. Christmas is a turning point for Mel and Ben, and the end of filming might just have a few surprises in store.

A/N: Yes, it’s finally here. As previously mentioned, this is the last part of this story, three years and a pandemic after I started it. I do have an idea for a final epilogue chapter, but I'm not convinced I’ll ever get around to writing it. But I may post some “headcanons” of where I was planning for this story to go at some point.

Despite the long gaps between parts this story kept my mind somewhat occupied during multiple lockdowns even though very little of those thoughts ever actually made it onto the page, so I suppose I’m grateful for that.

This part covers the rest of Bohemian Rhapsody filming and a bit extra, so the story’s ending a bit earlier than I initially planned, but I think it works. The filming timeline might not be entirely historically accurate but at the end of the day, this is my fic so the timeline is whatever I say it is.

Not a lot of Eve in this one, but there’s some guest appearances to make up for it. Including, finally, the other surviving member of Queen finally turning up on-screen after many mentions in previous parts. Title is obviously from the Queen song.

The only warning for this one is mentions of illness, I think. Also as usual I think the English and American slang is accurate but I am neither of those things so it’s probably not perfect. Apologies if any Australianisms have snuck in, I try to avoid them but sometimes they’re not obvious.

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Previously on Mother Mercury: The Bo Rhap cast has been introduced to Freddie’s granddaughter Mel, who’s working in the wardrobe department, and her mother Eve. Ben and Mel are going out, and he was invited to Eve’s for Thanksgiving, but no one on set knows they’re together. Also, the director’s a pill.

Mel was feeling quite refreshed after the Thanksgiving break, and she knew the band were looking forward to getting back together. But when she and Ben finally arrived to set on the first morning back, there was a rather unwelcome surprise waiting for them.

The set was never far from organised chaos at the best of times, but that morning nearly everything seemed to be in total disarray. Even Barbara looked worried when Mel arrived at the wardrobe department to start her day.

“What’s going on?” she asked, suddenly concerned. “Our esteemed director hasn’t arrived yet” Barbara informed her, voice dripping with contempt. “And no-one’s heard from him. No one even knows where he is.” “Christ” Mel exclaimed. “So are we still running today, or…?” Barbara just shrugged. “If he’s not here soon we’ll have to shut down for today, nothing’s been properly organised.” “And after that?” Mel asked. “The word is if he doesn’t surface soon he’ll be sacked” Barbara replied conspiratorially. Not a minute too soon, Mel thought.

It was a strange, unsettled day. The assistant directors did what they could, but it was hard to make progress when no one really knew what they were supposed to be doing. After noon arrived with no sign of the director arriving on set, the decision was made to shut down for the day. Some of the most senior crew stayed on to do some contingency planning for the next few days, but everyone else was sent home. None of the cast were exactly happy with this news, but Joe was particularly unimpressed.

“Seriously? This bullshit again? Honestly, I don’t care what this guy’s resume is like, he’s a seriously shitty director right now. Like, does he just not give a shit about all the time and money he’s wasted? And putting everything on the A.D. s all the time, that’s just disrespectful, like, their job isn’t to do his job for him.” “We know, Joe” Gwilym said gently. “You think you’d be better?” Rami joked. Joe looked alarmed. “God, no, I directed one tiny indie with like half a crew, I wouldn’t have a clue what to do on a big production like this.” Suddenly he looked wistful. “Maybe one day, though.”

Lacking anything better to do, the band decided to decamp to Rami's hotel for the afternoon to have a proper post-break catch up. Lucy and Allen were also invited, along with Mel. She was pleased to be included, though she could have sworn she saw a hint of a smirk on Joe's face when he extended the invitation.

At any rate, mid-afternoon found the gang scattered through Rami's deluxe suite, chatting about what they'd been up to during the break. Allen and Gwilym had enjoyed a bit of time off with their partners, while Lucy had taken the opportunity to catch up with a few friends. Rami and Joe had of course gone home to spend the holiday with their families, which for Joe had been extremely bittersweet due to his father's illness.

"I just… He was so much worse than when I left" Joe explained. "I think… I knew he was getting sicker before I left, but it’s just so obvious how much he’s deteriorated while I’ve been away, and I..." At that Joe began to break down, leaning into Rami who embraced him tightly, whispering words of comfort the others couldn't hear. "We're all here for you, mate, anything you need" Gwilym added softly. Joe pulled back, smiling slightly. "Thanks guys" he told them. "But right now I need to not think about it for a while, so Ben, what did you do last week?"

Ben's eyes widened in horror. He'd spent most of the week with Mel, of course, but he could hardly tell everyone that without explaining why. "I, uh,…" he stammered, looking desperately to Mel for support. She merely grinned mischievously. “Y'know, we could just tell them” she said evenly, largely unperturbed. “We’re official now, we have to tell them at some point.” “You sure?” Ben checked. Mel nodded. “Alright then” Ben agreed. He grinned in anticipation. "I had Thanksgiving supper at Eve's, actually." The others were suitably shocked. "You what?" Lucy asked, baffled. "It's a tradition of ours" Mel explained. "We remember Freddie by having a big meal with lots of guests, and wine, once the kids are in bed of course."

"That's all well and good, but why was Ben invited to supper by himself?" Gwilym questioned. Mel and Ben broke into near identical mischievous smiles. “Because he’s my boyfriend” Mel announced, reaching out to take Ben's hand.

“I knew it!” Joe yelled. “I knew there was something going on.” “We’re all very happy for you” Lucy said kindly, shaking her head at Joe’s antics. The rest of the group were smiling, cheerfully congratulating the happy couple. “You’re not surprised” Ben observed. “We’ve been wondering when it would happen” Lucy explained. Ben raised his eyebrows. “When, not if?”

“Mate, you’ve been absolutely gone for Mel since the day you met her” Gwilym pointed out. “I have not” Ben protested to Mel, blushing furiously. She merely smiled. “Naww, love at first sight?” she teased. “Anyway,” Gwilym interjected, “we didn’t know how Mel felt, of course, but we had our suspicions, and, well…” It was Mel’s turn to blush. “Damn, and I thought I was hiding it so well around you lot.” “Hey, we're not holding it against you” Lucy reassured her. “No, no, it's quite alright” Mel agreed.

Suddenly Joe groaned, cutting through the general cheer. "What's up?" Rami said quzzically, speaking for the rest of the rather puzzled group. "I just realised, I'm the only single dude in the band now" Joe explained. "Gwil was the only one with a girlfriend when we started this movie, and then Rami and Lucy happened, which, okay, I’m thrilled he’s found someone, but now my boy Ben's gone and left me all alone in singletown and we're not even done shooting yet. I mean, I know stuff happens on movies but both of you met people, on the same movie, within weeks of each other?"

Mel stared at him in confusion. "Is… Is he actually upset two of his mates have met someone before him?" "No, no, he's happy for us, really" Ben assured her. "He's just whining cos he doesn't want to be the only one on the pull when we all go out." "Eh, it's not like I could be any less successful than I have been the last few months" Joe grumbled. "Yeah, and I can still be your wingman, you know" Ben told him cheerfully. Joe smiled. "Well, that could be fun" he said. "Seriously though, I am genuinely super happy for you crazy kids."

Mel grinned at that. "Thanks, old man." Joe laughed at the insult, though he looked mildly scandalised. But whatever offence he might have taken at Mel’s jibe didn’t last long, and the rest of the afternoon was spent recounting the highlights of Ben and Mel’s Thanksgiving dinner and discussing plans for the remaining weeks of the shoot.

The next day the director was still nowhere to be found, and no one had successfully contacted him. The first assistant director attempted to take charge so they could at least try to get something done, but the mood on set was still unsettled and progress was slow. Over the next few days everyone soldiered on as best they could, but the director remained conspicuously absent.

After another week of radio silence though, both the cast and crew’s patience was rapidly running out. Remarkably, that very day the director finally reappeared, hours after he should have arrived on set on a normal day, claiming he'd been delayed due to having to care for his ill mother. But it was too late. Official complaints had apparently been made, and by noon a couple of Fox executives had arrived to give the director his marching orders. Singer was officially fired, effective immediately, and production was suspended until a new director could be hired.

The cast were universally thrilled to see the back of Singer, but there was widespread frustration at the resulting delays. Although some of the tension that had hung over the production in recent weeks had finally lifted with the knowledge the director was gone for good, there was still some unease about the potential impact of all the disruptions on the production, not to mention the inevitable effects a new director would have on both the set and the eventual film. Rami, though, was apparently confident everything would turn out alright in the end.

“I know who they’re trying to get to take over, and if he says yes, it should be good” he told the band, following the official announcement of the search for a new director to the cast and crew. Gwilym wasn’t convinced. “It’s still a massive disruption though, especially this late on in production.” “As long as they listen to the crew we’ll be able to pretty much pick up where we left off, everything’s still basically set up” Joe countered. “Plus, if Rami says this guy’s good, he’s probably great, so…” Rami grinned. “Nice to know some of you still have faith in me.”

In the end it took only four days for the studio to announce Dexter Fletcher would be taking over to finish the film, and shooting would resume shortly. The cast made the most of the unexpected break, spending an afternoon having a (very) long lunch at Eve’s. Mel did have some slight misgivings about the potential consequences of introducing all of her workmates to her very-much-not-average family, but in the end she needn’t have worried. Everyone got over their awe at being in Freddie’s house very quickly, having been prepared ahead of time by Ben, and by the time the end-of-meal tea and coffee were served quite a lot of the band seemed to be happily ensconced with Eve’s family.

Gwilym and Violet, both keen gardeners, were deep in discussion about the proper care of his new indoor plants. No one else in the band was terribly interested in plants, so he was very pleased to finally find someone who shared his enthusiasm. Joe, armed with his years of experience as an uncle, had won Jamie over almost instantly, and had even managed to get Lavender to warm up to him within half an hour of meeting her. By that point she’d persuaded him to play blocks with her on the floor, Jamie having managed to engage Allen in a detailed discussion of their respective football teams’ recent fortunes.

Rami was discussing something Freddie-related with Eve. He’d had an unpleasant moment soon after arriving, when he’d been happily greeted by Eve’s big fluffy grey cat Oberon, only to immediately sneeze and instinctively move away from the poor thing. Once he’d explained he was allergic to cats Eve had obligingly shut away Oberon and his elegant tabby companion Titania for the duration and assured Rami it was perfectly fine, though she did note the irony of her father’s portrayer being allergic to his favourite animals.

Meanwhile Mel was enjoying a rare opportunity to get to know Gwilym and Allen’s partners. This was in fact the first time she’d met them, but thus far they were all getting on famously despite their various differences in age and professional background.

Lucy, having found herself uninvolved in any of the conversations, turned to Ben, who was watching proceedings with a contented smile.

“You look happy” she said quietly. “I am happy” Ben replied. “The prick is finally gone, I get to spend more time with some of my best mates and my girlfriend… life’s good, y’know?” Lucy smiled. “You really like her, don’t you?” “I do” Ben said softly. “More than I thought… well I thought, at the start, she’d be a-a rebound, or whatever, but then I wanted to be official, and she wanted me to meet her family, and I… it’s still so early, we’re moving a bit fast but… I actually quite like it.” “You’re getting serious then” Lucy observed. “I think we are” Ben agreed. “I mean, I don’t want to get too serious too quickly but… I don’t want to not be serious either.” “That’s a good thing, wanting to be serious” Lucy assured him. “And you just do things when it feels right for the two of you, if anyone says you’re wrong they can piss off.” Ben couldn’t help grinning at that. “Thanks, Luce.”

The rest of the afternoon passed quite peacefully, though Ben couldn’t resist the opportunity to stir things up a bit by encouraging Eve to play Freddie’s piano for the assembled company. At the mention of music Lavender immediately requested ‘All Together Now’, clearly still obsessed. Ben got a big surprise when Mel picked up the guitar to accompany herself while she sang, naturally backed by her mums. The others were of course preoccupied with Mel’s fabulous voice, so her playing passed largely without comment until much later, when she and Ben were walking back to her little house.

“I didn’t know you could play the guitar” Ben said casually. Mel smiled. “And the bass, a bit.” “Really?” Ben marvelled. “Haven’t you ever noticed the absurd number of instruments crammed into my sitting room?” Mel joked. “Well, I’ve seen the piano… wait, can you play that too?” Mel grinned. “Of course, darling, why do you think I have the bloody thing?” Ben was intrigued. “Did your mum teach you then, the piano I mean?” “And the guitar, at first” Mel told him. “Papa taught her when she was young, she passed it all on to me when I was old enough. But even when I was very small I liked it when she played, she said.” Ben nodded. “So does Eve play the bass as well?” “No, Uncle John taught me” Mel clarified. “And more guitar, Mum was always more interested in the piano.” “You’re very talented, you know, all those instruments” Ben commented, smiling. “So are you” Mel said. “Drums are hard, you’re pretty good for someone who’s only been playing a few months.” Ben blushed slightly. “Gee, thanks. But you’re… your whole family is, like, ridiculously musical, it’s insane.” “It’s in the blood, I s’pose” Mel said, shrugging. “I suppose it is” Ben agreed.

***

Dexter Fletcher’s arrival on set after the unplanned break heralded a significant change in working conditions. Much of the tension that had previously hung over the set had dissolved with Singer’s departure, and Fletcher brought a much happier, more buoyant energy to proceedings. The disorder that had arisen from the previous director’s frequent disappearances was quickly sorted out, and both cast and crew were soon back on track to produce a very good movie. Their renewed focus meant that the days passed quickly, and Mel felt as though she barely had time to blink before Christmas was upon them all.

The imminent Christmas break triggered many animated discussions about their respective plans between Mel and Ben. She was of course planning to stay in London, while he was going home to Dorset to see his family. Mel was wondering whether to be miffed she wasn’t invited, until Ben reminded her his parents currently didn’t even know she existed. “I’ll tell them when I get home, I want to do it in person” he assured her. In any case Mel wanted to spend at least some of the break with her boyfriend, as did Ben with her, so in the end he decided he would come back to London in time for New Year’s Eve, to finish off the break. “My parents might come up to London after that, for my birthday, I could introduce you to them then” Ben added, as a small sweetener. Mel liked the sound of that.

But before all that came the Deacon family Christmas party, less than a week before the big day. Ben had agreed to go with Mel quite happily, but he was distinctly uneasy as they prepared for the party. “Nervous?” Mel said lightly. “A little” Ben admitted. “But I just… I feel like I’m representing all of the band tonight, I don’t want to screw it up and end up with John Deacon hating all of us.” Mel grinned. “Yeah, Joe would probably wring your neck” she joked. “But he won’t hate the band, he’s already had a good report from Luke.” Ben smiled. “For a minute there I forgot Luke’s met all of us, I keep thinking he’s just met me. But I’m glad you think he liked us.”

”He did, he told me” Mel said, turning to face Ben with a reassuring smile. “I know you’re worried, darling,” she said gently, “but tonight, as far as Uncle John’s concerned you’re not Ben Hardy the actor playing his old friend in a movie about his old band, you’re just my new boyfriend Ben, coming to meet the family for the first time.” “That’s... barely less nerve-wracking, to be honest” Ben admitted, half-jokingly.

“John and Veronica are the nicest people, truly, you’ll be fine” Mel reassured him. “They’re also basically your grandparents” Ben pointed out. “And some of the things I’ve heard about John…” Mel smiled. “The press love to exaggerate” she said. “He can get a bit grumpy when he’s out and about, perhaps, but that’s just because he hates being recognised and pounced on in public. He’s perfectly lovely to people he actually knows.” “He doesn’t know me” Ben pointed out. “Yes, but you’re with me, and he’s known me quite literally my entire life, so I think you’ll be alright” Mel joked. Ben eventually agreed he’d have to take her word for it, and they got on with making their way to the party.

Ben wasn’t entirely sure what he’d actually been expecting, but the enthusiastic greeting he got from Veronica when she let them in the front door reassured him he at least wasn’t going to be made to feel unwelcome. In fact, they’d barely crossed the threshold of the living room when they were set upon by Luke and Cameron, both evidently pleased to see Ben again. They barely had time to draw breath before Ben was being introduced to the rest of the Deacon clan, who all greeted him warmly.

Ben was relieved at the general willingness to welcome him to the fold, though he seriously questioned whether he’d be able to properly remember the names of all their various partners and children. The children themselves were mostly dotted about the room enjoying playing with their cousins, and Ben was already despairing of keeping track of who belonged to which Deacon child.

As Ben and Mel circulated the room, drinks in hand, chatting to each of the guests, Ben noticed a distinct contrast between Mel’s relationships with the eldest and youngest Deacon siblings. She was of course very close to Luke and Cameron, and Joshua seemed to care for her quite a bit too. But Robert and Michael were apparently a lot more distant. There didn’t seem to be any particular tensions, but the significant age gap between them and Mel presumably wasn’t conducive to a close sibling relationship. Laura, conversely, was clearly rather fond of Mel, if in a distantly benevolent older sibling sort of way. Ben was slightly to shocked to realise she was almost the same age as Eve, which must have led to a few interesting experiences when Mel was born.

And then, finally, Mel led him to a corner where a figure in a dark woollen jumper was bent over the complicated-looking stereo system, fiddling with something. Veronica was standing nearby, glass in hand. “Uncle John?” she said softly. The figure straightened up and turned around, and Ben found himself face to face with John Deacon. His once-flowing hair was all but gone, and his face was naturally a bit worn with age, but the crinkly-eyed smile he broke into on spotting his surrogate granddaughter was unmistakable. “Hello Mel” he said quietly, leaning over to embrace her. “We were so pleased when Luke said you’d be coming” Veronica chimed in warmly. “Wouldn’t miss it” Mel said, as they broke apart. “Uncle John, this is Ben” she added, taking his hand as she spoke.

John’s smile dimmed somewhat when his eyes fell on the newcomer, but he shook Ben’s hand politely all the same, before turning back to Mel, not looking entirely pleased at the sight before him. “So how’s work been?” Veronica said brightly, perhaps attempting to smooth over the awkwardness. ”We heard there was some disruption a little while ago…” “There was” Mel confirmed. “But everything’s settled down since we got a new director.” John nodded. “Well at least it’s all going well now” he mused. “Though it did make me wish even more that you’d never got involved in the film.”

Mel sighed, and Ben guessed from her expression, and Veronica’s evident exasperation, this was a long-running point of contention with John. “I’m fine, all the drama had nothing to do with me” she grumped. “You’re lucky it didn’t, if someone found out it’d be a perfect storm for the press” John countered. Mel groaned in frustration. “It’s been six months and still no one on that set knows who I really am” she pointed out. “Surely I’m safe now, there’s only a few weeks of filming left after Christmas.” John glanced pointedly at Ben. “Clearly some people on set have found out the truth.” “Only because I told them, or Mum did” Mel clarified angrily. “And they haven’t spread it around either.”

“It’s only six of us who know” Ben said quietly. “Just the core cast, and we would never sell anyone out to the tabloids.” John seemed unconvinced as he turned to Mel. “D’you believe that?” “I do” she told him. “Do you really think we would have let them in on the secret if we didn’t trust them?” “Your mother wouldn’t” John agreed. “You, I’m not so sure about.” His tone was utterly deadpan, but he was smiling slightly, his eyes shining with mirth. Ben let out a small sigh of relief when he realised John was only joking. When he felt Mel relax next to him he knew everything would be alright, even if all wasn’t quite forgiven just yet.

Later on, after food was served, Ben found himself next to John, left alone after Mel got caught up talking to someone else and Veronica disappeared off to deal with hostess duties. He suddenly felt rather awkward. Of course there were plenty of things he would have liked to chat to John about, but he had also been warned that John Deacon’s past with Queen was something of a ‘sensitive’ subject for him. “It’s not that he never talks about it” Mel had explained. “But he really doesn’t like being asked direct questions about it.” Ben’s usual fallback would have been small talk about his career, which normally fascinated new people, but even that seemed a dangerous topic of conversation given the focus of his current job, not to mention John’s clear reservations about Mel’s involvement in the project.

Just as Ben was wondering if John was going to say anything to him at all, the older man caught his eye, smiling wryly. “I hope you don’t think what I said about the film was anything to do with you” John said quietly. Ben was confused. “What you said about the film?” “I wish Mel hadn’t taken the job on it, but not because of you” John explained. “I just worry she hasn’t even thought about the fact she’s put herself in the one place she and Eve are most likely to be… exposed, shall we say, let alone what might happen if they are revealed to the world.” Ben smiled reassuringly. “The half dozen of us who know won’t tell anyone else, and we’d do anything in our power to keep it out of the press, if it came to that.” “I’m sure you would,” John agreed, “but I’ll still worry about it.”

Suddenly he grinned mischievously. “You know, I wasn’t sure what to think when I first heard Mel was seeing you. All the people she could have fancied at work, and she went for the bloke playing Roger.” “Well, at least she didn’t go for the man himself” Ben quipped. John smiled wryly. “She’s gone for worse, even if he is a bit old for her. Though I should hope Roger still has enough sense to know better than to go after a 21-year-old at his age.” Suddenly John looked thoughtful. “You’re a bit older than Mel yourself, though, aren’t you?” “Only five years” Ben said sheepishly. “It’s alright, that’s not an age gap to be concerned about” John assured him. “Luke and Cameron seem to think you’re alright, and Mel seems very happy, which is the main thing.” “So am I” Ben admitted, wondering whether he was about to get the if-you-ever-hurt-her talk.

But all John said was “That’s all I want, for her to be happy.” He smiled wryly. “She’s an adult now, she’s old enough to make her own decisions, and I just have to trust her not to make any bad ones.” Ben couldn’t decide whether John’s last comment was aimed at him. “I hope you don’t think-” “No, no, not at all, I can see how much you care about her” John reassured him. “So, just remember, she is a Mercury, a rare and precious creature who should be treasured. If you did want my advice I’d tell you anyone who’s serious about her should treat her like the queen she is, but I’m sure you know what you’re doing.” Ben let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, knowing now he had John’s approval. “Of course” he assured John, resisting the enormous temptation to make a Queen reference. It seemed unwise somehow, to draw attention to a topic they’d been carefully avoiding all night. They soon slid into much safer areas of small talk, and in fact John didn’t say much more to Ben after that, but he seemed not to dislike Ben, at the very least.

In fact, John wasn’t particularly talkative for the rest of the evening, but Ben nonetheless got the feeling he’d made a good impression. Well, he hoped he had. He felt rather conspicuous amongst all the Deacons, but they didn’t seem to find his presence particularly remarkable. He did field a few questions about his job, but none of them seemed overly curious, which at least meant he didn’t feel like he was banging on about himself too much.

Much later, when he was home again with Mel, he was relieved to hear she was pleased with how the evening had gone. Apparently Veronica had been very enthusiastic in her approval, and the others seemed satisfied he was a decent person, and seemingly weren’t terribly phased about the age gap. But the best news, at least to Ben, was the fact that John Deacon had apparently indicated he liked Ben already. Suddenly he didn’t think the party could have gone any better.

***

Christmas itself was much the same as always, though Ben left for his parents’ place with some trepidation. Mel for her part enjoyed her family’s low-key London Christmas, even if she did spend a bit of time wondering how Ben was getting on. As it turned out, his family were fairly pleased he’d found someone new, if a bit surprised it had happened so quickly. “Not that they mind much, apparently my mum was already plotting to set me up with one of the the locals before I told her” Ben reported, when he FaceTimed Mel on Christmas night. “So they’re not… unhappy about the age difference?” Mel questioned. “It’s barely a difference” Ben assured her. “But… I don’t think so. They’re pretty keen to meet you, I don’t think they’re too bothered.” Mel nodded. “So they are coming for your birthday then.” “Yeah, you’ll get to meet them very soon” Ben agreed.

In the end, despite Mel’s nerves Ben’s birthday turned out to be a very nice bookend to the Christmas break. His parents were very welcoming, and they seemed to be pleased to start getting to know Mel, at least. She did think she detected a whiff of tension when she mentioned her mums, but it was only a passing mention and as no-one said anything she decided not to dwell on it for the time being. More questions would no doubt be asked later, and if Ben’s parents did get judgmental at any point, she’d have no problems dealing with it head on. After all, she’d been dealing with other people’s attitudes about her unusual family for most of her life, there wasn’t a lot she hadn’t heard before.

***

Once production resumed after the Christmas break, filming was very much on the home stretch, though there was still plenty of fun to be had. One rather unpromising morning Mel was in the midst of organising some spare costumes when an American-accented voice cut through the chatter burbling through the wardrobe truck. “Hi, I’m doing a walk-on today, I was told to ask for Mel when I got to wardrobe?” “Ah, yes, I heard there was a special request.” Mel recognised her boss’s clipped English tones, rather jarring next to the drawling American. “Mel, extra for you!” Mel was slightly startled at the yell, but hurried to the front of the racks nonetheless. She found Barbara smiling warmly. “Special request from Queen; they want you to dress Adam for his scene today” she explained, as Mel emerged into the front.

She was only mildly surprised to find herself face to face with none other than Adam Lambert; wardrobe and makeup had been informed of his cameo ahead of time so they could plan his look. “Mel, this is-” “Adam, I know” she told Barbara. Adam was surprised.“You know who I am?” “Yeah, I’m a bit of a fan actually” she said, endeavouring to keep her tone casual. “Follow me, your stuff’s down here.”

Adam’s jaw had dropped the minute he saw Mel’s face, but he followed her obediently nonetheless. “Uh, has anyone ever told you you look just like Freddie Mercury?” he asked, once he’d recovered himself sufficiently. Mel just managed to hold back an exasperated sigh. “You would not believe how many times I’ve heard that since I started here.” “It’s true though, it’s… kinda scary almost” Adam insisted. Mel turned around to face him, having reached the rack she was looking for. “It’s not scary, it’s just genetics” she said blithely. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m his granddaughter.”

Adam was so shocked at this Mel had to restrain herself from laughing at his expression. “His -? But he never had-?” “He did, he just kept it quiet” Mel explained. “Very quiet, clearly” Adam quipped. “This is, like, super rude, but I just… how did that even happen, Freddie Mercury having a kid?” Mel sighed. “It’s a long story, but basically my grandmother went to a party in Munich, Freddie was there, everyone was drunk or high, or both, and, well, shit happened.” Adam grinned. “Cool story, your grandma partying with Freddie Mercury.” “Yeah, I s’pose it is” Mel agreed. “I’ve never really thought about it to be honest, it’s just… the story of my family, y’know.”

Adam nodded in agreement, but he was looking at Mel with clear curiosity. “So did… did Freddie ever find out about his kid, do you know?” he asked, sounding rather uncertain, almost as if he thought he was edging into risky conversational territory. “He did” Mel reassured him, smiling softly. “And he got to know her very well, over the years.” Adam was understandably confused. “When you say very well…” “Ever heard of someone called Daphne Caddington?” Mel asked. He nodded. “She, like, lived with him for a while, with her daughter, yeah?” “She was my grandmother” Mel explained. Adam’s eyes bugged out in shock. “She was… so does that mean her daughter was-?” “Yep.” Mel grinned. “But Evangeline’s, like, my age and you’re…” Adam mused, puzzled. “She was quite young when I was born” Mel clarified, an amused smile dancing on her lips. “She must have been, like, super young” Adam agreed. Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

“Roger and Brian know about all this, don’t they?” he said quietly. It was barely a question. Mel nodded. “They’ve set us up” he mused. “Probably” Mel agreed. Adam smiled. “Those sneaky bitches.” “Did… did you just call Queen bitches?” Mel questioned. “Oh, they totally are” Adam defended, grinning mischievously. “You should see them in private, they bicker like an old married couple. It’s hilarious to watch… most of the time.”

Whatever the reason Queen had seen fit to make the request, Mel was quite pleased with it by the end of the day. She and Adam had an almost unhealthy amount of fun working together to get him appropriately attired, spending almost as much time cackling over his various touring-with-Queen stories as they did actually working. Despite their differences in age and background they seemed to share a lot of similarities in both interests and personalities, not least the fact they were both musical theatre actors by training.

Adam also seemed a bit awed by Mel’s connection to Freddie, asking her lots of questions in between bursts of work. Frustratingly, she wasn’t able to answer many of them, having never known Freddie herself. “Look, I get that you’re curious, darling, but I really don’t know that much about Freddie, you’d have to ask my mum” she told him, after the umpteenth question she couldn’t answer.

By the end of the day, he’d gone one better and got himself invited to tea at Garden Lodge. Eve had coincidentally happened to video call Mel while she was with Adam, needing an opinion on colours for a half-finished painting. Adam had in fact tried to escape until Mel hauled him over to meet the famous Eve Caddington, who wasted no time in putting him at ease and inviting him round to chat properly about Freddie. “You should come for tea some time, we can have a nice long chinwag over a hot meal” she said kindly. Adam was so stunned he barely managed to squeak out an “Okay!” before Eve hung up. Ever the professional, Adam quickly pulled himself back together and refocused on the job at hand, but Mel couldn’t help thinking there was an extra sparkle in his eye for the rest of the day.

***

Eve made one more visit to the set before the film wrapped. They were filming "the band" appearing on Top of the Pops, and it was all hands on deck. Roger and Brian were all dressed up for a quick cameo, and even Jim Beach was on set. Eve rather doubted he was having a cameo, although she also didn’t think he’d mind too much if he was asked to do one.

Eve was introduced to Dexter Fletcher by Roger himself, with much ceremony. Dexter said nothing obvious, but there was a look in his eye that made her quite sure Roger had spilled the beans about her true identity at some point. At least, she assumed it was Roger, or possibly Brian. There were others who knew, of course, but somehow Eve didn’t think they were the type to gossip, at least not about something like that, and certainly not to the new director.

It soon transpired that Mel had volunteered to be an extra in the background of the “performance” sequence. As the day’s schedule inched towards that part Eve found herself being persuaded to join her daughter in the scene, though she felt she was much too old to be playing a teenybopper in the Top of the Pops audience. The main cast very much disagreed, however. “You’re the same age as us, we’re not that old” Joe pointed out. “And anyway, most of the extras aren’t actual teenagers either” Mel added. “Oh come on, please? It’ll be fun, all you’ll have to do is stand and dance a bit.”

“It would give the scene an extra something, having Freddie Mercury’s daughter in it” a raspy voice interjected. Eve immediately turned around, shocked to see the director himself chiming in. “Roger told me” he added, seeing her confusion. Mel was suddenly uncertain, not having actually asked about adding another extra to the scene. “We don’t have to, if it’s going to be too difficult to change things…” “Nonsense, the more the merrier” Dexter reassured her. “Roger told me about you too, you know. I must say it almost feels like his approval, in a way, having you working here…” Somehow everyone knew ‘his’ didn’t mean Roger’s.

Having received the director’s approval Mel’s enthusiasm quickly returned, and she and Eve spent a very pleasant afternoon moonlighting as extras. In fact, most of the set seemed to be in a good mood that day. The happy atmosphere lasted through most of the remaining days of shooting, almost to the last day of filming. The final day itself, though, was somewhat subdued as everyone had finally realised the carnival really was nearly over.

But after the wrap on the last day came the wrap party, which everyone enjoyed. Roger, Brian and Miami were all in attendance, though Eve had declined the invitation she received after her appearance as an extra. The band were determined to enjoy one last night together, and Mel was almost as set on getting Ben out on the dancefloor at least once.

In addition to the dancing, and the usual drinks and finger food, a bit later in the evening they brought on a spot of Queen karaoke. Joe of course approached it with his usual enthusiasm, and managed to persuade several of the cast, and a few of the crew, to join him at various points. Mostly it was a bit of a laugh for everyone, but then Joe begged long and hard enough that Mel agreed to join him for Bohemian Rhapsody. Her spectacular rendition of the second verse just about brought the house down. Even Queen themselves looked impressed.

“I didn’t know you could sing like that” Roger commented later. Mel was, naturally, with Ben, in a secluded corner. “So can Eve” Ben added. “And they can both play too.” “Just a bit of piano and guitar, nothing special” Mel said, blushing. “Just like your grandad then” Roger mused. “Have you ever considered recording something?” Brian asked curiously. Mel shook her head. “No, not really. Anyway, right now I want to get into musical theatre, but maybe one day...” “Oh, of course, of course” Brian murmured apologetically. “Well, if you ever change your mind I’d be happy to help with the production side of things, if you needed it of course.” Mel was taken aback. Maybe it would be easier than she thought to do more than just theatre. “If I ever decide to record something you’ll be the first to know” she assured Brian.

“Well, whatever you do next, keep in touch, alright?” Roger told her. “That goes for your mum too, I’d like to know what Freddie’s offspring gets up to when she’s not swanning around film sets.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “You know, I should have you both round to lunch next time I manage to round up all of my brood” he mused. Mel wasn’t at all sure how to respond, but she had to admit lunch at Roger Taylor’s house did sound like fun. “I think Mum’d like that, I know I would.” “Partners will be invited too” Roger added, noticing Ben’s less-than-successful attempts not to look miffed at being left out. “Give us a time and we’ll let you know” Mel assured him.

Mel scored a number of comments from various members of the cast and crew as well, mostly complimenting her singing voice. Though a few did notice a resemblance to Freddie’s performance style as well. Even the director wandered over at one point, full of praise. However, it soon became clear he had something of an ulterior motive too. “I want a sort of chorus line for a couple of songs in the Elton John movie,” he explained, “and I’d love to have you in it. If you’re interested in auditioning, of course.” Mel was stunned. “You… you want to cast me in your movie?” Dexter nodded. “You’ve got a great voice, Mel, and exactly the right kind of background for what we’re looking for. I’d be a fool to pass up talent like this that’s just about fallen in my lap.” Mel grinned. “Send me the info and I’ll think about it when I’m a bit more sober.” Dexter seemed satisfied with that response, and soon darted off to talk to someone else looking very pleased with himself.

Mel turned to Ben, still grinning in amazement. “Did you- did you hear-?” she gabbled excitedly. “I’m gonna be in a movie!?” “I heard” Ben assured her, beaming proudly. “You’re a superstar, of course Dexter wants you in his musical… movie… thing.” Ben was still smiling at her, but he was a bit glassy-eyed, and Mel could see the night was starting to catch up with him. “I think you’ve probably had enough for tonight, dear” she said, a clear note of amusement in her voice as she moved his last drink out of his reach. “I do appreciate your support though.”

The festivities didn’t last much longer after that, with many of the crew needing to prepare for flights home the next day. The band were reluctant to say goodbye, eventually deciding to have one last breakfast together the next day before Joe and Rami had to fly back to America. Needless to say, they all regretted choosing an early start when they woke up the next day with pounding heads. Only Mel seemed to be entirely unscathed, although Lucy had also apparently escaped with only a mild hangover.

The others glared at them as they chattered happily over pancakes, though they had perked up a bit by the end of the meal. Even so, it was with heavy hearts that they all finally said goodbye that afternoon, naturally promising to see each other again soon. Exactly when ‘soon’ would be no one quite knew, though Lucy was apparently planning to meet Rami in America when she went over for a job in a few weeks, and Joe was unlikely to be far behind. Mel was sure it wouldn’t be long before Ben caught up with Gwilym either.

*******

Mel had thought, when she started working on Bohemian Rhapsody, that once filming was over she’d go back to her theatre life of auditions and waiting and hoping this part might be the breakthrough that would kickstart a long career. And she did, after taking a bit of time just to relax with Ben and luxuriate in having free time again. Ben was also between jobs, and keen to take a break while he could, knowing he had a round of promotion coming up for another project fairly soon, and more auditions on the horizon.

In the meantime, though, they spent a couple of weeks just enjoying roaming around London together and catching up on all the things they hadn’t had time for during filming. It was a largely quiet and domestic few weeks, though there was a small disruption when one of the more sensationalist tabloids published a couple of photos of them out and about together, with accompanying text proclaiming Ben had been spotted with a “mystery woman” multiple times in recent days.

Mel scanned that paper anxiously over the following days, but nothing more ever appeared. “Those photos were probably from someone who just got lucky anyway” Ben reassured her. “I mean, there’s probably more of them than what was published, but evidently none of them were clear enough to identify you. And ‘former soap star has new girlfriend’ is barely a story, it’s hardly something worth pursuing us over.”“I know,” Mel agreed, “but if they ever did discover who I am, that could be the beginning of how they finally find out about Mum and everything.” Ben found this a sobering thought, but he nevertheless felt it unlikely Eve would be discovered unless the tabloids decided to take more of an interest in Queen, something which could well happen if the movie did well. He refrained from sharing this thought with Mel, however.

Once it was clear nothing more was going to come of the photos Mel turned her attention to her audition for the Rocketman chorus. But just days after sending off her initial audition tape to the producers she had a phone call from Dexter offering her something of an upgrade on the chorus part.

“I’ve changed my mind, I’d really like you to try out for Kiki Dee” he told her, with his usual enthusiasm. “It’s not a big role, but it’s a speaking part at least.” Mel was stunned. “What-? Why-? A speaking part?” “I watched your audition tape” Dexter explained. “Your voice would be wasted in the chorus, not to mention the acting in your reel is streets ahead of everyone I’ve seen for Kiki so far.” “I- uh- Really?” Mel cursed internally at her clumsy response, but she recovered quickly. “I mean, of course I’ll audition for you!” Dexter was very pleased to hear that, and by the time Mel hung up she had a time and a place for a proper in-person audition in the very near future.

The audition, when it happened, went extremely well, and within a few days Mel got a phone call informing her that she’d won the part. She was positively buzzing with excitement when she saw Ben for dinner that night, and he was thrilled for her. “I knew you’d get it, you superstar, well done!” As they celebrated, Ben was slightly startled to realise there was something else he wanted to say to his extremely talented girlfriend. But he kept quiet, knowing the moment wasn’t quite right just yet.

They went back to Mel’s place after their meal, and spent quite a long night together celebrating intimately. The next morning Ben formulated a plan over his coffee, under the watchful eye of Jupiter the black cat, and quietly slipped out before Mel got up. When he returned she was sat at the head of the dining table, Mab purring on the chair next to her. Mel looked up as he came in, breaking into a confused smile when she noticed the large bunch of flowers Ben was holding.

“I, uh, I got you something” he said sheepishly. He smiled as he handed the flowers over. Mel was surprised. "Flowers? Why did you buy me flowers?" "Because. You got your first role" he explained. "Also, you're one of the most wonderful and amazingly talented people I've ever met, and…well, the thing is… I love you." He was suddenly very uncertain as he watched Mel gaping at him, worrying he might be pushing her into something she wasn't ready for. "You don't have to say it back if you're not-, it's ok, I mean I know it's a big deal, but I just wanted you to know" he gabbled, frantically attempting to backtrack.

Mel's face finally shifted into a broad smile. "It's okay, darling" she assured him. "I love you too." She leaned up to kiss Ben, who obligingly leaned down to meet her with a very passionate locking of lips.

“God, I’m so happy you said it back” Ben confessed, when they finally broke apart. Mel grinned. “What, did you really think I might not feel the same way?” she said teasingly. “No, I just - I wasn’t sure if you were there yet” he admitted, shaking his head. “For a moment there I thought I might have freaked you out or something.” “I wasn’t scared, silly” Mel assured him, a hint of laughter in her voice. “I just wasn’t expecting you to say it was all, I just needed a second to get over the surprise.” Ben smiled. “It was a good surprise, wasn’t it?” “An excellent surprise” Mel agreed. As they leaned in to kiss again, she really didn’t think life could get much better.

**************************************************************************************

A/N: And that’s all, folks. This was not where I’d originally planned to end the story but I ran out of steam and then it wound itself to a nice conclusion, so I went with it. There’s a couple of things in this chapter foreshadowing events I had planned for later but I think they still work as just parts of this chapter.

Incidentally, Adam’s comment about Brian and Roger is based on a quote I saw somewhere. I can totally imagine it though, they’ve known each other for a very long time at this point.

#ben hardy x reader #roger taylor x reader #john deacon x reader #bo rhap fic #queen fic #ben hardy #roger taylor #john deacon #Brian May #queen band #freddie mercury fic #freddie mercury #mother mercury

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rallamajoop · 3 years

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Dracula, The Witcher, and the Peter Cushing connection

So, no, I haven't had much new Witcher stuff posted in a while. Still got fics in the works there (the next bit of the Discworld crossover is coming along quite well), but I've been a mite distracted.

That little Dracula kick I was on a few months back evolved into an extended mission to watch all the Dracula adaptations – well, at least most of the major film versions (Nosferatu, the 1932 with Bela Lugosi, the 1958 with Christopher Lee, the 1979 with the hair, the insane 1992 Coppola one, the 2002 Guy Maddin silent-film ballet version with the hot Chinese Dracula...) And though I can't usually watch adaptations of anything I loved without compulsively nitpicking, I've been kind of loving all of them – but that's a subject for another post.

Hammer’s 1958 Dracula, starring Christopher Lee, isn’t necessarily the most iconic version, or even really my personal favourite – but it is where I got a little stuck. It’s the version that costars Peter Cushing as Van Helsing, being the same Cushing you may have seen cited as the visual inspiration for Blood and Wine's take on Regis – y’know, that Witcher-vampire I have been ever-so-slightly obsessed with for the past year or so. Up to this point, I knew Cushing mostly as that guy who played Grand Moff Tarkin in the first Star Wars film – but once it’s been pointed out to you, it’s pretty hard to miss.

We may as well note the irony of CDPR having modeled their vampire after an iconic vampire hunter. Actually, those sideburns aren't even Van Helsing's – these hail from Cushing's time starring as Victor Frankenstein in Hammer's other big-name high-gothic film franchise, which involves no vampires whatsoever.* Still, I suppose Baron-Dr-Cushinstein does spend a lot of time covered in blood and/or hanging around alchemical paraphernalia, which doesn't hurt for relevant visuals where Regis is concerned.

Whichever performance they may be referencing, CDPR’s design for Regis is a charming nod to classic horror cinema, and Cushing's skinny, mild-mannered, pleasantly-authoritative Van Helsing makes a more fitting choice for Regis than any of Hammer's actual vampires. You’d be hard-pressed to find any much better fantasy fancast for Regis than Cushing in his prime.

Now, primed as I obviously was to fall headfirst into what amounts to original-alternate-Regis fandom, the truth is I came out of Hammer's first Dracula film going, "well, that was pretty good – maybe I'll get around to the sequels at some point." But the series’ next entry didn’t do a lot for me (Brides of Dracula, which I am disappointed to say contains neither a) Dracula, nor b) any actual brides thereof), and Van Helsing isn’t even in the next four.

Not until Dracula A.D. 1972 does the series reunite both the original stars, Peter Cushing's Van Helsing (now playing his own grandson) and Christopher Lee's Dracula, and most critics seem to feel the series was long past its prime by this stage. But putting all expectations aside, in watching it, I discovered several things:

Van Helsing II having to calmly, authoritatively explain to a skeptical 70's cop that they’ve got a vampire problem on their hands and somehow pulling it off is EVERYTHING I never knew how much I wanted from this series.

If this film is garbage, it is emphatically MY KIND of garbage. I loved that Van Helsing vs. Dracula is now some kind of epic, generation-spanning rivalry; that Van Helsing II gets some real stakes via his (surprisingly likeable) granddaughter; I loved Johnny Alucard the beta-villain chewing all the scenery, why do people not like this movie?

Despite having aged about 14 years in real time (and perhaps several more internally**), Peter Cushing only gets better with age

I have officially fallen head over heels for this man's face ridiculous cheek bones everything

People, I do not do the whole celebrity-crush thing. Let alone over long-deceased actors from my grandparents' generation. But it quickly became Very Important that I watch pretty much everything Peter Cushing had ever been in. And Cushing (as I may have mentioned in a footnote around here somewhere) is an actor who kept busy.

If I had to summarise what made the Hammer Horror formula work, I think I’d have to go with “enjoyably trashy, but with a touch of class,” – and delving into through Cushing’s back-catalog is like making a laundry list of exactly that class of low-mid-budget 60′s-70′s British horror. Actors like Cushing and Lee lent a similar quality to those films that that Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen brought to the X-Men franchise: a bit of gravitas and a lot of style. Whether playing the hero or the villain, Cushing’s old-fashioned air of authority could carry off an awful lot.

In addition to Van Helsing, Dr. Frankenstein and Moff Tarkin, he also played Sherlock Holmes, an actual vampire, (sort of) Dr. Who, and even Mr Darcy (in a 1950′s TV adaptation of Pride and Prejudice that, to my great disappointment has long since been lost). Unavoidably, there are some films not even he and Lee combined could hope to save, but Cushing single-handedly makes a lot of otherwise-middling films worth watching. It’s a crying shame some of this stuff isn’t better known and remembered today. It’s as hard not to wonder that an actor of this calibre didn’t get to do more higher-brow work, but then again, to quote the man himself, Who wants to see me as Hamlet? Very few. But millions want to see me as Frankenstein so that's the one I do.

My Internet history tells me I first watched Dracula A.D. 1972 way back in May. Honestly, I was kind of expecting to be over it by now, and yet here I am.

Anyway, if you do share my taste in Witcher-vampires, may I also highly recommend Hammer’s Frankenstein series, their Carmilla adaptation, The Vampire Lovers, and 1959′s The Flesh and the Fiends (which is not a Hammer production, but still very much in that vein). Dark Corners’ youtube episodes on the Hammer Dracula and Frankenstein series are great introduction to both (even if I do feel they’re awfully unfair to what is now my favourite Dracula film).

Or if you’re reading this as a Peter Cushing fan, well, I can’t honestly pretend the main Witcher video game series will necessarily interest you – but there is this one relatively-standalone expansion pack called Blood and Wine that just might be worth your time...

* (back) Though to see Cushing at peak sideburns (pictured in the first comparison above), you’ll want 1959's The Flesh and the Fiends (which isn't technically a Hammer production at all, even though Cushing is basically still playing Frankenstein by way of Doctor Knox).

** (back) The story goes that Cushing spent the 70′s doing film after film because he’d recently lost his wife, and was desperately trying to bury his grief in work. Which only makes the number of grieving fathers and/or widowers he plays in his later years that much more ouch to see in effect.

#Peter Cushing #Regis #emiel regis #The Witcher #Dracula #Hammer Horror #Hammer Dracula

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

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Only One Choice, Chapter 2

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

The Hoover building is still quiet at 8 am, weary agents are sipping their second cup of coffee and wrapping their brains around the task of the day. Studying the minds of murderers, rapists and sadistic torturers is enough to spoil anyone’s breakfast, and yet they approach it clinically, objectively. The reward of knowing that you helped take a monster off the streets is barely enough to keep them going, but they do. Maybe even more than that, they live with the guilt of knowing that if they stopped, it might mean one more murdered child or assaulted woman. One more man found floating in the river. So they get up every day and do it again.

Mulder stops by A.D. Kirkbride’s office to say good morning and finds the man angrily shoving the phone back on its cradle with a plasticky crack.

“Morning, sir. Going great so far I gather?” he quips from his spot in the doorframe.

A.D. Kirkbride scoffs, running a hand through his short cropped sandy-blonde hair. Diminutive in stature, Kirkbride is someone to be taken seriously. His pointed features and gold-rimmed glasses convey the gravity of the work they do here each day in his ever-present frown.

“These goddamn worthless couriers are on my last fucking nerve,” he laments, gathering the papers on his desk into one pile with jerky, frustrated movements. “This is the third goddamn time one of them has no-showed. We need that autopsy report from Quantico today, and because this worthless fucking courier decided to get the flu or something, we have to send an agent down there to get it.” He sighs and sits back in his chair, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Can you send Agent Wilkes in here, please, so I can let him know he has to waste two fucking hours of his day driving down there?”

Mulder shrugs. “I can go get it, I haven’t even started on the Marino file yet. It’s a nice day for a drive.”

Kirkbride eyes him skeptically. “You’re a senior agent, Mulder. You’ve earned the right not to be the bitch-boy.”

Mulder laughs good-naturedly. “I appreciate that, sir, but I really don’t mind. I just got the new Radiohead cassette, it’ll give me a chance to listen to it.”

Kirkbride nods and puts his glasses back on. “I guess it’s Wilkes’ lucky day, then. It’s the autopsy report for the Dugan file, you should be able to get it from the pathologist on duty. And don’t fuck around, we need it ASAP.”

Mulder puts a hand to his chest and makes a mock-wounded face. “Me? Fuck around? I would never, sir.”

Kirkbride shakes his head with a smirk and turns back to his computer. “Get the fuck out of here, Mulder.”

It’s a beautiful late-Spring day and Mulder really does appreciate the opportunity to take a drive to Quantico, even during the morning rush hour. Removing his suit jacket and loosening his tie, he pops in the cassette and merges onto I-395 South as Thom Yorke sings Paranoid Android.

Ninety minutes later, he’s parked near the morgue; having worked out of Quantico for years before securing a spot on the small team of criminal behavioral analysts who operate out of the Hoover building, he knows his way around. He first pokes his head into the office the pathologists share and, finding it empty, he moves on to the autopsy bay. The slabs are all clean and free from corpses, which is a relief. As many crime scene photos as he’s seen, the live version always gives him the creeps. A young woman in blue scrubs is perched on a stool with her back to him, filling out a form by hand. He approaches her, speaking when he’s still several feet away so he doesn’t startle her.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for the pathologist on duty,” he says, and she swivels on her seat, her shoulder length auburn hair swinging gently with the motion.

When she turns to face him, he’s momentarily struck by how pretty she is. Her red hair is complemented by ivory skin, a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her Grecian nose. Her eyes are a brilliant shade of blue, not unlike the morning sky he’d enjoyed on his drive down.

“I’m the pathologist on duty, how can I help you, Mr.-” she looks at him expectantly.

“Mulder, Agent Mulder,” he replies, stepping forward to offer his hand.

“How can I help you, Agent Mulder?” she asks, taking his hand with a firm, confident grip, though her palm is dwarfed by his own broad paw.

“I��ve been tasked with picking up the Dugan autopsy report. Seems like there was a snafu with the courier,” he offers, stuffing his hands in his pockets in an attempt to act casual.

She stands, and he’s again struck, but this time by how short she is, barely reaching his shoulder in her sneakers. “That’s an odd task for an agent, isn’t it?” she says as she moves to a small filing cabinet and rifles through its contents.

He moves to stand beside her, leaning against the wall. “I suppose so, but I don’t mind. Nice to take a break from profiling sociopaths now and then.” He feels his heart do a little leap at the small smile that quirks at the corner of her mouth in response. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” he continues.

She turns to him, holding out a file. “I didn’t give it,” she says dryly. “It’s Dana Scully. I did this autopsy myself, actually, and I’d be interested to know what you make of it.”

He opens the file and leafs through its contents as she returns to her post on the stool, picking up her pen. She appears to see this conversation as concluded, but he doesn’t feel ready for it to end just yet.

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard a bit about this case, though it’s not one I’m assigned to. What interests you about it?” he asks as he follows her back to where she’s sat down, taking the stool beside her without invitation. She quirks an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t say anything about it.

“My findings indicate that though there is only one entry point for the stab wound, there were at least 15 distinct entries into that same location, which would suggest that the assailant stabbed him in nearly the exact same location repeatedly. I suppose I’m wondering what would possess someone to do that.”

He watches her speak with rapt attention, transfixed by the soft, sibilant S’s that pour from her pouty mouth.

“Hey Scully, do you know of any good coffee places around here?” he asks hopefully, completely changing the subject.

She gives him a curiously incredulous look. “Scully is my last name, my first name is Dana,” she answers.

He studies her for a moment, then shakes his head slowly. “You don’t look like a Dana,” he finally says.

Her eyebrows lift and he can see that she’s fighting back a smile. “Really? What do I look like then?”

“A Scully,” he says plainly, and his heart fills to bursting at the wry smile he gets in response.

She shakes her head and turns back to the form she was filling out. “There’s a place called Cafe Adamo a few minutes away that’s pretty good,” she answers his question.

“Great, are you free now?” he asks, forcing a calm demeanor even as his palms are becoming clammy.

She snaps her head up from the form to look at him with an open-mouthed expression of surprise, and he sees a bit of panic in her eyes. Not a good sign.

“Oh,” she stammers, “I’m sorry, Agent Mulder, I have a boyfriend.” Her cheeks are reddening in a devastatingly cute way.

He keeps his expression neutral, and can’t resist messing with her a little.

“I just meant as colleagues, Scully, to discuss the file,” he says matter-of-factly.

If she was blushing before, she’s morphing into a tomato now. She closes her eyes briefly and takes a breath. “I-I am so sorry, Agent Mulder, that was very presumptuous.”

He smiles broadly, no longer able to contain how much fun he’s having with this exchange.

“I’m just messing with you, Scully. I was definitely asking you out,” he admits, and her eyes go big before she deflates a little with relief, biting her lip and looking away with a soft smile on her mouth. “Thank you for this,” he says, holding up the file. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

He stands and moves to the door, stopping just before he exits. “Say hi to that boyfriend of yours for me,” he adds, “he’s a lucky guy.”

She blushes again and he takes a moment to soak up the image before he returns to his car. Tossing the file onto the passenger seat, he flips the cassette to side B and hits the road back up to Washington, finding that he can’t seem to get his mouth to stop smiling.

————————————————————————-

She slumps through the door at half-past six, dead on her feet.

“Hey,” Ethan calls from in front of the stove, “dinner will be about twenty minutes, if you want to take a shower.”

He knows that she always likes to shower when she’s performed autopsies, not wanting the stink of the morgue to find its way onto any of their furniture.

“Thank you,” she replies, toeing off her shoes and stopping by to give him a quick kiss before she moves to the bathroom.

The hot spray of the shower is a welcome relief and she emerges feeling much more alert. They sit at the table, sharing the details of their days over shrimp scampi and white wine. They tend to be very thorough in their retelling of their workdays, and Ethan gives a play by play of a meeting with his boss before Dana tells him all about a student who challenged her in front of the class and how she shut him down. She doesn’t intentionally leave out the interaction with Agent Mulder, but it doesn’t come up somehow.

After dinner, they curl up on the couch to watch ER together. Ethan is on his back with his head propped up on the arm of the couch, and Dana fits herself into the vee of his legs, her back resting on his chest. He idly traces his fingers across her collarbone and shoulders while they watch George Clooney and Julianna Margulies grapple with being both coworkers and lovers.

This is their favorite show, and yet her mind continues to wander to those hooded green eyes, and the boyish smile that played across his pouty lower lip. He was very cute, that’s without question, but she interacts with handsome men all the time at work; why is this particular one worming his way into her brain? She shakes her head to clear the thought, then rotates her body so that she’s belly to belly with Ethan, her head resting on his chest. He kisses the crown of her head and she sighs. She’s got a good thing here, that much she knows.

Maybe she should have gotten coffee with him, though, as colleagues. Maybe.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #msr #x files #fanfiction #alternate universe

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serahsanguine · 4 years

Text

Vacation Series Pt. 2. Halloween Surprises Ch, 1

This is the Frist Chapter of the Second book in a two-part series

Book one. - pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6

All chapters can be found Here on Ao3

This Chapter Rating; NC-17 NSFW

Tagging; @skullsmuldon @today-in-fic @baronessblixen @peacenik0

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Summary; The Second Instalment for the Vacation Series. Filled With spooky storeys, vanity fairs and everything in between. Also to fill The October Spooky Exchange the Prompt was Boo.

P.s. Happy Halloween. Happy All Hallows Eve.

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Chapter one; Day one - Arrival.

The lone Gunman had managed to wheel and deal their holiday outlet from the current tenants for two weeks over the Halloween period. Mulder and Scully had also managed to secure a two-week vacation from A.D Skinner for that exact same time frame.

There had been some changes since the last time they went on vacation, the relationship had not only bloomed both in work but also out of it. They hadn’t told anyone but they weren't actually keeping it a secret either. Scully's mom Maggie had found out by accident when she walked in on both Mulder and Scully snuggled up naked wrapped in each other's embrace one weekday when they were meant to be at work.

Maggie was annoyed at first and Scully was extremely embarrassed, but Maggie was happy for them and knew this was coming for a long while and was glad they finally got their act together. She wished she had known sooner but better late than never and from now on promised to either ring or knock before entering her daughter's apartment.

They had arrived a little over an hour ago and Scully got to unpacking their things and Mulder had gone outside to chop some wood for the fire. The Lone Gunman was not due for another day but had warned Mulder that due to it being winter the main electric supply could go out and there were two heavy-duty massive generators in the tool shed and plenty of gasoline. Mulder also noted there were oil candles and wood in the basement of the main house as well as food, water and anything else you would need in case the world came to an end.

Scully had finished putting the last item into the wardrobe then she opened the windows in their bedroom and one in the upstairs hallway before wandering downstairs to open the windows down there as well trying to create a small breeze and let the fresh sea air fill the house. She wandered outside and stopped on the porch steps, Mulder had rid of his suit trousers and changed into jeans that fit comfortably on his hips. Sweat was dripping from his brow, his naked chest shimmering in the afternoon sun, it was cool but not overly cold.

She watched as he swung the axe above is head throwing it down. The sound of the axe colliding with the wood as it split mixing with the crashing of the waves was tranquil to her. She smiled as his muscles tensed and relaxed with each swing he took.

“I think we have enough for now.”

“Hi Scully, are you sure? I don’t want to be chopping again in a days time.”

“Mulder there was already three large piles by the house and you have been at this for over an hour and a half we will be fine.”

“But what if?”

She walked over to him the sand slipping through her toes and crunching under the soles of her feet. She stood in front of him, leaning up and placing her lips on his. His hand snaking around her waist bringing her body flat against his. His tongue invading her mouth he lifted her up, her toes no longer touching the ground. She pulled away and looked into his eyes.

“Did I tell you, that you look beautiful today?”

She giggled as he always had the ability to make her blush. She wasn’t wearing anything special just an old pair of blue jeans and one of Mulder’s jumpers that were overly baggy on her but it was just the way she liked it. Her hair fell down in soft waves around her face that were still covered in freckles from their summer vacation. This was his favourite look on her, it made her look young but still like his Scully, sexy and beautiful.

“Anyway, if our boys want wood they can chop it themselves.”

He smiled at the words ‘our boys’ and placed her back on the ground.

“Yes, I suppose your right.”

“Never thought I would see the day where agent Fox Mulder agrees with me,” she said mockingly smiling the whole time.

“You wound me.”

They both laughed and walked back inside, she sat on the wicker loveseat with her book in front of her waiting for Mulder to snuggle in beside her.

Two hours later the sun had gone down and a chill set in so the windows were shut as were the doors. The blinds were closed and the curtains were drawn, a fire crackling in the background and the radio streamed 80's love ballads playing softly. Mulder had cooked them a smoked salmon with lemon and dill dressing on top of a small rice platter which had stuffed them both to the bone. They sat under Mulders' Navajo blanket he had brought with him talking about the next few days.

“Mulder we're meant to be relaxing and enjoying ourselves.”

“Yes we will, I promise but I have a few things lined up.” Her head resting against his chest, his heart beating into her ear and his arm wrapped around her body while his hand made small circles on her hip.

“Such as?”

“There is a vanity fair at the end of the week. Which the boys have been told by the locals is something fun to do even in this cold. The day after that is Halloween and was having a small get together with jack ‘o lanterns, spooky music and alcohol.”

“Sounds nice. But why is it whenever we come here there is a party involved?”

She burrowed into his chest, even more, feeling her shiver he wrapped the blanket around her tightly, kissing the top of her head.

“If it wasn’t for that last party we wouldn’t be sitting here now as a couple.”

“Hum, that's true.” she shivered again.

“Scully are you feeling ok?” he sounded worried.

“I can’t seem to get warm.” She had learned to say I’m fine only made matters worse and made him worry more, plus with him being stubborn he would carry on pushing the subject until she gave him the answer. So it was best just to tell him how she felt outright instead of beating around the bush.

“I have a cure for that.”

She pulled away and looked at him with the biggest mischievous smile on his face.

“What might that be Mulder?”

Instead of saying any more words his lips touched hers his hands hooking under her legs and he cradled her to his body. He carried her upstairs not bothering to turn on any of the lights. He gently placed her on the bed.

“Be right back.”

He walked to the drawer pulling out a few candles lighting them and setting them throughout the bedroom. The smell of jasmine filled the room, he slipped his t-shirt over his head before walking back to Scully.

He lay beside her, their bodies barely touching but it felt like she was everywhere, her lips upon his, her fingers caressing his skin. Their tongues danced the tango as she pressed her body against his. Her dress scraping and tickling his skin, igniting a fire within him, his cock thick and hard and he could smell her arousal intense under her perfume which only made him worse.

Her fingers danced on his chest, her lips working from his to down his clavicle and lingering across his pectoral muscles. She touched each nipple into her mouth licking, suckling and biting down hard. Before she worked down his stomach her face tickling the hairs making him flinch in pleasure. Her hands undoing the buttons with ease as she slid her hand under the hem of his jeans and the soft cotton of his boxers.

She gripped him tightly and brought him out of his confines, thick, hard and hot inside her hand she brought her mouth to his tip swallowing him whole.

“Jesus Christ Scully,” he sat forward his hands in her hair feeling the fine silky strands slip through his fingers.

He sat back when he felt her tongue lick him from root to tip, watching with her beautiful blue eyes, lustful and dark. His cock disappeared in her mouth, those full, pouty lips focusing on his crown, pulling up and down his shaft

“I love this woman! How did you get so LUCKY?!” he thought as she hollowed her cheeks and began to suck hard.

“Scuuuuully I’m close”

She did something with her tongue and for at least three seconds or more, he was completely helpless, euphoric and vulnerable to her. He felt his balls swell and tighten as he erupted into her mouth his seed flowing hot down her throat. She swallowed every last drop and let him go with a pop.

She looked at him and smirked at the pure look of ecstasy written on his face. He hooked his hands and brought her up to him. His lips upon hers his hands undoing the zipper on the dress and it slowly fell to her hips. His lips instantly locked onto her pink pebbled nipples suckling them, her body writhing under his touch.

“Mmmm.. OH god…”

She was overly sensitive these last couple of weeks but it only highlighted the pleasure, his hand slipped to her folds as she raised her hips and his cock slipped within her tunnel.

She arched her back and he thrust his hips, skin crashed against skin. The smell of sex, sweat and jasmine lingering in the air. Her oceanic eyes locking onto his hazel ones with the reflection of love, lust and pure bliss shown there. Her skin broke out in goosebumps and her walls clamped down, her body twisting in.

“Mullllddder”

She saw stars and then everything went black as she fell into a deep slumber. Mulder wrapped a sheet around her naked form and took off his trousers and slipped around her spooning her, he heard her sigh in contentment and soon he slipped into sleep with her.

#txf fanfic #TXF #The X-Files #the x files #the xfiles #the x-files fanfic #The X Files Fanfic #msr fanfic #msr #all hallows eve #halloween

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cloversreblogs · 6 years

Text

Memento Mori- ABHOT submission

@aphabriefhistoryoftime

Links: FFN.net, AO3, Wattpad

Remember that you have to die. One day, you will be gone. One day, you will be forgotten, and the legacies you leave in this realm will be left to rot. He, the Kingdom of the Franks, was always afraid of this truth. So he will do whatever it took for him to stay in power. Even if it meant killing his kings.

Fandom: Hetalia: Axis Powers

Characters: APH Kingdom of the Franks (OC), APH France, APH HRE/Germany, APH Lotharingia (OC), APH Aachen (OC), many mentioned nation OCs (APH Gaul, APH Saxons, APH Alemanni, APH Rome, APH Germania), many mentioned Frankish rulers (Clovis I, Louis the Pious and his 3 sons, Charlemagne)

Genre: Tragedy, spiritual

Rating: T

Warning(s): Strong dealings of death, 2 attempted murders (regicide and sororicide), existential crises, overall a very depressing fic, don’t read if you have an existential crisis

Words: 5.1K

Yeah it’s a lot of angst here. If you want any sunshine and rainbows, then oh man have you gone to the wrong place

Please note that I am not a historian, so if there were any mistakes in regards to history, please let me know, and that will be noted.

This fic is set during and after the Treaty of Verdun, which marked the end of the Carolingian civil war. It split the Carolingian Empire into 3 territories, East, Middle, and West Francia, and in most cases, marked the end of the kingdom of the Franks. Some say that the Kingdom of the Franks never ended, however, and instead evolved into Modern France and Germany. In my interpretation, the Treaty of Verdun is the official death of the kingdom of the Franks, and so he died entirely when the last king of the Carolingian Dynasty (Charlemagne’s dynasty) died.

For all of you wondering what Frank looks like, he looks like Odin Grina

East Francia/Karl- HRE/Germany

Middle Francia/Lotharingia- original OC

West Francia- France

I headcanon France and Germany as related, which is partially thanks to this comic

Treaty of Verdun. August, 843 A.D.

Verdun-sur-Meuse, Carolingian Empire.

Memento mori.

Remember that you have to die. One day, you will be gone. One day, you will be forgotten, and the legacies you leave in this realm will be left to rot.

Even nations, no matter how prosperous or deific they were, submit to this rule and fall. From fresh, new nations too prone to death, to ancient empires that crumbled at its own power.

He, the Kingdom of the Franks, was always afraid of this truth. That any memory of him will fade into oblivion once he's gone. When will this happen? How? Due to this fear, he lived by Carpe Diem. To seize every day to the best of his ability, in hopes that by doing so, his legacy will live on further.

But now, his end his end was near. Too near. The pain inside his skull pulsed in the torment of civil war. The war between Louis the Pious’ three sons tore his sanity and mind apart. If not careful, they could divide his land. He could not live past this war, he could not. It was a feeling deep down his guts, instinct, that told him that nevermore will he be an empire.

He had lived past several other civil wars. This one shouldn’t drive him to the absolute breaking point yet, it shouldn’t. It was too early. Rome had a legacy of over a millennium, his own had not lasted half as long. Why would he, a warrior, a conqueror like him, perish under the hands of his own rulers? It was not right. He was a nation, he was strong. He will emerge, alive. No matter what it took.

As the quill stained the surface of the parchment, he gripped tighter onto his dagger. Frank’s forehead was damp, and his lungs ache for air. Fear rattled deep within him. How come? He told his gentle self. This was no different than on the battlefield.

If they died, he would live.

Screw your courage to the sticking place, he scolded. It will be like in battle. A stab at the heart or better, the head, and it will be over. It didn’t matter if they were his kings. He was their nation, and only he will say in who lives and who dies.

The dagger’s handle pained his palm as he gripped it and welled up his nerve. As the other members of the court watched them, he shifted to behind the last of the sons who signed the parchment. Slipping a bit of the dagger out its sheath, he squeezed his eyes together and pulled it over his head.

With all his might, he brought the blade down. A grip held his wrist up above their heads.

When he flung his eyes open, he saw a court member and a guard stopping his blade from descending. Fury burning within him. he yelled and struggled as the court members gasped in shock at the spectacle.

Not yet. Not yet! One movement and he will live. He will not go gently yet!

He…

He...

The furious fire dissipated as a hollow feeling filled him. His mind went blank, and the room spun.

The paved floor below him rippled, and he lost his footing as all the nerves in his body collapsed.

The treaty. He had been too late. The sons had signed the treaty during the commotion. As he fell, he saw three boys clad in white linen, appearing behind each of the sons.

His head hit the stone floor, and a crack wrecked through his skull. There was some commotion in the room, drowned out by an uncomfortable buzz. The light of the room darkened. While his head throbbed harder, he slipped into unconsciousness.

Frank groaned as he came to, and winced in pain at the pain at the back of his head. His head was wrapped up in a bandage, and as he looked around, he realised that he was placed back into his chamber. A hollow, nauseous feeling washed over his entire self. He didn’t feel like anything alive.

He knew why. The three boys behind each of Pepin’s sons had confirmed his worst fears.

Never before were there other personifications of his kingdom than him. It was always just himself, and his watchdogs of kings, dukes, and princes.

Now, he was back into his room. The grey granite of the castle room was dyed a cold, indigo blue of twilight. It was midnight when he became unconscious. How long had it been since then? The quiet was not right either. Only the trees and wind outside rustled and howled. He had been changed into a linen nightgown. His silken clothes sat beside him, with his sword in its scabbard resting on top. The dagger was removed.

Frank's head collided with the pillow. He was so pathetic. Was a scratch of the quill against parchment what had ended him? Was-

The sound of stone scraping against shoe echoed in the room.

He spun his eyes towards where the noise came from. While he was worn down, his senses honed from his hunting days were still sharp. A shadow in the far end corner that hid away from the window’s light. He peered, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. A ripple of white linen stood out in contrast of the dark.

The same clothes that each of the boys wore.

“Come out, all three of you,” he ordered. His voice came out scratchier than he had expected, but it was clear enough to work. There was some shuffling in the shadows, before one of them came out, the dying sun illuminating him.

He was a spitting image of when he was a child. Blonde hair, his fog blue eyes, everything. On closer inspection, Frank realised his mistake. Judging from the round quality of her face, it was a girl.

“You… you are the Kingdom of the Franks,” she whispered, voice like the breaths of wind. This child had a lighter voice. Two children and a girl.

“Yes.” In response, she gripped her nightdress, clearly wiping the sweat off of her palms on the linen.

“I-I am Middle Francia.” The way she had said it told him that she was instructed to say it. Like as if he was a dying man who was supposed to pass his wisdom to his heirs. Fools, if they thought that was the last of him.

By now, the other two children came out also. West and East Francia, he presumed. They were dead ringers for the girl, though they were both clearly boys. He squinted. If the girl looked like him when he was a child, the two boys looked closer. One of them had blue eyes the shade of spring skies that sparked with a certain warm kindness. He had seen those eyes before-

oh, no. No no no. Those were Gaul’s eyes. What cruel joke was this? Brung back to haunt him- Frank snapped himself out of it. The boy’s kingdom probably included Gaul’s land. It happened. When a child personification inherits the land of a previous personification, they would always inherit some kind of trait from them, whether if they were related or not.

The other boy had lighter hair, but paler eyes. Frank frowned. He resembled Alemanni, the tribe that was annexed into the kingdom. They both had an expression of nervousness, but the first one had a clearer expression of uncertainty, the lighter haired one tried to hide it with sternness and courage.

A buzzing sensation filled his ears. The room spun. Before they could continue, the room around him turned blurry, and everything blacked out.

To his shock, he didn’t die straight away.

Why? After the treaty, it should have been the end of him. Unless it meant that fate decided to spare him a while longer.

Every dawn, he hoped for a chance that the ruler would come to his senses and reunite the empire. Every dusk, that wishful fulfillment was left to dust. Every day, that hope would fade more and more, until it rotted into bitter anger.

Such an easy task. He should have risen up. Frank glanced down at his hand. He twitched a finger, but a migraine and a nauseous sensation filled his head. His ears rang. With all of his strength, he lifted his hand up, ignoring the sick feeling that came with it.

Not even a foot up, his nerves collapsed, and his hand fell back onto the duvet. Frank welled up all of his strength again, but his mind fogged, and he collapsed back before he drifted back into unconsciousness.

Every day, his strength weakened, and more humiliation filled him every time.

Every day, all he could do was lie down, and watch as the sunrise turn to the sunset, midnight turn to noon, and the Summer turn to the Winter.

It drove him insane. How long had it been since he had ‘died’? All conception of the time was lost. Only the sun and the moon told him how long. How many times did the sun set and the moon rise? A lot. What had happened to his kingdom outside of this cell?

Pathetic. He was absolutely pathetic. What had become of him? A respected empire now bedridden.

This was not the end of him. He will not allow it.

Day. Night. Sunrise. Noon. Sunset. Summer. Autumn. Winter. Spring. Watch.

And repeat.

A scream pierced the night. He had enough.

Frank grabbed his sword that was sheathed in the scabbard. He pulled out the weapon, and with all his gathered might, stood up.

He squeezed his eyes shut at a migraine. The strong pulse like he had bashed his head into an iron church bell, but he gripped his sword tight. The stone floor shattered his knees, and a spike of pain pierced his abdomen. A scream of pain escaped.

When he opened his eyes, blood dyed black spilled on the moonlit floor.

A guard had carried him back. He wanted to struggle against it, but his mind was too fogged to do anything. Stop it. Stop this! He wanted to say, but the pain in his head pulsed too much.

For the night, shameless tears were shed. Pathetic.

The event was a slap in his face of how much he withered since. He wanted to forget about it. He didn’t want it to happen again.

Since then, more people came into the room, mostly maids. For the first time, a maid peeked her head through a gap of the door, her eyes wide. The whole time she stayed inside, she shivered. As if he was a resting dragon with unimaginable power. She had a duster with her, as well as a cognac bottle and some cloth.

She pulled back the cover. With shaky hands, she applied the cognac onto his wound. It stung, but Frank stayed silent.

Now that they knew he was not of any threat, the maids would no longer shiver. Instead, they hummed, as if they were alone, cleaning in their own homes.

The wound would not heal. It clotted, but it wouldn’t harden.

To his disgust, sometimes it was one of the three children who entered. As the maids grew more and more used to him, they visited more often.

West Francia, who called himself Francis, was the one who visited him the most. East Francia visited him also, but it was to console with him with politics, warfare, and advice of the court. He even chose his name to be Karl, after his ruler Charlemagne, the one who had started his golden years of the Carolingian Renaissance. Francis simply told him of his day to day life.

At first, he was a little disgusted. Was he the heir to his land? A ruler should be strong and battle worthy. He hated being pitied, which was why Francis talked to him. For a while, he resented him, and so didn’t pay attention to what he was saying.

One day, he reminded himself-- he was a child.

What did he do when he was his age? He didn’t care about becoming an empire back then, he just lived as he did. His desire to become an empire came only when Clovis I suggested it to him.

It was better having company and someone to talk to rather than rot on a bed. Before he knew it, he started to look forward to his visits. It took his mind off of his current state and allowed him to simply let be, to actually enjoy himself for once, even if it was just listening to him speak.

“Frank… is it lonely up here?”

Lonely? More like stuck in the labyrinth of his own thoughts to compensate for the months of being bedridden.

“Yes. I suppose.” The way he said it touched him a little, how he thought enough of him to ask this.

One time, Karl stopped when he saw Francis already talking to him. With envy in his eyes, Karl backed out.

Already was East Francia focused on glory, while his brother was focused on the little things in life. What did he focus on when he was a child?

He focused on living his life. Playing with his brothers, hunting game in the cool, green glade. Never did he want to become an empire in the first place… it was only at the suggestion of Clovis II that it grew into a desire.

What stood out to him was that only once did Francis call him a father, and that was only when he first began visiting him. It was opposed to Karl, but he had a feeling that it was more towards duty than an actual connection.

He couldn’t call himself one either. A father should be a parent who protected his kids, no matter the cost. He was too young to be one. His empire lasted for less than a millennia. He doubted that he reached 20 physically.

Frank remembered his father, Germania, a whispered legend amongst his siblings. He did his best in raising them all. It was not a glamorous upbringing, he wasn't by their side all the time, but he was always there when he needed him. Always there to guide him.

But now he couldn’t even stand up. He was a crippled man. Yet he still had the audacity to call him their father?

Francis’ visits thinned in quantity, from every day slipping to every week to every month, from hours worth of conversations to quick recaps of what had happened. Now, it had been a year since he last saw him.

One day, it was not Francis, nor Karl, nor the maids which came in, but a girl.

A girl with blonde, braided hair appeared behind the door. She was clad in fine clothes and armour, so it could not be one of the maids.

Middle Francia. Frank realised that it had been a long time since he had seen her.

“Can you please teach me?” She whispered. She hung her head down in a way that told him she feared him.

“Teach you what?”

“Fighting strategies.” Fighting strategies?

"Is that all?"

“Yes. I want to be able to defend myself from invaders.” That was a new reason. Unlike Karl who learnt battle techniques for the opposite reason.

“Defend from who?” Her eyebrows knitted into a frown as she looked down and chewed her lip.

“I’ve forgotten what they were called.” She was lying. Perhaps it was because she was too prideful to say who. He used to do that.

“Forgotten? Then learn their names. To fight an enemy, you need to know your enemy enough, find a weak place, and target that.” She nodded, her features tense, before she looked to the floor, thinking. Frank remembered how he’d ask his father for defense strategies, and plan it out in his head just like her. The girl reminded him of himself more so than he had thought.

“Your land contains the centre of my kingdom, correct?”

“Yes.” The centre of his kingdom contained his homelands before he became an empire. No wonder she reminded him of himself.

Frank realised that she had never told him what his human name was. “Have you picked out a name for yourself yet?”

“No. But I’m named Lotharingia rather than Middle Francia now."

For the rest of the afternoon, they discussed defense strategies-- she was reluctant to learn offense strategies.

Finally, she did a small bow. "Thank you for your time," she bid. Without a second word, she left.

When the door clicked close, he resumed into his limbo.

He hoped that either Lotharingia or Francis was visiting the next time the door creaked open. To his surprise, it was Karl. But Karl was lacking the air of focus in his eyes. Something was wrong.

“How’s your sister? I haven’t heard from her in a while.” At the word sister, Karl tensed up. Frank rose an eyebrow at the act, and a pang of horror struck him. It couldn’t be. Was she dead?

Karl placed a bloody knife onto the bed.

“I... I am the true heir of the Franks. Right?”

Lothairingia’s land contained his homelands.

Karl must’ve felt the cold stare down his neck. He backed away as Frank tensed.

"Did you kill her?" He growled. Karl's head shakes released tension from within his head, but the audacity of the attempt left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I... I-I'm-"

“Leave,” he commanded. “Take your blade with you.” Karl staggered back to the door. He looked away from his gaze, his blonde fringe sticking to his sweaty, pasty forehead before he reached the handle and left.

The red stain remained a horrid copper smell that started to fill the room. Frank dug his nose into the pillow to muffle it.

So that was what they were concerned of the most. Whether or not they were his true heir! A dreaded feeling in his gut, instinct, told him that Francis desired the same. What he had thought were Francis’ comforting words were now techniques to win over his favour. What he had thought were questions of a nation were now methods to surpass him.

Was that all they cared about? Being the true heir? No wonder Lotharingia asked him of fighting strategies. No wonder she never mentioned the names of the invaders. Because they were the ones who attacked. She never even pick out a name for herself!

Was this the fate of the ones less fortunate than oneself? In the act of becoming great, people below perish? He never thought much about war. Something about Lotharingia's death snapped his heartstrings in half. He thought of how he and his siblings fought. Was this why Germania was never there?

For the night, he allowed himself to be in sorrow. The next time he regained consciousness, his temples were wet.

But the world outside of the castle walls moved on. He longed to be out there. Under the sun as the smell of trees blew with the wind, into the forest catching game, swimming in the lakes cool from the shade, but instead, he was stuck in this miserable fucking hellhole.

He sighed. What good was it to resist that urge to swear? Eternal damnation in exchange for just one curse word? He’d take that any day.

Was this what he deserved? Under Clovis I, he converted to Christianity and set out to convert the rest of Europe as well, to free people of the so-called damnation. Yet people who died because of him.

Gaul. Saxon... he had told himself that it was for the good of Europe. Now that he witnessed an attempted fratricide, he wondered if it was worth it.

There were rumours that Rome was still alive. Was he rotting somewhere like him, begging for death to take him swiftly? Drifting from consciousness to unconsciousness, too tired to care?

He mused for a while longer. His eyelids grew heavy, and he fell back to sleep.

—-

The sensation was as if a pail of cold water was splashed onto him. He was dry, lest for sweat that glued his hair and clothes onto his skin, but awake, as if he had woken from a dreaded dream.

A maid pouring him water yelped in surprise and spilt some drops of water onto the bed.

His head was spinning as if he was sick. Sick… he hadn’t felt that way for years. Tired? Yes. But that was a lack of feeling. Right now, he felt alive. Sick, sure, but alive and breathing. Frank actually felt alive. Heaving in, breath by breath, the cold air shocked and rejuvenated his lungs. The maid flinched when he looked her way, gripping her water jug tight.

What had happened that made him feel so alive? Frank heard chatter and music from downstairs. A celebration? He connected the event of the celebration to him awakening… was his empire reunited? Frank ordered the maid to fetch his clothes and got dressed, and cursed at his feeble knees and ankles as he went down the stairs. Being bedridden for years, his bones ached and wobbled all over. Before he could reach the end, his knees collapsed. He gripped onto the iron railings to stop himself from crashing downwards but hissed in pain as his knees crashed into the cobblestone stairs.

He forgot his pain when in the dim light, the bones of his hands pressed white against his skin. When did his hands turn so thin? Feeling his face, he noted the loss of softness in the cheeks. Around his eyes, his cheeks, it was bony. He felt his chin and frowned at his beard. Even when he didn’t shave, his beard hadn’t grown much. Had his limbo stopped it?

The sound of lutes and gossip caught his attention. Frank noticed the door in front of him. Standing up, he opened it and flinched at the bright lights.

Nobody stopped when he entered the room. Compared to the greens, reds, and blues of the guests, Frank's clothes had faded into a grey colour. As he made his way through the crowd, Frank realised that he didn’t recognise anyone attending the party. All the noblemen, noblewomen, he swore he could see some resemblance to people at the court he had known. How many generations had he skipped?

Until he saw a flash of blonde in the crowd. It was his capital Aachen.

“Aachen?”

Said capital turned around. He stared blankly, like if he was a stranger.

“Aachen. It’s me.”

Aachen gasped as his forehead turned white as if he had seen a ghost. He couldn’t blame him, he had been bedridden for decades. He must’ve thought that he was dead.

It was strange to see him now. While it had only been 40 years since he had last seen him, the city in question had grown his hair a bit longer. He cleared his throat and placed his goblet on the table.

“A lot has changed since the treaty,” he muttered, looking away. “This is Charles the Fat’s coronation.”

“Fat?”

“Yeah, look at him. He’s... “ Aachen stopped and cleared his throat. “Big.” Frank looked forward, and the King was indeed fat, big was an understatement. Even now, Aachen was still cowardly and soft-spoken.

“Did the kingdoms reunite?”

“There was no more heir for the West, so he was crowned King.” So it was something by chance that he was resurrected, but in no way was it an attempt to revive him.

His eyes wandered across the coronation, recognising nobody until he saw Francis. Francis had grown taller and grew his hair longer to his shoulders. His eyes wandered around, and he saw Karl, who had trimmed it into a neat bowl cut. Francis was joking with some other nobles, his capital focused on a book, while Karl was talking with his own capital. The two stood away from each other. A larger divide between the two has formed since he had last seen them.

Karl caught a glimpse of him but was distracted by another court member. Barely a glimpse. Like he couldn’t be bothered with.

He frowned at Lotharingia's absence. Where was she? It seemed only yesterday since that dreaded day, yet still, the court members joked like nothing had happened. Was she too unwell for the coronation? At such a young age?

Memento mori. Remember that you have to die. No matter what you are, the world moved on. Like him. He was a ghost that no one, not even his former capital, recognised. His role in the narrative was over. No longer was he in charge of the narrative, but he was now a bystander who could only watch as the world unfolded before him.

Was this why people pass away? Because the final chapter of their narrative was finished. There was nothing left for them to tell, and so the world moves on from them.

Perhaps the dream of becoming a mighty Empire like Rome was a luxury only a few could afford. To be remembered, admired. But maybe even Rome one day will be forgotten. People used to praise him back when he was recognised. But look at him now. Maybe it will take much, much longer, but Rome, too, will be forgotten to time’s abyss.

Frank admitted that it had been a decent life.

Once Charles had died, he was resumed into becoming bedridden.

Not even fate had decided to revive him. The last few years were a test of the waters, to see if he was still viable as a nation. Apparently not.

At last, he felt a twinge within him. In Greek myth, the sisters cut the strings of souls who were due for the Underworld. A nation had one for each citizen within them. Whenever they break, they were unnoticeable, nothing more than the pain of a hair being pulled out. Over the course of centuries, as fewer people aligned themselves as a member of his nation, the strings had been pulled out one by one. Until at last, there was only one strand left.

Frank sighed in relief as the last connection snapped within him. It was the last King, Louis V. He was waiting for that one to break. A nation’s people was everything. He now understood that the condition of leaving your roots to let them start new ones was a consensual one. And now, his time had come.

Perhaps it was the very nature of nations like him. No matter how powerful, it was always the most unexpected and simple route that brought them to their demise. Rome, though mighty and grand, fell at his own power. Even after Hellenising the world, Greece’s empire eventually fell apart due to its size. His demise was not as mighty, or grand, but rather, as a result of some scratches of ink on the paper.

What was born of flames die in flames, and what was born of dirt die of dirt. He had lived for centuries as an empire, so long that he had forgotten his origins as a group of tribes by the Rhine. Wouldn’t living a life of flame mean that one would end in them?

The sound of a door swinging open shocked him out of his thoughts, and he spun his eyes around.

True to his prediction, Francis stood, his blonde hair brushed into a small ponytail. This was the first time that he had seen him in decades. He cleared his throat.

“They call me Frank now.”

“Frank?”

“Or France. I-I’m still calling myself Francis, though.” His voice was shaky as if he was aware that this meant that it was the end of him. Already his legacy had become his, became a part of him. Already had those who called themselves the Franks thought of Francis rather than him as their leader. Frank simply nodded.

“l see. Karl?” Francis frowned a little in response.

“Well… he named himself the Holy Roman Empire.” His title. His name. The Holy Roman Emperor was a name that Charlemagne had been appointed to. And now… now his name was given to his successor. Both of his names were taken. It was funny. Karl, the successor who dreamt of glory, inherited his title, while Francis, the successor who didn’t focus on that as much inherited his original name.

“Francis, listen,” he croaked.

“Hm?”

“My time… it has come to an end,” His vision was darkening, and a feeling in his gut, instinct, told him that it was today.

“An end?” He nodded.

“It’s time for me to leave.” He groaned and felt the muscles in his neck loosen. Francis knelt down and held his skeletal hand, worn out compared to his own, before stroking it. Frank frowned, remembering his tactics to win his affections. “I know you want to be my true successor.”

A gasp escaped out of Francis. He sighed, as he searched for an answer. “I… I want to be loved. Admired. Like you.” Love. Admiration. Ironically both concepts that his reign had lacked. Did anyone love him? Did anyone admire him? No.

“I was never loved or admired, Francis. No one remembers me now. Unless you rise to the glory of Rome himself, unless you reconquer all of Europe again, you will forever be stuck in the shadow of the greats. Forever you will be forgotten by history as just another impersonator.” Realising his muscles were tense, he lied back down. “Look at me, for example. Does anyone still admire me?”

“I admire you! Karl-”

“I am respected only because I mimicked Rome. But what else is there? Tell me!” He scolded. Francis took a step back. Frank calmed down as a headache rose. “If you want to be loved, don't follow my footsteps. More than one nation wants to rise to the glory of Rome, but few succeed." There were so many more things he wanted to say. Who will admire you once they forget you? And even if your legacy was admired, what good was it to lead more people to the hopeless endeavour of fame? He chose to stay quiet. "I doubt that they were loved because of it. Understood?”

“... I-”

“Yes or no, do I have to repeat myself?”

“No, you don't. I understand.” Frank’s features relaxed.

“Good.”

When he lied back and closes his eyes, a small smile formed on the side of his mouth. His vision darkened much faster than usual, but not of drowsiness.

Death was easier than falling asleep. With sleep, you had to be drowsy first. With death, you simply lie back and let be.

I’m still unsure about the date that Frank died tho since people still saw themselves as the Franks. I found out that the Capetian Dynasty, the dynasty that succeeded the Carolingian Dynasty, saw themselves as Frankish. So I could just mark Frank’s death with the date of the last ruler’s death, right? Well nope, cause this dynasty ended during the French Revolution. Just imagine the comedy!

“Francis. Listen. My time… it has come to an end.”

“You’ve been dying and saying that for 900 years now oh my lord”

Thank you for reading!

#abriefhistoryoftime #aph kingdom of the franks #aph france #aph hre #tw: death mention

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themountainsays · 4 years

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I love it when frozen fanfics include more XIX century technology than the movie did. I'm reading Cold War right now and I'm LOVING the use of firearms (SPOILERS BUT anna shooting a werewolf with a musket makes me gay i can't wait to see what happens next). It was always weird to me how medieval the technology in Frozen was when it takes place somewhere between 1840 and 1880, depending on who you ask (but I'm 90% sure the first movie takes place either in 1844 or in 1839). (This also applies to Tangled but we're talking about Frozen here). It's funny when the 900 A.D dragon vikings in HTTYD had more advanced technology than contemporary post-industrial revolution germany and scandinavia. There were no firearms (which is understandable. I think it's illegal), no trains, no steam ships, no factories, no telegraphs... considering how there doesn't seem to be an strong industry either, it makes sense.

But wouldn't it be super cool to see all of that. Electricity, trains, steamboats... especially if it's supposed to take place in the 1880's.

I'm definitely not rambling about my own plans for my own fic. Nope. Totally. Me? In love with the idea of Anna fighting with a musket? Why do you say that?

#if princess mononoke can do it so do i

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anonymous-dentist · 3 months

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Despite what Apa Roier says, Pepito knows a great many things about the world.

Like:

The Ocean is big. It's where Pepito and Apa Roier and all the other Pepitos live, but there's still room for SO MANY other Pepitos!!

Pepito's gills don't work right all the time, so Apa Roier and Pepito's other dads all have to swim slowly so they don't lose him. This is called "asthma", and Pepito is probably gonna grow out of it soon!

Water Pepitos live in The Ocean. Sky Pepitos live outside of The Ocean. Pepito hasn't ever seen a Sky Pepito before, but Apa Roier has, and he says that Sky Pepitos are all ugly and they smell bad.

Apa Roier will return Pepito to the bottom of the ocean and get a new Pepito if Pepito isn't a good Pepito.

Pepito knows that last thing very well. He pretends that he doesn't because it makes Apa Roier said every time Pepito mentions being traded in for a new Pepito, but it's true. It has to be! Apa Roier and Apa Mariana both say it, and they're never wrong!

So, when Pepito does the Very Bad Thing, he doesn't wait for Apa Roier to find out. He swims himself to the bottom of the sea, and he curls into a ball, and he pulls his glasses off so he can cry without getting them all gross, and then he cries.

There's blood under Pepito's claws; he can't get it out no matter how hard he scrubs at them with the sand, it won't come out and that just shows how evil Pepito is, because Pepito is a bad Pepito and now Pepito may as well just die. Apa Roier will get a new Pepito, and they'll be much happier together because that Pepito won't be a monster like Pepito is.

The bottom of the ocean is silent, because the only people who live there are lost little mermaids (like how Pepito and Sunny and Empi all used to be) and bad people. Bad Pepitos, just like Pepito is now.

The worst of the bunch is the Sea Witch, known for his eight long scary tentacles and his glowing white eyes and his evil magic. Apa Roier says that the Sea Witch eats lost little Pepitos, and Pepito believes him, because Apa Roier is always right.

Pepito sniffles and rolls onto his back, staring blindly up at the sun rippling above. It's blurry, and its light barely reaches the bottom of the ocean, but it's pretty. It looks... warm. And Pepito is very, very cold.

Normally when the water is a bit too cold, one of Pepito's dads or Ama Rivers will take Pepito into their arms and hold him real tight until he's warmed up. He always treats it like a hug even if Apa Roier doesn't usually hug back, but that's fine because all the others hug back.

("He's a good boy," Apa Roier says. He glares over Pepito's shoulder at Luzu. "Not a killer. Can you get that through your skull, hmm?")

Pepito's lip wobbles and he covers his eyes with his hands before he gets any bright ideas. He doesn't deserve bright ideas, he's a villain. He doesn't deserve the sun, he doesn't deserve to be a son. He's no better than a... than a... than a pirate!!

Pirates are evil, Apa Roier says so. He met a pirate once when he visited the Sky, and he says that he never wants to see a pirate again. They stink and their teeth are rotten and their nails are blunt and they don't even have tails. All they do is kill and steal and fight and they're horrible- villains!

Maybe that's where Pepito belongs, with the pirates, not in The Ocean. He deserves to have stinky breath and bad teeth and whatever the heck "legs" are (Pepito doesn't know, but Apa Quackity always starts laughing when he describes them, so they have to be stupid.)

The Ocean is where all the Good Pepitos live. Pepito isn't a Good Pepito anymore, so he needs to leave.

There's only one person who can make Pepito into a Sky Pepito, and he lives at the bottom of the ocean.

Pepito whimpers at the thought, but he quickly wipes his eyes and sets his jaw into a firm, determined expression. He slips his glasses back on, and he pushes off of the ocean floor and goes in search of the Sea Witch.

It's what he deserves.

The Sea Witch isn't too happy to see Pepito, but he lets Pepito into his house and sits Pepito down with a plate of fish on his couch, and he listens.

With a frown on his scary face, the Sea Witch asks, "Okay, but what did you actually do?"

Pepito's eyes start watering at the thought, but he answers anyway, because he has to if he wants the Sea Witch to help him.

"I... I did a Very Bad Thing," he whispers, curling in on himself. He wipes at his eyes and looks away to the side. "If I don't become a pirate, then I'll have to go to jail down here, and I don't wanna go to jail, Mister The Sea Witch. Pepitos aren't meant for jail."

"Pepitos aren't meant to be pirates, either. You're a good kid! What happened?"

Pepito just shakes his head in response. He's crying again, but that's fine. Apa Roier always cries, and nobody ever notices, so the Sea Witch probably hasn't noticed Pepito's tears. Maybe he's blind? He doesn't have any eye holes in his eyes (what are they called, pupils?)

There's quiet, but eventually the Sea Witch lets out a long sigh and nods.

"Fine," he says. "But-" (He cuts Pepito off as Pepito snaps his head up and starts thanking him.) "-I get to pick the pirate crew you go with. I know a bunch of pirates, I'll find a super evil one for you to go with."

That sounds... scary. But Pepito has to be a Brave Pepito. If he says no, then the Sea Witch might eat him, and Pepito doesn't wanna die. Pepito just wants to live in misery agonizing over his mistake for the rest of his unholy, evil life. That's all.

So Pepito nods and reaches out to hug the Sea Witch (it's how Pepito thanks his parents at home, and they like it well enough.)

The Sea Witch hums and hugs Pepito back. "There, there. It'll all be fine, Pepito. This big, scary pirate is going to take good care of you, I promise."

And that sounds scary, but it's fine! Pepito is brave!!

A moment passes, and then the Sea Witch pulls out of the hug and leaves to go get his spell ingredients.

Pepito sits on the couch, and he closes his eyes, and he imagines feeling the sun for the first time in his life, and he pretends that he doesn't already have a big hole in his heart from leaving his parents.

(But, really, they were going to leave him if he didn't leave them. So it's fine.)

(Meanwhile, Roier gets home from visiting Bobby's grave to find an empty house. He, of course, panics. Mariana and Quackity are both on vacation, and Rivers is across the reef sparring with Fit, and gods only know where Carre is, and Pepito literally doesn't go anywhere without one of his parents so. So.

Roier's halfway through searching the house when the entire reef shakes. He dashes to a window and looks out just in time to watch a huge column of light erupt from the drop-off point to the bottom of the sea.

He swears and grabs his bag and rushes out the door, not bothering to close it behind him.

Fucking BadBoy...!)

The sun is warm. Pepito thinks he loves it, and he thinks it loves him back with how much sunlight is on him as he and the Sea Witch walk through the Sky Pepito town.

It's a shame he can't say as much. His throat hurts, but it isn't from asthma this time. It's from magic.

"Remember, Pepito, you can't talk when you're on land," the Sea Witch reminds him. "I got you legs and lungs, but you had to give me something in return."

A pause.

"If your dad asks, it was your idea. Not mine. I had nothing to do with this."

Pepito nods, duh.

The Sky Pepito Town is huge, though! So many Pepitos, all wearing different outfits and with legs.

Pepito looks down at his own legs thoughtfully. He doesn't know what to think of them quite yet. They look goofy, but he almost likes them better than he likes his tail.

...Liked his tail. Because he can never go in The Ocean again. If he does, then the magic will run out, and he'll have to go home and watch his parents all interact with the new Pepito they'll have gotten while he was away.

But the buildings in the Sky are so tall! They're taller than even Apa Mariana, and he's HUGE!! And all the Sky Pepitos are tall, too! Taller than Pepito, anyway...

Maybe Pepito would be taller if he got shoes. The Sea Witch had managed to magic up some clothes for him before they got into town, but apparently shoes are hard.

Pepito wiggles his toes as he walks. He smiles. Now these? Really silly.

Pepito walks obediently beside the Sea Witch as the Sea Witch leads him through the town's winding streets towards the docks, which is where the pirates live. Supposedly.

"Now, remember, this guy is super evil," the Sea Witch warns him. "So you need to watch out."

Pepito nods, though he only halfway listens as the Sea Witch continues talking about this super scary pirate captain they're going to. Because, really, how much worse can the pirate captain be than Pepito? It's not like he did the Very Bad Thing.

Pepito isn't paying attention, so he doesn't notice the enormous ship in front of him until he's being led up to a bridge leading up to its... roof?

(What are the parts of a boat, again?)

"Cellbit!" the Sea Witch calls, one hand cupped around his mouth. "I have a present for you!"

Pepito winces at the volume, but he doesn't cover his ears. That would be rude, and he needs to make a good first impression if he wants to show how evil he is to the captain.

Pepito watches the ship's roof until he sees a sign of movement. And then... there he is. The pirate captain, the evil one. Captain Celbi.

According to the Sea Witch, Captain Celbi is the most wanted pirate on the seven seas. The Sea Witch says that Captain Celbi eats people, but he didn't say that Captain Celbi murders them, so maybe he isn't that evil after all. Pepito's probably worse than he is.

Captain Celbi looks small when he's on the roof, but he gets bigger and bigger as he walks down the bridge, and then he's huge when he's standing in front of Pepito with his hands on his hips.

He has a sword, is the first thing that Pepito notices. Second is the scar stretching across his face from his left eyebrow down to the right side of his chin. His hair is long, tied back and hidden under a bit, three-pointed hat; but where are his ears? His eyes are so blue that they remind Pepito of The Ocean.

He looks down at Pepito with his mouth twisted into a worried line.

Pepito tries to look intimidating. He puffs his chest out and stands up tall and furrows his eyebrows the way Ama Rivers does before one of her fights.

Captain Celbi looks to the Sea Witch with a couple of rapid, confused blinks.

"Bad," he says, "what the fudge is this?"

Pepito can't introduce himself, so he just waves. Evilly.

The Sea Witch answers for him, how nice!

"This is Pepito," he says, putting a hand on the top of Pepito's head. "He said that he wants to become a pirate."

Pepito nods.

Captain Celbi blinks again before looking back down at Pepito.

Slowly, the captain crouches in front of him, hands on his knees to brace himself.

"You really want to be a pirate?" he asks.

Pepito nods again, firmly. Evilly. He's evil, just like Captain Celbi is.

"It's very dangerous," the captain continues. "Can you handle that?"

Pepito nods a third time. He squeezes his mouth into a determined line. He's got this.

The captain stares at him, and then he stands and grabs the Sea Witch by the arm and says, "Bad, can we talk?"

The Sea Witch doesn't get a chance to argue before getting dragged away and into the crowd.

Pepito watches them go. There's... a lot of people.

A lot of people.

Who knew there were so many Sky Pepitos!?

Pepito steps backwards until his back is against a tall barrel. He looks down at his hands and immediately tears his eyes away from them because there's still blood under his nails even now that his claws have been dulled into weird beige flat things.

Suddenly, and for whatever reason, Pepito misses Apa Roier. He's good with people. He'd be friends with the entire town by now, because he's a good person. Pepito isn't, though. His only friends are going to be the pirates on Captain Celbit's boat.

Yay.

Eventually, Captain Celbi and the Sea Witch come back.

Captain Celbi looks... less confused, but he still looks a little puzzled. He looks at Pepito like he's the puzzle, which is silly. Pepito's Pepito! Nothing crazy about him.

The Sea Witch, though, looks pleased. He bends down and ruffles Pepito's hair briefly before standing and cracking his back with a wince.

"Welp, I'll be on my way. Pepito," he says, looking Pepito in the eye, "take care of Cellbit for me. He might be a super evil pirate, but he can be a bit silly sometimes."

"Hey!" Captain Celbi protests, lightly smacking the Sea Witch's arm. "Fuck you, man!"

"Language!" the Sea Witch snaps.

Pepito giggles, surprising both himself and the Sea Witch. Huh, guess the magic only took away his voice, not his noise.

Captain Celbi's mouth twitches. He blinks slowly, crouching again and extending a hand.

"Pepito, right?" he softly asks.

At Pepito's nod, Captain Celbi continues, louder, "After you shake my hand, you'll officially be part of my crew. There's no going back, okay?"

Briefly, Pepito considers going back home. He never said goodbye; his parents would've said goodbye before abandoning him for a new Pepito, at least.

But he bites his tongue and takes Captain Celbi's hand, anyway. His hand only manages to hold four of Captain Celbi's fingers, but that's fine. Pepito will be a big Pepito soon.

Captain Celbi nods, and he stands.

He looks at the Sea Witch and says, "Tell Foolish I say hi, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." The Sea Witch nods. He glances down at Pepito. "Be careful, okay?"

"Please," Captain Celbi scoffs. "I'm always careful."

The Sea Witch rolls his eyes, and then Pepito blinks his eyes, and then the Sea Witch is gone.

"What a creepy guy," Captain Celbi comments.

He looks down at Pepito and smiles- he has fangs, what!? So cool...

"Come on, Pepito, we should get on board before my crew leaves us behind."

Pepito's eyes widen in panic, and he runs off for the bridge up to the ship's roof, accidentally pulling Captain Celbi behind him because maybe Pepito forgot to let go of his hand. Maybe.

But Captain Celbi doesn't say a thing. He doesn't pull his hand away, either. (He has to be soooo scared of Pepito!)

Pepito gets to the ship's roof and gasps, eyes flicking from the ship's big stick to the big wheel to the group of people watching Pepito and Captain Celbi back to the big stick.

There's another kid in the group of people, Pepito notices. He's glaring, arms crossed.

Pepito shrinks back and steps behind Captain Celbi; he may be evil, but this other kid seems scary. Cool, but scary.

"Everyone, meet Pepito," the captain announces. He's still holding Pepito's hand despite the stares, wow, he's tough! "Bad brought him up from underwater so he can learn how to be a pirate."

A woman in the group raises a hand. "Are we pirates now?"

Captain Celbi shrugs. "I guess. Can't be that hard, can it?"

What?

Pepito snaps his head up to stare at the captain in shock. What?

But...

Oh! They're lying. Just like Apa Roier said pirates do, they're all scumbags and liars!

That makes much more sense.

Pepito pokes his head out from behind Captain Celbi and offers the most evil smile he can muster. He even waves, evilly; to his confusion, most of the other pirates smile back. Except the kid, who huffs and looks away moodily.

(Captain Celbi is the captain, but this kid must be the boss. Hmm...)

"Baghera, can you help Pepito find a bunk downstairs?" Captain Celbi orders. "I need to finish taking inventory with Pac before we can get going."

The woman who had spoken up earlier grins and salutes, stepping forward and taking Pepito by the hand.

"Come on, Pepito," she says. "You can sleep near me. Unlike some people, I don't snore."

The captain starts shouting in protest, but Baghera just giggles and skips away with Pepito by her side.

As they head down into the bowels of the ship, Pepito takes one last look up at the sun. He waves goodbye to it.

(He just wishes that he got to say goodbye to Apa Roier...)

(Meanwhile, Bad hums as he tends to his plants in his garden. He's just returned from dropping Pepito off with Cellbit, and he's exhausted.

He doesn't look up as a shadow falls over him.

"What the fudge did you do to my Pepito?" Roier demands.

He levels his sword at Bad's Adam's apple; its point digs in slightly, drawing sickly green blood.

Bad calmly pulls his neck backwards.

"Look up," is all Bad says in response.

And that's when the shadow of Cellbit's ship passes over them. They'll have been sailing for, what, an hour now? Just long enough for Pepito to have gotten settled in. (Hopefully, Richarlyson hasn't gotten jealous yet...)

"Fuck," Roier swears. He drops his sword into the sand and runs his fingers through his hair, pacing through the water in frustration.

In a flash, he turns back to Bad and demands, "Me, too. Take me up, too."

Bad hums. "I don't know, you'll have to give something up."

"Yes, yes, I know, just- take this."

Roier points to his bottom-most pair of eyes. (Honestly, Bad hasn't figured out what the heck kind of fish he is.) Without those, he'll be down to two eyes, and he'll basically be blind.

Eh, it'll work.

"Oh, fine," Bad sighs. He gives Roier a look. "But we'll have to wait until they make port again. I can't just stick you up there like this, it'll scare him."

Roier frowns. "What?"

That settles Bad's suspicions, then. Roier really doesn't know what Pepito did, huh.

Well. He's going to find out.

Bad just hopes Roier doesn't scare the poor kid when he gets to the surface and realizes that Pepito's new best friend is Cellbit of all people. All those feelings, ew.)

-_-_-_-

A/N:

Hey guys!! PLEASE reblog this! And leave an ask or a comment or a tag or a whatever telling me your thoughts and questions! Let me know if you want more, because there is more!

#merpepito au #a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#this was Long whoops #but be sure to reblog and stuff! i want people to read this cause i put a Lot of effort into it!!

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anonymous-dentist · 1 month

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Or: Cellbit runs an alchemy shop with his family, and he's also the lost prince of the Gato Kingdom, but he isn't, but he really really isn't, you've gotta believe him, he isn't, really, he isn't, you've gotta-

For day seven of @smallchaoscryptid's Spiderbit Week - Royalty/Family

The day starts off normally:

Cellbit wakes up to find himself alone in bed, Roier having already gone to work downstairs in the store.

He lazes beneath the covers before hearing his son shouting in the other room. Grudgingly, he gets up, slides on his slippers and his bathrobe, and he goes to get Richarlyson settled with a new coloring book because, according to Richarlyson, Pepito ate the last one.

(Pepito did not eat the last one.)

Cellbit goes back into his bedroom to change, and then he goes to the wash basin in the hallway to brush his teeth and wash his face. He goes to the kitchen, shoves a singe slice of bread in his mouth for breakfast, tells the kids to behave, decides to live in ignorance and believe that they actually listened to him, and then, finally, he goes downstairs to help Roier with the shop.

That's when things get weird because, instead of the normal dozen or so customers they usually get in the mornings before things get busy, there are a handful of people in shiny armor with pointy swords, and there's a woman with cat ears leaning against the counter talking at an indifferent Roier.

Cellbit freezes on the stairs. Absently, his hands raise to his own ears, thankfully pinned down today with his alchemical goggles. He tends to have them out more days than not now, but. Well. Old habits die hard.

"I really don't know what you're talking about," Roier casually say. He isn't even looking at the woman, he's, instead, inspecting his nails- recently painted by Jaiden and absolutely adorable, just like he is. "But we do have a sale on luck potions if you wanna try one of those."

The woman's eyebrow twitches, and, for whatever reason, Cellbit doesn't think that she's here to buy something. Between the fine quality of her clothes and the literal knights with her and her entire aura, she just screams royalty, and that's a bad thing.

That's a really bad thing.

But Roier seems to have it under control, so, silently, Cellbit starts sneaking back up the stairs. If Roier needs him, he'll scream, and then Cellbit will rush down and kill everybody in the room and blame it on a sudden alchemical reaction gone wrong. Easy.

Except:

The door to the living quarters slams open and Pepito comes rushing out of it with tears streaming down his face.

"Apa!" he cries, leaping into Cellbit's arms and nearly sending him stumbling back down the stairs. "Richarlyson ate my crayons and now he's dying!"

(Richarlyson is not dying.)

Cellbit can practically smell the irritation coming off of Roier, even if he can't see him with his back turned to both him and the store and the really annoying royalty inside.

And, sure, Cellbit is annoyed, too, but he's also a father. So he just sighs and holds his son and lets him cry into his shoulder.

"Who's there?" one of the knights asks.

There's the sound of a sword being drawn, and then there's the sound of another sword being drawn and, really, is a peaceful retirement too much to ask for? Pac and Mike got one. Bad got one. Even Etoiles has some sort of retirement plan he's supposedly following between father-daughter dungeon-busting field trips.

The way Pepito is being held has him looking down the stairs and at the very rude people about to kill his parents, so Cellbit turns around so that Pepito is facing the door instead. He's always preferred looking danger in the face, anyway; it's much easier to be stabbed in the back than the front, after all.

Cellbit passively looks from one knight to another. He skips his eyes over the woman entirely. He catches Roier's eye, subtly rolls his own eyes, adjusts his hold on Pepito.

"Sorry," Cellbit says, "but my son is dying. I'll be right back."

"He's dead!" Pepito wails, ever-helpful. He's such a good kid.

The woman frowns. Cellbit doesn't think he likes her face. It's too... uncanny, like a doll come to life. Or, rather, like an image escaped from the mirror above the wash basin, and Cellbit does not like the implications of that, thanks.

As the knights start to advance, the woman holds up a hand to stop them.

"Hurry up," she says.

"Yeah," Roier agrees. "Tell Richas to die quicker, we have company."

Pepito screeches right into Cellbit's ear, making him wince very angrily in Roier's direction; all Roier does is wink and motion with his fingers for Cellbit to hurry up.

Cellbit quickly takes Pepito back into their living quarters and puts him down on the sofa.

Richarlyson is on the floor, very calm, very much not dying, and very much using Pepito's crayons in his own coloring book.

Pepito gasps, tears gone and replaced with wide, shocked eyes.

"But you ate them!" he exclaims.

Cellbit sighs, "Your brother is a magician, now can you two please behave for ten minutes while Roier and I deal with those people downstairs?"

Richarlyson's head perks up. "There are people downstairs?"

Cellbit nods. "Bad people, probably. If you hear glass breaking, you know what to do."

It's Richarlyson's turn to nod.

They have a plan. If things go down in the shop, Richarlyson and Pepito stay upstairs and hide until either Cellbit or Roier goes to get them. If the kids hear glass breaking, they are to escape out their bedroom window and climb down the tree outside and run to their Uncle Bad's house until Cellbit and Roier can get rid of the bad guys and save the day.

(Roier's words, not Cellbit's. Apparently, calling unruly customers or the police "the enemy" is bad. Go figure.)

Cellbit makes the kids both pinky promise him to follow the plan before letting out a long, stressed-out breath and starting back downstairs.

First, though, he dips into the kitchen and grabs his favorite butcher knife from off of the counter and tucks it into the custom-made sheath hidden beneath his jacket. Just in case.

Once downstairs, he's immediately manhandled by the knights until he's pushed up against the counter. Unfortunately, he isn't pushed behind the counter. But at least he can act as a shield... just in case.

On instinct, Cellbit reaches behind himself and takes Roier's hand. Roier takes it and squeezes gently, his thumb rubbing little circles into the skin by his thumb.

"Well," Cellbit says, looking from the knights to the woman, "you want something. What is it."

It isn't a question. It's more of a demand, really, and maybe he's stupid for demanding answers of royalty, but, like. Fuck the monarchy. What have they ever done for him?

The woman speaks: "We're looking for whichever one of you is Cellbit."

If they weren't already pinned down, Cellbit's ears would be flattening themselves to the top of his head. He bites back a hiss and instead just squeezes Roier's hand.

The woman continues with, "I'd like to bring him back with us to-"

"Yeah, okay," Roier casually says. "I'm Cellbit, hello."

Out of the corner of his eye, Cellbit can see Roier waving; he stifles a smile. He's so stupid...

Cellbit turns around and gasps dramatically. "Gatinho, no! You can't leave us!"

Roier bites his lip and looks away, turning his head to the side.

"But guapito," he says, dropping his voice an octave just for effect, "if I don't go, then... what about you and the children? They might-" (He moans and bows his head.) "-kill you. And then what would I do with myself?"

"Oh, don't worry!" the woman quickly says. "We won't hurt your family! That's why we're here, actually, to bring you and your family with us."

Cellbit ignores her. He reaches across the counter and cups Roier's cheek with his free hand, gently nudges his face until he raises his head and looks Cellbit in the eye; Roier's eyes are already wet with unshed tears, wow, he's good.

"But what will I do without you?" Cellbit demands, pitching his voice up just slightly. "Don't be stupid! I love you, pendejo!"

(They do this a lot, believe it or not. It drives Richarlyson crazy every time they do it because it somehow always ends up with them kissing until they're out of breath and shaky in the knees.)

"Não!" Roier cries. He squeezes his eyes shut and rips himself away from Cellbit entirely, staggering back and leaning against a display shelf full of anti-gravity potions. "Don't say that!"

"Say what?" Cellbit asks. "I love you!"

Roier screams and flinches against the case. "Não!"

Cellbit leans over the counter. "I love you."

Roier moans his time, his hands flying out wildly and grasping onto seemingly-random bottles on the shelf. "Não!!"

Cellbit extends a hand. "I. Love. You. Te amo, guapito."

One of the knights asks, "What the fuck is going on?"

And then the knights all start shouting as Roier opens his eyes and lunges to shove a potion into Cellbit's hands.

Cellbit grins and yanks the cork out of the bottle and chugs the potion and slams the empty bottle against the floor. It shatters, and he jumps.

"What the fuck?" the woman demands.

Cellbit twists mid-air and lands on the ceiling. He waves down at Roier, blows him a kiss, and takes off running for the back potion room. The door is closed, but the ventilation window above the door is open because he was supposed to be making potions right now. Silver linings.

He dives through the window, just barely managing to squirm through. He grunts, frowns, regrets getting this old, makes it through.

His goggles are nudged off of his head, though, leaving his ears on full display as he escapes into the potion room.

The woman gasps, "Get back here! Cellbit!"

But Roier just cheers, "Corre, gatinho!"

The potion room's door thuds and shakes in its hinges as the knights all slam against it. But, like, fuck those guys.

Cellbit runs down the length of the ceiling until he's reached the wall facing the alley behind the shop. He steps onto the wall, and then he runs down that until he's by the window. Again, ventilation, he should be working right now, but no, he can never know a moment of peace.

The potion starts running out just as Cellbit crawls through the window and lands on the shop's outside wall. He wrinkles his nose at the smell, but it's fine. Just trash, it's fine.

There's shouting from the front of the shop and the sounds of more bottles shattering. Roier sounds fine, though. He's even laughing, of course he is. He's badass, and Cellbit loves him, and Cellbit just wishes he was there to watch Roier swing his sword around like the sexy piece of shit he is.

The potion's effects wear off as Cellbit's feet touch the ground; two minutes, just as he'd made it to be.

He can see Richarlyson and Pepito running for it at the far end of the alley. Good, they actually followed directions for once.

Cellbit turns to run after them and get Bad's help, but he's stopped by a firm hand grabbing his shoulder from behind.

He snarls and pulls his knife out of his coat, spinning and slashing and just narrowly missing the woman's throat.

"Cellbit!" she shouts. "Calm down, it's just me!"

Cellbit responds by lunging at her with his teeth bared. He's been filing his teeth down for years, but he knows that he still cuts an intimidating figure when he's pissed enough.

The woman doesn't seem afraid, though. If anything, she just seems angry. And sad. Mostly angry.

She easily sidesteps his attack and yells, "It's me! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Oh, that's cute. Royalty asking why someone would want to hurt them, that's funny. They have the self-awareness of a walnut, all of them.

"Stop shouting 'it's me'!" Cellbit snaps. "Why should I care who you are?"

The woman's face starts turning red from frustration. "Because I'm your sister!"

Oh, that's rich.

"I don't have a sister," Cellbit sneers.

He swipes at her. Of course he does, he doesn't have a sister. He didn't have a family before he and the others found Richarlyson, and he only has one now that he has his kids and his husband.

"Then why do we have the same ears?" the woman demands.

She ducks under his knife and sweeps his legs out from under him. He falls and hisses and growls and does all sorts of things that princes might do because he isn't royalty. He knows that for certain. His first memory was him eating the corpse of a soldier on an empty battlefield, and it's with that image in mind that he snaps his teeth at the woman's throat.

"Only the royal family of the Gato Kingdom is born with feline features," the woman snaps. "Idiot!"

"Fuck the Gato Kingdom," Cellbit spits. "Your war destroyed everything I had!"

The woman's eyes turn sad. "It destroyed everything I had, too. It took my family from me. My friends. My home. We're just now starting to rebuild, and-"

She shrieks as Cellbit manages to flip their positions so that she's the one being pinned to the ground.

"So you show up and try kidnapping someone to fill in for your lost prince?" he snarls. "You people haven't changed."

The woman's mouth thins into an angry line. "I'm not trying to kidnap you! I just want to bring you home!"

"I don't have a home! This is my home!"

"You really don't remember, do you?" she asks, voice low. She isn't even struggling any more, not really. "It's me, your sister. Bagi."

The name stings Cellbit's brain in a way he doesn't like.

"I don't know you," he firmly says. "You don't know me. Leave my family alone."

He stands, hands shaking, head spinning. He doesn't like this.

Roier calls his name from the front of the building.

Cellbit, sure that this Bagi won't do anything while she's busy crying, turns and starts running towards the store.

He doesn't make it three steps before getting thwacked in the back of the head with something large and heavy and metal.

"Sorry," Bagi flatly says.

As he falls to the ground, his knife falls from his hand and ends up just out of reach.

He lands on his stomach and immediately tries standing again.

But he's stopped by a foot on his back pressing him down.

"I'll be sure to bring your family with us," Bagi tells him. "I'm not here to hurt you."

"Could have fooled me," Cellbit mutters.

Darkness takes him at last as Bagi smacks him again with her weapon, and all Cellbit can think is that he hopes that the kids ended up making it to Bad's after all.

#catboy in the village au #a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#guapoduo #spiderbit #sorta #SPEEDRUNNING BC I HAVE A BUSY AFTERNOON BYE

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anonymous-dentist · 29 days

Text

Or: the morning after

Cellbit finds himself getting rattled awake by the sound of an unfamiliar cell phone ringing. His pillow is lumpy, he doesn't have a blanket- or does he? His legs are bare, but his shoulders feel warm enough.

Grimacing, Cellbit squints his eyes shut and desperately shoves his face into his pillow in the hopes of drowning out the noise. Why does his pillow smell like alcohol?

What happened last night? The last thing he remembers is slipping away from Bagi and Tina and finding himself a seat at their hotel's bar, and then? Absolutely nothing.

But the phone keeps ringing.

Cellbit is mildly alarmed to feel his pillow vibrate beneath him as it groans- oh, God, it's alive. He's even more alarmed when his pillow moves and pulls him with it as it rolls onto its side and buries its face in the crook of Cellbit's neck and, fuck, this isn't a pillow is it?

Cellbit forces his eyes open and nearly has a heart attack as he discovers that he is not, in fact, in his hotel room. This isn't his bed. That isn't his window- his room isn't nice enough to have a fucking balcony attached to it.

...Those aren't his pants strewn carelessly across the floor just inches from the bed. That isn't his shirt, either.

Oh, God.

Cellbit's pillow, now Cellbit's blanket, which is probably an actual, real, living, genuine, breathing human person, nuzzles their nose into Cellbit's skin with a pleased, sleepy hum.

Cellbit absently looks down at the hands wrapped around his middle, and his stomach sharpens as he sees a shiny gold ring.

Fuck, they're married?

It's then that Cellbit notices the shiny gold ring on his own finger, his hand splayed next to his face carelessly. He stares at it in both shock and horror and an equal measure of mortification.

Fuck, they're married?

The phone is still ringing. Cellbit can see it on the floor next to his... spouse? Next to his... next to the person's pants. Its screen is lit up, showing off a wallpaper of a man and a woman and a child. Oh, God, what has Cellbit done?

He stares at the phone. He desperately tries to remember where he left his own. His pants are off, but his shirt is on. It's the same shirt he went out in, and it's really uncomfortable to be sleeping in, and the coat he wore with it is gone. Or, at least, it's out of sight, and that's where he was keeping his phone and his wallet and his hotel room key and- oh, fuck, Bagi. She's going to kill him!

The person clinging to Cellbit like a koala seems to settle down (how are they sleeping through the noise??), their breaths evening out and their grip relaxing.

Okay, Cellbit thinks, Escaping from a person can't be worse than escaping from prison. (Granted, he had "escaped" from "prison" at the bright age of eleven, and him "escaping" was him climbing out the window and watching the sunset from the roof of the juvenile hall he was trapped in, but the point stands.)

Carefully, he pries the person's arms off of him. He rolls out of bed and onto the floor and immediately gets onto his knees and ignores the rattling in his skull and the exhausted protesting of his bones and shoves an actual pillow into the person's arms.

He hesitates, just briefly, as he takes in his spouse's face for the first time that he can remember.

He's beautiful. Creases in his face from sleep, bags under his eyes, hair plastered to the side of his head, tiny bit of drool escaping from the corner of his mouth as he snuffles and buries his face into his new teddy bear.

Well. Drunk Cellbit has good taste.

Whatever, cell phone.

Cellbit doesn't think he could stand without vomiting, so he crawls over to where he thinks he vaguely remembers tossing his coat and his pants last night... or, rather, that morning. Something tells him it was entirely too late when he and his... person finally went to bed.

Blackout drunkenness be damned, Cellbit is still a detective, so his clothes are right where he thought they'd be: slung over the hotel room's desk chair.

First, he grabs his pants. He looks at them, considers the fragile state of his stomach, and decides that it probably isn't too smart to move too much. He doesn't know how much it'll take for him to throw up everything he's had over the trip so far, but he doesn't think it'll be that much.

So he abandons his pants for the moment and grabs his coat, instead. A brief search of the pockets finds all his things, plus a handful of stolen poker chips and a crushed pink flower.

Cellbit looks at the flower. What is it, amaranth? Is that it?

Whatever, cell phone.

He turns his phone on and is immediately met with a brand new wallpaper: a clearly drunk him, and an even drunker... husband(?) with his arms hung around Cellbit's shoulders. They're both smiling widely, their cheeks are both flushed, Cellbit is giving this guy a piggyback ride, and the Vegas lights are so bright behind them that it's giving Cellbit a headache just looking at them.

But that isn't what makes Cellbit sick. What makes him sick is the absolute mountain of texts from his extremely pissed-off sister. It starts with a simple, "Where are you?", and it ends with, "FUCK YOU DON'T COME BACK ME AND TINA WILL HAVE A GREEEEAT NIGHT TOGETHER BY OURSELVES WITH PAC!!"

Cellbit, deciding not to subject himself to any more torture, shuts his phone off and collapses backwards onto the floor. Even the carpet smells like alcohol; what did he and this guy do last night? ...Besides get married.

Cellbit raises his hand above his face and squints at his ring. Fake gold, he can tell. Cheap ring, glass jewels. Probably sold at the place he and the man got married at. Probably someplace cheesy with an Elvis impersonator acting as the officiant and a couple of equally-drunk tourists acting as the witnesses.

Groaning from the bed. Seems Cellbit's new husband is awake, then.

Cellbit keeps staring at his ring, anyway. It's... weird. He'd always dreamed of a big wedding, and now that he is married, he doesn't remember it. But it's fair, he supposes. He'd stopped believing he would get married years ago. Makes sense he wouldn't remember it happening.

The man in the bed swears and rolls around noisily.

"Fucking kill meeeee," he moans. "Son of a bitch!"

His voice is rough. Cellbit's probably sounds rougher. His entire body hurts.

The man keeps swearing. Cellbit listens, and he stares at his ring, and he quietly panics as the reality of his marriage sets in.

Are Vegas weddings even legal? Fuck, he's a detective, he should know this! But he's a detective in Brazil, he doesn't know American laws.

Abruptly, the man's complaining stops.

"Oh," Cellbit hears. "Hello."

Cellbit tears his eyes away from his ring and looks at the man. Their eyes meet, and, suddenly, Cellbit realizes why they got married.

If this man was beautiful asleep, he's absolutely stunning awake. His eyes are just so... and his jawline? What the hell?

Bagi always likes to tease Cellbit about his extreme romanticism. She says it's almost obsessive, but what does she know? What he and Pac had going on in high school was normal.

Cellbit just knows handsome when he sees it, and he supposes that Drunk Cellbit saw it and decided he had to put a ring on it.

It's a shame they're married. He doesn't think he'll be able to talk to this guy ever again after they sign the divorce papers.

Because they have to get divorced, right? Or annulled? Or... reversed? Whatever it is in Vegas, they'll have to do it. They don't know each other. Cellbit lives in Brazil. This guy seems like he has a family. It wouldn't work, no matter how pretty he is.

Slowly, Cellbit sits up. He winces, gags, props himself up against the desk's leg. He lets his stomach settle down. Tries not to smile back as the man smiles at him.

"Vegas," the man whispers. He sounds slightly awed. Cellbit feels the same way, but probably not for the same reasons. He's in shock over this man's beauty; this man is probably shocked that the Vegas stereotypes are true.

"Vegas," Cellbit agrees. He holds up his hand, and his ring. "Good morning. Can we get a divorce?"

The man gasps and looks down at his own hand. His eyes widen comically as he sees his ring.

"What the fuck?" he shouts.

Both he and Cellbit flinch at the volume. Ouch.

"A divorce," Cellbit repeats once the pounding in his head has subsided. "Because we got married."

The man's phone is still ringing. Cellbit kinda wants to throw it off the balcony, but he's probably already ruined this guy's life enough. (His family...)

The man, somehow, ignores it.

He crawls down the length of the bed and flops onto his stomach, head tilted just slightly as he takes Cellbit in. He props himself up on his elbows, and Cellbit can't help but admire his biceps because he's. He's shirtless. And he isn't wearing pants. He has boxers on, thank God- Cellbit doesn't know what he'd do if it turned out they'd done things last night after the wedding.

"You want a divorce?" the man asks. He shrugs. "I mean, sure, but... why?"

Cellbit stares at him. "We were drunk. I don't know you."

"Yeah but you did last night, and we liked each other enough to get married after a couple hours. That's gotta count for something, right?"

"I mean. Maybe? But- you don't even know my name!"

"Sure, and you don't know mine." His smile is blinding. "I'm Roier."

Roier... it settles around Cellbit's brain like a warm sweater.

"Cellbit," Cellbit responds. He swallows and forces his eyes away from Roier's arms. "Look, I'm sure you're a nice guy-"

"I am."

"-but we can't be married. My sister is supposed to be getting married next week and she'll kill me if she finds out I got married before she did. And we don't know each other and- dude, can you pick up your goddamn phone?"

Cellbit groans and throws his head back, eyes squinting shut from the pain in his head.

"Shit," the man swears, "hold on..."

Cellbit tunes him out as he finally answers his phone. He's a loud talker, but he's still quieter than his phone was.

He... has a nice voice. Cellbit can almost imagine hearing it daily, but that's literally just. Stupid. This is all stupid, they should be divorced already. And then Cellbit can go back to being single and miserable like he's used to.

With his eyes still shut, Cellbit flounders around for his pants. Once he has them, he starts pulling them on, desperately trying not to vomit as he does so. Fuck, his stomach...!

Bagi would be laughing if she heard about this. She'd be pissed, but she'd be laughing about it. She's been the one trying to get him to sign up for dating apps since he realized he's asexual and he stopped dating altogether. She's been trying to set him up with friends for years. She'd be furious if she found out that Cellbit went and married the first guy to flirt back with him. While drunk. In Las Vegas.

Cellbit manages to get his pants buttoned up just as Roier finishes his phone call. Out of breath and exhausted, Cellbit cracks an eye open and offers a weak smile at a very concerned-looking Roier.

"You don't look too good," Roier comments. "You can stay here until you're up to moving, you know."

Cellbit frowns. "Wouldn't that be awkward?"

"Why would it be awkward? We're married. Married people share rooms all the time."

"We aren't-" Cellbit tries to stand, immediately decides against it as the room swims around him, sits heavily back down. "Fuck. We aren't actually married, you know. We're Vegas-married."

"I know, but I'm not a dick. You look like shit, I'm not just gonna let you pass out in the hallway."

Oh, and he's nice, too. He's handsome and he's nice. Of course he's a package deal, what the fuck?

Only slightly annoyed, Cellbit lets himself flop to the side and lay down on the floor again. It isn't comfortable, but it feels better than sitting up does.

He looks up at Roier. "You're being awfully nice to a stranger."

Roier waves him off. "Nah, it's fine. If I trusted you last night, I can trust you now. I'm a very good judge of character."

"Really?"

"No, I'm actually kidnapping you."

Cellbit huffs out a laugh, a genuine smile growing on his face as Roier looks genuinely proud of himself.

"You're an asshole," Cellbit says. "I can't wait until we're divorced."

"Me, too," Roier agrees. "No offense- like, you're a really nice guy-" (Cellbit blushes.) "-but I kinda wish I got to, like, take you on a date or something before we got married."

Cellbit chokes on his own spit. "What?"

Roier's eyes widen and he sits up, alarmed. "What? Is that-"

"No!" Cellbit waves his hands frantically. "No, it's fine! I'm just... are you sure? You could still be drunk."

"I don't feel drunk."

"Maybe I'm still drunk, then."

"Maybe." Roier nods, faux serious. "We are in Vegas."

"Can you even date in Vegas? What can we even do?"

"Eh, I'm sure there's something we can do. Maybe we can get divorced this afternoon and get dinner?"

Cellbit almost turns him down. This is a bad idea. He's in Vegas. He isn't... they don't know each other. Roier doesn't know that Cellbit doesn't really do anything past kissing. That could be a problem, right? Maybe, but...

But Cellbit trusts himself to know that, even when drunk out of his mind, he would explain everything before engaging in any kind of intimacy with another man. He and Roier hadn't taken their underwear off, after all, that has to count for something. Roier seems like a nice guy. Cellbit thinks he can trust him to not be a total scumbag later on if it comes down to it.

So Cellbit swallows his hesitance and smiles and replies, "That sounds nice, actually."

(And if their divorce date could later turn into a real marriage? Well, Cellbit wouldn't complain.)

#a.d.'s fics i suppose.#a.d.'s fics i suppose #spiderbit #guapoduo #how have we not had a vegas wedding fic?????#it's kinda cheesy but i wanted to like. write it lol

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anonymous-dentist · 1 month

Text

Or: the first week of Cellbit's life after being turned into a vampire by the man he's been dating for three weeks

For @smallchaoscryptid's Spiderbit Week Day One- Vampires

Day Zero - Saturday

"Just stay still!"

"I am still!"

"Nooo, you're fucking wiggling."

"I'm trying to get comfy. If I'm going to die, I want to be comfortable."

"My lap isn't comfortable? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Your knees are bony."

"I'll show you bony- stay still, motherfucker!"

"Guapito- oh, shit-"

Cellbit sucks in one final, shuddery breath and goes limp, his fingers twitching- searching for Roier's.

But Roier's hand only finds his after he's dead.

Day One - Sunday

His eyes are open, but all he can see is the scent of blood in the air. He can't move, but his limbs beg to be put to use. He's so hungry.

Something settles in his hair, something cold and soft and almost comforting through the pain wracking his entire body.

"Shh, gatinho," it whispers. "I'm back."

He leans into the touch with a whine, eyes slipping shut and exposing him to The End again. It's horrible, but at least. At least it isn't nothing.

There's nothing. The End is something. The End rejected him. He is alive, and he is hungry.

Fingers card through his hair, gently massage his scalp. But it isn't his head that's hurting, it's his everything. His mouth. His teeth. His teeth-

Air brushes past his mouth. Prey.

Instinctively, he snaps at it, growling as his teeth dig into the prey.

"Puta madre-" the prey swears, but, no that isn't the prey. That's...

He whimpers as the not prey tears its hand out of his mouth.

"You're lucky you're cute," the not prey tells him. "Hold on, let me get you some actual dinner."

And then the not prey leaves. Again.

And he is alone with the nothing. Again.

Day Two - Monday

The room is too cold but the blankets are itchy and the pillow is too warm and the overhead fan is turned on and he's so cold, why is he so cold?

Shivering, he pulls his blanket over his head. But it itches, so he pulls it back off, but he's so cold-

"Hey, no, come here," the not prey says.

He snarls as he's gently pulled to the not prey's chest, but his anger dies down the second he recognizes the not prey's scent: guapito.

His guapito.

He burrows back until he can't tell where guapito ends and he begins. Then, and only then, does he start to feel warmth again.

The End was warm, so warm. But it turned him away, and now he's cold- but that's good, right? He doesn't know why it's good that The End rejected him and sent him back to the nothing, his head hurts, his teeth hurt. But. But maybe it has something to do with his guapito.

A kiss is pressed to the back of his neck. "There we go. Sleepy gatinho, eh?"

He hums in acknowledgment. But he doesn't talk, he doesn't know how. He doesn't think he's supposed to. He's too hungry to even though he'd just eaten moments or hours or centuries ago.

"Tomorrow will be better," guapito tells him, and he believes it.

Day Three - Tuesday

He keeps biting the inside of his mouth when he tries remembering how to speak to guapito. And, frankly, he's starting to get sick of it.

He pouts, but guapito just smiles and coos and leans in close and brushes its nose against his.

"You'll get used to it," guapito says. "They'll be done growing in by tomorrow."

Tomorrow is forever away, though. When The End had sent him back, it had told him that he would wake up 'tomorrow', but he was there for what felt like thousands of years. He only found his way back to the nothing when he'd heard someone talking to him.

Who...?

Wordlessly, though not wordless by choice, he bites guapito's nose. He doesn't bite hard, and he doesn't bite with his fangs, but guapito still screams and tumbles off the bed dramatically.

He smiles, fangs and all, but guapito just grumbles and reaches up and pinches his cheek hard.

And then guapito smiles, fangs and all.

It's beautiful.

He tries to say as much, but he ends up biting his tongue. Again.

Damnit.

Day Four - Wednesday

He can't stop crying, why can't he stop crying? He isn't in pain, but it all hurts so badly, but he doesn't know why, and-

"Gatinho, hey, it's fine," guapito softly says- it sounds sad, and now he feels worse because he made guapito sad and he's just a failure of a... of a... of a...

He can't remember? Why can't he remember? All he remembers is The End and then the nothing that came afterwards, the nothing he's been living in since. He blinked, and he was out of The End, and he was in somebody's arms, but who? Guapito, right? But why? How do they know each other?

He chokes on his own tears as he comes to a terrifying realization. He doesn't know who he is. He's been awake for days, but he doesn't know his own name- oh, God.

Guapito holds him closer, rocking them gently back and forth on the floor, because he had crawled off of the bed in his own misery hours ago and hasn't been able to muster the will to get up since.

The End took something from him before kicking him out. Did The End take him?

Guapito shushes him gently, far more tender than it's been since he's known him. But he doesn't know him, so how does he know that?

"You'll think this is funny later," guapito assures him. "I did. You're just emo today, it's fine. New instincts and shit, they'll figure themselves out, and then we can go back to bed. Okay?"

He buries his face in guapito's shoulder. What he would give to be in bed again...

Day Five - Thursday

There are flashes in his mind of things he can't quite remember. A garden filled with blue flowers, a swimming pool. A little boy in overalls locking him in a closet with...

Guapito trudges into the room with a fresh pitcher of blood for them to share, because he's still hungry.

"I'm making you go hunting when you're out of bed," guapito huffs.

He places the pitcher down on the bedside table and wipes the non-existent sweat off of his forehead with his headband.

He is stunning.

"Okay," he croaks out, wincing as his fangs clip his tongue. But it's worth it for the brilliant smile guapito sends him and the forehead kiss he gets.

"You are so sexy when your voice is all fucked," guapito growls, playful and not at all threatening.

He bites back a frown. "No."

"Yes. And you had better get used to being called sexy because you-" Guapito pokes him between the eyes with one finger. "-are stuck with me for forever. No take-backs."

He doesn't want a take-back. He's been thinking through the hunger pangs, and he thinks that he went to The End because of guapito. Not because guapito sent him there, but because guapito was the one to pull him home.

This is home, right? A dimly-lit bedroom with wooden walls and well-worn floors, scratchy blankets and soft pillows, soft voices downstairs. Guapito.

It doesn't ring any bells, but he thinks that, if it wasn't his home before The End, it could be his home now that he's left it.

A small smile on his face, he reaches up and cups guapito's cheeks.

"Okay," he repeats, just because he thinks guapito needs to hear it.

And guapito smiles, and it's all just... okay.

Day Six - Friday

He has a name, he thinks. Cellbit. It's what guapito calls him when he thinks he's asleep. When Cellbit is asleep.

It sounds familiar. So does the mention of a child- Richarlyson- and the mention of a woman- Jaiden- and the mention of another child- Bobby.

But what's guapito's name? He has to have one, right? One as beautiful as he is.

"You look almost normal today," guapito comments.

Cellbit doesn't feel normal. He feels hungry, but he's less hungry than he's been for the past several days. He feels cold, but he doesn't mind the cold as much as he used to. He feels confused, but he's remembering more every day. So he might be back to normal soon.

(Whatever normal is for him, anyway.)

The End had taken normal from him. He remembers it being freezing. He stayed huddled before its mighty presence shivering and begging to be heard. He wasn't dead, he wasn't. He couldn't be dead, he was talking. He couldn't be dead, he had... someone to get back to.

And then he'd heard the voice, and The End had released him.

Cellbit leans his head onto guapito's shoulder and closes his eyes.

"Te amo," he whispers. He may not remember who guapito is to him, but he knows this to be true.

Guapito stiffens beneath him, but he quickly relaxes again and slings an arm over Cellbit's shoulders.

He presses a soft kiss to Cellbit's temple and whispers, "Me, too."

Guapito had mentioned something about spending eternity with him, and that sounds just fine to Cellbit. He doesn't think he'd rather have it any other way.

Day Seven - Saturday

Cellbit wakes up not hungry for the first time since escaping from The End. He stares up at the ceiling, and his mind is filled with one word and one word only:

"Roier?" he whispers.

Next to him, guapito- Roier!- stirs. He yawns and rolls onto his side so that he's facing Cellbit. His face is red and marked with the imprints of his pillow, and his eyes are squinted shut and wet with interrupted sleep, and drool is dried to the corner of his mouth, but Cellbit is still caught breathless because he's so perfect.

"Gatinho?" Roier yawns. "What's wrong?"

He squirms until his head is using Cellbit's chest as a pillow. He wraps both of his arms around Cellbit's one like it's a stuffed animal.

His eyes slip shut again, but he doesn't fall back asleep. He's too busy tapping his fingers against the inside of Cellbit's elbow.

"I think I died," Cellbit says. His voice is quiet, contemplative. Almost reverent, because he stared The End in the face, and he was let go. Why?

"You did," Roier responds.

"But I'm here."

"You are."

"Why?"

Roier mutters something about "fledgling amnesia". Cellbit only halfway understands, but he doesn't question it. He doesn't think he wants to.

"Because I'm a vampire," Roier eventually says. "And you wanted to be one, too."

Cellbit blinks. "Huh."

"Yeah, 'huh'." Roier lightly pinches Cellbit's arm. "Go back to sleep. We need to go hunting tomorrow."

Hunting... Cellbit likes the sound of that.

But, first:

"We should get married."

This wakes Roier up fully. He sits up, lets go of Cellbit, stares at him with wide eyes.

Cellbit sits up, too. He takes Roier's hand in his, turns it over. Thinks about how good he'd look with a ring on his finger.

"I might not remember everything about you," Cellbit tells him, "but you've been with me all week even when I was..." ("...completely feral and out of control...") "...emo. And I liked you enough before to die to be with you. So... marriage only makes sense, right?"

Roier's mouth flaps like a fish's for a good couple of tense minutes before he cracks a grin and tries covering it up with furrowed eyebrows and a faked frown.

"Try again with a ring," Roier snaps with happy tears in his eyes.

He flops back down and pulls the blanket over his head.

Cellbit stares at him for just a moment before smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.

Wordlessly, he snuggles back down into bed. He slips beneath the covers with Roier, pulling him to his chest and spooning him from behind. He hides his smile in the back of Roier's neck and giggles as Roier swears at him through his own laughter.

"I can't believe I'm going to be with you for forever," Roier teasingly complains.

"Me neither," Cellbit responds.

The rest of eternity until the sun should die out and then beyond. Until they both crumble to dust in each other's arms at the end of the universe.

That sounds wonderful.

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#guapoduo #spiderbit #I LOVE THIS ONE!!!!!!!!!#idk why it makes me so happy

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anonymous-dentist · 2 months

Text

On April 25, Cellbit finds himself crashing onto a tropical island filled with the weirdest goddamn people he's ever met in his life.

(On one side of the glass is Cellbit. On the other is a man in a red hoodie who takes one look at Cellbit and winks before rushing to talk to the other trapped Brazilians.

For a moment, Cellbit swears there's a spark- a literal pink spark in the air directly between the two of them where they had locked eyes, and he swears that the man's eyes glitter the same pink just for a second.

But that's ridiculous. It's probably a concussion. Or something.)

On April 26, Cellbit wakes up to a heavy pain in his chest and back and a foreign weight to his limbs as he tries rolling over in bed. There's a pressure behind his eyes, all... all two of them.

Cellbit's eyelids twitch unhappily as a ray of incoming sunlight hits them from the window.

He hisses, and that's when he notices two very important things:

He doesn't have two eyes. He knows the familiar discomfort of keeping one's eyes closed when they're ready to open, and he can recognize the fact that this discomfort is multiplied by goddamn two. That makes... four eyes.

He isn't in his own bed. He went to sleep without a blanket or a pillow, just his hat and his jacket because, big surprise, spending most of the day in a cave didn't get him any luxuries besides a sore back and a definitely-not-dead child.

Cellbit opens his eyes, all four of them, and he's only a little surprised to see that he is not, in fact, in his own house.

"What?" he croaks.

He grimaces. Sore throat, almost like he'd been screaming in his sleep. Nothing he isn't used to, but it doesn't feel right in this body. In... whoever's body this is.

He pushes himself so that he's sitting up and against the wall. His chest pulls with every movement of his arms, muscles twinging in pain, and it almost reminds him of the War, almost. (He caused wounds like this, anyway. He didn't get hurt like this. He was too good.)

He looks down. Spider-Man boxer briefs. Naked chest, huge scar cut across the middle of it over his heart. Hairy legs, bruised arms and knuckles.

Vaguely, he thinks that he recognizes the house. Kinda. Sort of. Maybe? But he'd only seen the outside, and it would be crazy if his soulmate turned out to be that guy.

But, well. There's only one spider hybrid on the island that Cellbit knows about. Maybe there are more, but he's pretty sure that he met everyone yesterday. (He thinks; he was pretty distracted by the whole what the fuck I have a child now??? thing.)

Cellbit should be happy. And he kinda feels like it, in a distant way. But it's with a sense of numb fear that he grabs Roier's communicator off of the bedside table and opens a new message with... himself? His comm. That Roier has. Because he's in his body. At his house.

[iRoier whispers to Cellbit: I think we have a problem]

When Cellbit had finally officially turned 16 years old, Bad sat down in the middle of a warzone and told him that, one of these days, he might wake up in the body of one of his enemies.

"What?" Cellbit had grimaced, blood coating his face and crusting under his nails. "Why? Is that a new origin or something?"

Bad shook his head. "No, you goof. It's a soulmate thing. You know. Soulmates."

And that's when he realized that Cellbit's amnesia really was, in fact, amnesia. Of course he wouldn't have remembered his parents giving him the Soulmate Talk, Cellbit- at the time- didn't believe that he even had parents. ("I was born from blood, and to blood I shall return," he said when Bad tried asking, so Bad stopped bothering after a while.)

And so it fell to BadBoyHalo to give Cellbit the Soulmate Talk.

"When you turn 16, the universe assigns you a soulmate," Bad had explained. "And when you meet that soulmate, you'll both switch bodies with each other overnight. It'll only last 24 hours, though, so it should be fine if you meet your soulmate out here."

Cellbit had blinked, confused. "What? Ew, no."

Because, as romantic as the idea of soulmates sounds, Cellbit was a 16-year-old boy. Why would he give a shit about his soulmate when he could be thinking about, like, blood and violence and stuff.

By the time Cellbit was arrested, he had finally warmed up to the idea of having a soulmate if only because having someone assigned to him by the universe meant that there'd be someone on the outside willing to break him out of prison and help him get his revenge on all the fuckers who had dared try and mess with him while he was in there.

But then, after prison- after everything, Cellbit had realized that maybe he wasn't meant to have a soulmate, after all. Why would he? Why would the universe be so kind as to give him someone to care about who would actually love him back? Who would like him back?

Whoever his soulmate might've been, Cellbit had always hoped that they were dead. They'd be better off dead than stuck with a monster like him.

By the time Roier makes it to his own house, the sun is high in the sky and Cellbit has managed to find a a shirt and a pair of shorts to throw on on top of his underwear. (On top of Roier's underwear?)

Bobby is still asleep upstairs, Cellbit thinks. At least, he hasn't heard anything from him. Should he be worried?

But then Cellbit looks out the window and watches his body trip over itself on the dirt and faceplant, and, well, Bobby can wait.

Roier's body is... heavy as Cellbit pulls a pair of shoes on. It doesn't want to cooperate, but that can't be right, it's supposed to be natural. Or something. Cellbit thinks. Maybe.

So he doesn't actually know how soulmates work, but it's supposed to be natural, right? That's how he remembers Bad explaining it, but he also remembers Bad having as much emotional awareness as a rock.

Vaguely, he wonders if the problem isn't with the fact that it's Cellbit being in Roier's body but that it's because it's Roier's body and that this is just how it is for Roier all the time. But that's none of Cellbit's business.

(Yet.)

(Maybe.)

(Eventually?)

(Turn the detective brain off, fuck.)

Whatever!

Cellbit runs out the door and goes to help Roier up. He isn't hurt at all as Roier swears at him and grumbles and pushes himself up onto his knees.

"I'm fine," he insists. "See?"

He gestures towards himself with a sharp-toothed grin, eyes squinted shut, and, wow, it's weird for Cellbit to see himself smile. His body doesn't really... do that. It's unnatural. Kinda creepy, like looking into a fucked-up mirror.

Cellbit offers an awkward smile in response, and it hurts. Not his face, no, his soul. Well, not his soul, because that would be silly, but some weird little part inside his Everything stings and pulses with a dull, throbbing pain so sudden and harsh that his throat chokes up and tears threaten to well up in Cellbit's eyes.

With a shuddering breath, Cellbit drops his smile and his eyes. He looks at the ground, and he says, "Uh. We should talk inside, maybe?"

He doesn't wait for a response before turning on his heel and walking back into Roier's house. He does hold the door open, though, remembering that Roier's house has that weird security thing on the door that keeps everybody but him out.

"Your legs are too short," Roier complains as he brushes past Cellbit and walks into the house. "I keep tripping over shit."

"...I'm sorry?" Cellbit offers. (He internally smacks himself. No, stupid, why is he sorry? He can't control his genetics, fuck!)

Roier waves him off. "Nah, it's fine. It's just for today, right?"

He sits at his table with a groan, eyes slipping shut and head tilting over the back of the chair. He looks so... calm. Which means that Cellbit's actual real normal face looks calm, and that's weird. He doesn't do calm.

Hesitantly, Cellbit joins him at the table. He sits directly opposite him, leg bouncing nervously, hands clasped in his lap.

And then? Silence. Absolutely nothing but the slight rattle of the table as Cellbit's (Roier's?) knee bumps against it and the quiet sound of snoring from upstairs. (So Bobby is still asleep. That's normal, right?)

Cellbit glances at the goggles still firmly on his body's head.

"Thanks for keeping them on," he lamely says.

Roier hums a question mark and cracks an eye open, following Cellbit's gaze. He smiles, then, small and clearly fake.

"Hey, man, it's fine," he replies. "It kind of hurts, but it's fine."

Cellbit winces. "I mean, you can take them off! It's fine, it's just us."

Roier shrugs, but he doesn't move to take the goggles off.

Quiet again.

This is... fine. It's fine! Cellbit's soulmate is just a guy who probably maybe dislikes him, that's all. It's nothing he wasn't expecting from his soulmate, he knows how he is as a person. Roier is probably just disappointed, that's all.

"We don't have to do anything, you know," Cellbit says after a moment.

He looks back down at the table as Roier sits up to look at him.

Cellbit wrings his hands together, fingers hooking together and pulling-pushing and they throb from the bruises, and where did Roier get them, anyway? From the pattern, Cellbit would say Roier had punched something, but here are also small cuts indicating the involvement of glass, and-

(Detective brain. Off.)

"I mean, it's crazy, right?" Cellbit laughs weakly. "Us, soulmates? We don't even know each other."

"I mean, yeah, but that's normal, I think. You don't know your soulmate until you meet them, that's how it works."

"I guess? But-"

"And!" Roier interjects. "I know you better already! You sleep with your sword and you have cat ears, that's more than I know about half of my dates!"

Cellbit winces at the mention of his ears, but he manages to huff out a quiet laugh. He even feels himself smile, though it hurts bad enough for him to force it away after a moment.

"Okay," he breathes, and he looks up to meet Roier's (his own?) eyes. "So... it's fine?"

"What the fuck do you think I've been saying, pendejo?" Roier exclaims. He reaches across the table and lightly taps Cellbit on the forehead between his top set of eyes. "I know my body isn't deaf, so start listening."

He sits again, continuing speaking before Cellbit can say anything:

"I don't know you, and that's fine. You don't know me, and that's fine. You threatened my son yesterday, and that's fine. I'll threaten your son to make it even."

"Hey!" Cellbit protests.

Roier ignores him and keeps talking. "We're stuck on this island, Cellbit. We aren't allowed to leave. If we try, Osito Bimbo shoots us. So that gives us plenty of time to get to know each other."

Cellbit's eyes widen in alarm. "We're what?"

He thinks he remembers somebody mentioning that to him and the others yesterday, but there was so much going on that he didn't really register it. Prison, again? At least it's open-air this time...

Roier shrugs his concerns off with a literal wave of the hand. "So see? It's fine. We'll figure each other out, and then we'll kiss and have sex and stuff. Right?"

"Um," Cellbit stammers, the tips of his ears going red. "Maybe just the kissing part."

"Sure, sure. Point is..." Roier stands out of his chair and leans across the table, reaching down and pulling Cellbit's hands out of his lap. He holds them and looks Cellbit in the eyes and gravely asks, "...Cellbit, will you be my soulmate?"

Cellbit rolls his eyes and gently pulls his hands away. "I don't think I get a choice."

"Aw, come on! You're no fun," Roier pouts.

"There, that's a third thing you know about me."

"Shut up, what the fuck?"

And as the argument continues, the weight in Cellbit's heart slowly starts to lift. Just a little, because it's just the beginning, but maybe... maybe having a soulmate won't be that bad, after all.

-_-_-_-

A/N:

Thank you so much for reading! Please reblog maaaaaaaybe with a comment or a tag and tell me what you think! Or send an ask, I'm fine with anything!

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#or: a soulmate au :D #guapoduo #spiderbit #well. pre-relationship i suppose #this one is full of Implications #it's short but like i'm sleepy and i have a tummy ache so this is fine

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anonymous-dentist · 21 days

Text

Or: Once upon a time, a man turned himself into a demon for the sake of his husband's soul. It's been a long time since then.

Demons don't really need to sleep, but Roier likes to do it, anyway. It's relaxing, and it reminds him of better times back when he was human and his husband wasn't... well.

Well.

Jaiden doesn't get it, but that's because she's never known what dreams are. Because demons don't sleep and, unlike Roier, she was born a demon. Her and Bobby both were, leaving Roier as the odd one out.

...That's fine! Their loss! Because sleep? Great. Dreams? Even better.

Because, in Roier's dreams, he sees him.

(They're in bed, because that was Roier's favorite place to be. He's on his back with his husband laying next to him tracing patterns into his shirt with one finger. Rain patters on the ceiling, and some leaks through into the kitchen and lands in a pot placed conspicuously in the middle of the floor. Their blankets are warm, and so are their hearts.)

Roier has been married for almost 500 years. His husband has been dead for 499 of those years, give or take a few months.

They were never legally married; that just wasn't something you did back then. Didn't matter, though, because they wouldn't have been able to afford a wedding even if they could get married.

They were farmers- well, Roier was a farmer. His husband just liked sitting and watching Roier work shirtless in the fields. He'd sit with a pitcher of water waiting by his side should Roier need it, and he'd watch shamelessly for hours at a time, and he was horrible.

And now he's dead.

But, see, the first thing Roier asked when arriving in Hell was whether or not the Devil was cool with gay marriage.

"Uh," said Jaiden- and this was their first real conversation post-demoning, okay? So she obviously wasn't as cool as she is now. "Maybe? I don't know. I'd have to ask?"

"Could you?" Roier had asked, freshly deceased and still bleeding from the temples where his horns had just finished growing in. "I'm expecting my husband."

"Right," Jaiden tensely replied. "Your husband."

"Yeah," Roier said, and he tried saying his husband's name, but it just. Wouldn't... what was it again?

But that's fine, being a demon is a pretty sweet gig. All Roier has to do is go up to the Mortal Realm and do a few jobs for a few witches, corrupt a few souls. In return, he gets badass magical abilities and immortality.

More importantly, he gets his husband's soul. As soon as he reincarnates back in the Mortal Realm, and as soon as he dies again, he goes to Hell with all of the memories from his previous life with Roier intact, and they finally get their happily ever after.

It's what he would've wanted. Hell might sound terrible, but it's no worse than the Mortal Realm, and its public transportation is actually better, somehow. The busses all run on time, and the subway is free.

More importantly, Roier's husband was the one collecting all those books on summoning demons and making deals with demons and communing with the Devil. Roier just... completed his work for him.

It's the least he could've done, and it was his last chance at seeing him again.

Fuck, but what was his name?

(They're in the fields, because that was Roier's husband's favorite place to be. Roier is shirtless and bent over a row of seeds that are going to grow up to be corn in a few months, and his husband is on the ground under the apple tree watching him shamelessly. It's sunny out, and there's the smell of smoke in the air.)

It's been 500 years since Roier's husband died, and Roier has spent that time trying to remember the name of his husband's killer.

Because, once upon a time, there was a farmer, and there was a witch. Ah, but witches were illegal, you see. They communed with the Devil, and they brought chaos into a world of order.

All Roier remembers is that the person who tied his husband to that pole was in all-white. Not a priest, just someone boring.

That same person was the one who lit the straw at Roier's husband's feet on fire. And they smiled doing so even as Roier dove towards the flames as if he could put them out with his bare hands.

It didn't work. Big surprise there.

"So the Devil's fine with you two getting married," Jaiden said after a few days of dealing with demonic bureaucracy, "but I have some bad news for you."

Roier, for the first time since Jaiden slit his throat and converted him, felt fear.

"What is it?" he asked.

She let out a breath, slow, and said, eventually, "Your husband's soul isn't here. He isn't in Heaven, either. Or in any of the other gods' realms."

Roier blinked. "What."

It was not a question.

She threw up her hands. "I don't know! It's like he just... disappeared!"

"Is that why I can't remember his name?" Roier asked. "His soul is fucking gone?"

His hands shook. Jaiden reached out and took them.

"We'll find him," she promised, kind despite her whole 'Is A Demon' thing. "Even if it takes five hundred years."

"Yeah, well, it won't," he scoffed. "I'm going to find him. He promised me a wedding."

Souls don't just die. They go to someplace that Roier has only ever heard of: Purgatory.

Once in Purgatory, souls get judged by the Eye of Justice. He asks them questions about their life, and they have to answer truthfully, or he'll feed them to his children.

There are a few options for what comes next.

One: they pass the Eye of Justice's judgement and are allowed to move on to whatever afterlife they believe in.

Two: they pass the Eye of Justice's judgement and are allowed to reincarnate into another life.

Three: they fail the Eye of Justice's judgement and are forcibly sent to reincarnate into the life of a bug or a blade of grass or something else boring and tortuous.

Roier got to skip out on Purgatory entirely because he took the direct line to Hell. But maybe, just maybe, if he had died regularly, he could have seen his husband in Purgatory, and they could have reincarnated together.

...Ugh. Hindsight is a bitch.

(Roier is visiting his grandfather when the church bells ring.

"A witch!" he hears a woman scream, and his stomach fell right into his shoes.)

It's been 500 years, and Roier has gotten a bit of a reputation among modern witches for being one of the easier demons to work with. He'll help with their problems in exchange for information on a certain lost soul: if they hear from his husband's soul, they summon Roier. Or he'll help in exchange for some book recommendations for his son; Hell has many things, but it does not have a public library.

He isn't a particularly strong demon despite what his only angel friend, Etoiles, might say. Etoiles is just a silly little guy, don't listen to him!

(He never even got to say goodbye. They locked eyes as the flames rose, and Roier screamed his name one last time, and he hasn't been able to feel anything since.)

Jaiden was the first demon that Roier had ever met.

He was on the floor surrounded by the ashes that used to be his home. His husband's books were in charred tatters around him, but one managed to survive the fire. It was almost supernatural, but, like, yeah. Demon book, of course it was fireproof.

He was bleeding. He had offered his blood, and his soul, to the demon in exchange for his husband's life back.

She sat on the floor with him.

"I can't do that," she gently told him. "Demons can do a lot of things, but we can't perform miracles."

Roier's throat burned: smoke inhalation and grief.

"Oh," he said, small-sounding.

"But I can get his soul to Hell," she offered. "In exchange... you have to go to Hell."

His answer was immediate: "Yes."

She blinked. "I wasn't finished?"

"The answer is still 'Yes'. As long as I'm with him again, I don't care what happens to me."

"You'll have to turn your life over to Satan. You can't just go to Hell. That isn't how it works."

Roier shrugged. "That's fine."

Jaiden gawked for a moment before nodding and standing and extending her hand.

He took it.

And then he died.

But it's been 500 fucking years, and now Roier is being summoned by another witch for another deal. He'll probably have to help supply additional magic for some big important spell, that's basically all he's used for these days. He's more than a battery, thanks! He's a demon, he should be out, like, stealing souls and shit.

He goes, anyway, because he has to. If he doesn't, his contract is void, and he won't get to see his husband because he himself will be sent to Purgatory to be judged and, really, he does not want to deal with that. (The Eye of Judgement is fucking creepy, okay?)

There's the familiar pull at Roier's core, and the familiar blinding burst of light as he's yanked into the Mortal Realm, and the familiar smell of brimstone and evil that follows him wherever he goes outside of Hell.

The room is filled with blood red smoke as he appears- his trademark.

(The most important thing to a demon these days isn't evil, it's marketability.)

The witch in front of him, nothing more than a shadow hidden behind the smoke, coughs and wheezes and fans their hand in front of their face.

They're kneeled on the ground in front of a pentagram drawn in... what the fuck is this, strawberry jam?

Roier crouches and sticks a finger into one of the circle's markings. Careful not to break the circle, he pulls his finger out and licks the red stuff on it.

Shocked, he looks at the witch, and he asks, "Dude, what the fuck? Is this blood?"

What happened to chalk!?

The witch coughs at him indignantly. "I needed to make sure I got someone powerful."

Roier rolls his eyes and plops fully onto the ground, criss-cross applesauce. He wipes his blood-covered fingertip on his jeans. Newbies...

"Well, you got me," he says, humble to the core. (He may be a super evil demon now, but he isn't a dick.) "So... what's up? What do you need?"

The smoke in the room slowly starts dissipating, revealing the witch to be a man in what have to be the previous day's clothes. His head is still ducked, and his face is still hidden in his elbow as he coughs, but Roier could almost call him objectively handsome. Shame Roier's married, this guy would be fun to mess around with.

"I need to- fuck-"

The witch coughs one last time before finally managing to get a lungful of clean air. He raises his head, and Roier finally gets a look at his face, and-

"I need your help," the witch says, voice rough and rugged and absolutely heartbreaking. "I need to kill someone, and I need your help to do it."

"Okay," Roier agrees. He doesn't have a choice, being a summoned demon and all, but he doesn't think he could turn this witch down at all, because...

("Cellbit!" Roier screams.

He can see his face in his husband's glassy eyes, and then he sees nothing but the flames as they rise over Cellbit's head and drown him whole.)

The man with his husband's face frowns, suspicious.

"What," he asks, "just like that?"

Roier grins, fangs and all. "Just like that."

After all, he doesn't think he'll need any payment for this one.

He's finally found what he's been looking for.

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#spiderbit #guapoduo #bit of a weird format going on here but it felt like it worked okay?#real sporadic but so are this dude's thoughts

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anonymous-dentist · 28 days

Text

Part two of the Catboy in the Village AU

Cellbit wakes up handcuffed, which really doesn't bode well.

He's... moving. He's sitting up with his head pillowed on something soft, yet firm, and he's moving.

Ah. So he has been kidnapped, then. Great.

Groaning, Cellbit hides his face in his pillow's shoulder, confident that he isn't sticking his face anywhere it shouldn't be. He knows this shoulder, it's one of his favorites.

"Buenos días, gatinho," Roier warmly says. A kiss lands itself in Cellbit's hair right between his ears.

Cellbit fights the urge to purr (not now!), and he murmurs, "Am I going to be angry when I open my eyes?"

"Mmm, probably."

Cellbit sighs. So it's like that, then.

Eyes still closed, he pricks his ears up and tries to take in his environment. Horses, someone guiding them. Wheels noisily turning. Roier breathing, Cellbit himself breathing, someone else breathing. Three people total in the carriage- because they have to be in one, Cellbit doubts a supposed "prince" would be left to travel in a simple wagon.

Absolutely no signs of Richarlyson and Pepito. No arguing, no crying, no complaining. Nothing.

Slowly, Cellbit lets out a breath. He's calm.

"Roier," he asks, "where are our children?"

Roier stiffens minutely beneath him. "Um."

"Your children are fine," someone else says, and, ah, it would be her, wouldn't it?

Cellbit swallows his anger. He's calm.

He sits up, scooting closer to Roier so their arms are brushing because he is not about to be away from him right now. He opens his eyes, and he stares at the woman who has to be the newly-crowned Queen of the Gato Kingdom, and he hates.

"Your highness," he coolly says. "Where the fuck are my children?"

The queen's eyebrow twitches. "Don't call me that."

"Your highness. My children?"

"Not... with us at the moment, but I have my finest knights searching for them as we speak. Once we find them-"

She screeches as Cellbit lunges at her with his fangs bared. He can't use his hands, but that's fine, he was in prison once, he knows how to tear a throat out without using his claws.

He "oof"s as he's swiftly kicked in the chest by a heeled shoe and shoved back into his seat opposite the queen.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" the queen demands.

Cellbit answers her with a snarl and a second attempt at political assassination. This time, though, he's stopped by Roier, who grabs him around the middle with both arms and pulls him to his chest.

Immediately, Cellbit feels his body relax. Damnit.

"I told you you'd be angry," Roier hums.

He slips a hand under Cellbit's shirt and just leaves it splayed across his stomach. The queen looks mildly disturbed. What, is she homophobic, too? Rich and homophobic? Pick a struggle.

"Of course I'm angry," Cellbit sneers. He glares at the queen, who glares right back. "We've been kidnapped."

The queen rolls her eyes. "You aren't being kidnapped. You are being escorted."

"In handcuffs!"

"Yeah!" Roier agrees. "Only I can put my husband in handcuffs!"

The queen's face goes mildly green. Oh, so she is homophobic. Great.

Cellbit, though, groans and slams his head against Roier's shoulder. Roier just grins at him, the piece of shit.

"Well," the queen hesitantly says, "it was either this or ropes."

Roier protests, "Only I can put my husband in ro-"

He cuts himself off with a moan as Cellbit pinches his thigh.

"Cállate," Cellbit huffs. "She doesn't need to know."

"I really don't," the queen agrees, complete with a nod of the head. "You're my brother, I don't want or need to be hearing any of this."

(Not that the 'any of this' is real. The most extreme thing Cellbit and Roier have done in bed is play board games and lose the pieces in their blankets, but it's just so fun to make people uncomfortable.)

"I'm not," Cellbit tells her.

He tilts his head back and looks up at Roier. "Did you know that she thinks I'm the missing Gato Kingdom prince?"

Roier laughs. "What, really? You?"

Cellbit smiles. "I know, right?"

"I'm right here," the queen flatly says. "And you are my brother. His name is Cellbit, your name is Cellbit. You have feline features. Only members of-"

Cellbit finishes her sentence for her: "-the Gato royal family are cat hybrids. I know. But you're wrong."

The queen crosses her arms and her legs, her foot bouncing impatiently on the floor.

"Oh, yeah?" she asks. "How?"

"Because," Cellbit simply says.

Nothing else.

Roier snorts. He adjusts his hold on Cellbit, halfway pulling him onto his lap and hooking his chin over Cellbit's shoulder.

Cellbit looks down at Roier's very un-handcuffed hands and pouts.

"Why aren't you restrained?" he complains.

"Because I haven't tried to kill the queen," Roier smugly says. He pokes Cellbit's nose, making Cellbit go cross-eyed. "This is what you get, pendejo."

"Fuck you," Cellbit grumbles. "You didn't try to fight her a little? For me?"

"Nah. I killed all her knights, though."

Gods.

Cellbit's eyes practically glitter. "Wow. I bet you got real sweaty."

Roier nods. "And I took my shirt off."

Gods!!

Cellbit turns to glare at the queen. "You made me miss that!"

The queen's mouth opens in shock. "You tried stabbing me!"

"And you kidnapped me! I think stabbing you would've been worth it!"

"Calma, gatinho," Roier lightly says. He slips his other hand under Cellbit's shirt; his two hands link together, his thumb rubbing soothing little circles above Cellbit's bellybutton. "Don't threaten royalty when I don't have my sword."

"You aren't being kidnapped!" the queen shouts. "This could've gone a lot easier if you had just come with me to begin with!"

"And why the fuck would I do that?" Cellbit sneers.

"Because I'm your sister, idiot!"

"I'm an orphan, idiot!"

The queen bodily flinches, recoiling into the back of her seat with wide eyes and a trembling mouth.

Sensing a tense moment, Roier takes the opportunity to say, "You know, maybe he isn't your brother. Maybe I'm your brother, hm? Maybe my ears fell off in the war."

It's just the kind of statement that would blow Pepito's mind. Pepito, oh, Pepito...

Cellbit wants his kids.

The queen ignores Roier. She continues staring at Cellbit, instead.

"What happened to you?" she asks, voice hoarse.

Cellbit gives her a flat look in response. "What hasn't. I'm not who you think I am. I'm... me. You have the wrong guy."

He twists his wrists in his handcuffs. They're simple enough...

"This really isn't a good first impression," Roier adds.

As Roier continues speaking, Cellbit pops his thumb out of its socket and starts subtly pulling his hand through the cuff.

Roier says, "Like, I get you wanted to see him, but this is kinda fucked, you know? You couldn't have sent a letter? We could have had brunch, but, noooooo, you just had to show up like this and freak him out."

"I'm not freaked out," Cellbit grumbles.

(And now the other hand...)

"I didn't want it to be this way," the queen says. She looks painedly at Cellbit. "It's- I- we need you back, Cellbit. Our parents- the king and queen are both dead. You promised that you would help me when I took the throne. I've been looking for you for years, and-"

"Okay," Roier interrupts. "See? Talking's good. Gatinho, do you have anything to say?"

"Yeah," Cellbit replies. He looks at the queen, and he says, "Guapito, hold on."

He sticks his tongue out at the queen (childish, maybe, but she's pissing him off), and he slams himself against the carriage door.

And... nothing happens.

He smacks his head, and he sees stars, and he falls backwards onto the carriage's floor with a pained grunt.

The queen gives him a mocking look. "What, you didn't think I would lock the door? You really are my brother, dumbass. You haven't changed a bit."

Roier, at least, looks somewhat pitying.

"That would've been cool if it had worked?" he tries.

Cellbit just groans in response and drops his head back down onto the floor.

He used to be an escape artist. And now he's trapped in a carriage with an insane woman.

"Sit tight," the queen says, settling back into her seat and making sure to kick Cellbit in the side as she does so. "It's a long trip back to the castle."

"If I don't see my children when we're there, I'll actually kill you," Cellbit threatens.

Her lips quirk into a smirk. "You can try."

And he hates her.

#catboy in the village au #a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#this poor guy #i like this au actually

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anonymous-dentist · 1 month

Text

Or: In a world where everybody has a superpower, Roier doesn't seem to have one

For day five of @smallchaoscryptid's Spiderbit Week- Superheroes/Blood

Cellbit's dreams are always dark. They start with him in his childhood bedroom, and then they move him down to the kitchen his parents died in, and then they end with him under the bridge. The sounds are muffled, but he can still understand what's being said, and it's always: "It's your fault."

Because it is.

He's had the same dreams since the night his parents died.

Every.

Goddamn.

Night.

But, well. He deserves it. The darkness surrounding the edges of his dream blurs out the unimportant details, like the face of the little girl who was sitting at the kitchen table when Cellbit's parents died, or the view outside of his bedroom window.

But the darkness hides something else- and this is a recent development, and he really doesn't understand it. Because, just out of view, is a figure in all black with eyes that glow white and claws that tear through Cellbit's dreams like they're paper.

He doesn't know who, or what, this thing is, but he does know a few things about it:

The creature destroys Cellbit's nightmares, sending his subconscious tumbling into a much happier dream- one that he can never remember when he wakes up

The creature tries to talk to him every time, but the fangs in its mouth are so large that it just can't

The creature seems to grow taller and stronger with every nightmare it destroys.

The creature is scared of Cellbit's husband

Now, yeah, sure, the creature can't talk, but Cellbit doesn't need to hear someone speak to know what they're afraid of. That's his superpower: fear. He can look at someone and hear what they're scared of, and he can make them scared, and it's horrible and he's a monster and he deserves to-

Cellbit gasps his way into full consciousness. He stares at the ceiling, chest heaving, brain loud and annoying and and and and-

"Gatinho?" Roier murmurs, curled up by Cellbit's side with his head pillowed on Cellbit's chest. He wraps an arm around Cellbit's middle and squirms closer, somehow, he's so clingy.

"Está bem," Cellbit breaths. "Just... just thinking."

"Well, don't," Roier grumbles. "Your brain is loud. Sleep, pendejo."

As if on command, Cellbit's eyelids droop. Roier always has this effect on him; he's just so comforting. He's a living, breathing weighted blanket, and Cellbit loves him so fucking much.

Soon enough, he's asleep again, and he's face-to-face with the creature again.

The creature tries to speak, but no noise comes out.

It flexes its claws as Dream Cellbit starts the walk downstairs to the kitchen.

The dream is shredded, and Cellbit finds himself face-to-face with-

Roier and Cellbit have been married for almost one whole entire wonderful year. He's known Roier for one and a half years, and he's been out of prison for two years.

Roier knows about the creature in Cellbit's dreams, even if Cellbit hasn't told him what his dreams actually are. Roier's been trying to come up with a name for it for months now, but Cellbit doesn't really know what to think of that considering the creature is literally invading his brain every night.

"It's kind of sweet, though, right?" Roier asks.

Cellbit wrinkles his nose and jabs his chopsticks down into his rice.

Dinner tonight is Chinese takeout because Roier's tired from work and Cellbit is tired from existing. It's good, but kind of bland. Since they changed ownership and ended up under the Federation of Heroes' official branding, the food has gone downhill. Yet another thing that Cucurucho has ruined, ugh.

"I mean, maybe?" Cellbit replies. "It's kind of freaky."

"I don't know, it kind of sounds cute."

Cellbit gives Roier a flat look; Roier just grins and steals some chicken from his plate.

"It's destroying my dreams," Cellbit says. "That doesn't sound 'cute' to me."

"Yeah, but doesn't it give you different dreams?" Roier asks. "I think it's trying to help."

"Yeah, or it's trying to kill me."

Roier's shoulders tighten. "Do you think so?"

It's always hard to pick up Roier's fears, but Cellbit can often just guess them even without using his powers. Like, he knows that Roier is just scared enough of bears to refuse to go camping anywhere without a cabin for him to stay him. He and Cellbit are both terrified of losing each other, and they're even more scared of losing their kids.

God, Cellbit is so stupid. He doesn't need to be worrying Roier with this, he already freaks out enough when Cellbit ends up caught in the middle of one of the Federation's hero fights due to his abysmally terrible luck.

His face falls. He places his chopsticks down and reaches across the table and takes Roier's hand in his.

"It'll be fine," he tells Roier. "If it tries to kill me, I'll just... wake up."

"If it tries to kill you, I'll kick its ass," Roier swears.

He squeezes Cellbit's hand once and offers a lackluster smile.

Cellbit's heart twists in his chest. Oh, Roier...

The night's dream starts as usual:

Cellbit opens his eyes to find himself in his childhood bedroom in his childhood body. There aren't any bloodstains on his clothes yet, though that'll change soon enough.

He tries looking out the window, but that isn't what he did that night, so anything beyond the window is covered by the darkness.

There's a growl, and then the creature forms in the shadows near Cellbit's bed. (There are always two beds in his room, but why?)

"What do you want?" Cellbit tries to ask, but that isn't what he did that night.

Instead, and in a squeaky childish voice, he groans and shouts, "This sucks! I can't figure it out!"

He's at his desk. In front of him are multiplication tables he's supposed to be doing for homework, and they're easy enough that Adult Cellbit could do them now, but that isn't what happened that night. So the problems look like random lines and squiggles, and Cellbit's chest hurts, and he can't breathe, and-

"I can't do this!" he shouts, jumping off of his chair and pulling his homework with him. "Mãe!"

He reaches his door, has his hand on the handle, and then... there's the creature by his side shredding the door into pieces with its claws.

Cellbit blinks, and he's an adult again, and he's in a different dream, and he turns to the side and he's face-to-face with-

Roier is one of the few people Cellbit has ever heard of that doesn't have a superpower. He seems happy enough without one, but... but Cellbit thinks that he's lying. He isn't angry that Roier is lying, though. No, he understands, because he himself lied about not having powers until they'd been dating for six months.

In the back of his mind, Cellbit has a few ideas of what Roier's secret superpower could be. The only one he says out loud is, "I know what your power is. You're super handsome!"

But, in order, it goes:

Extreme endurance (evidence: goes for long runs every morning and ends up back in bed sweating and tired by the time Cellbit wakes up)

Can always cook the perfect meal (evidence: he's just really good at cooking)

Comfort aura (evidence: Cellbit always feels happy and cozy and safe when Roier is around)

Super strength (evidence: he's really strong)

But, well. None of those quite work, mostly because the majority of them are just early excuses for thinking Roier was attractive back before they started dating.

Tonight as Cellbit brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed, he thinks up a new idea:

Vocal projection (evidence: he's loud as fuck when he's singing in the shower)

Because, yes, Roier is, indeed, in the shower, and he's singing very loudly. But, really, Cellbit wouldn't have him any other way. He's perfect.

"Hey, guapito," Cellbit says after rinsing his mouth out. "I need your help with something?"

Roier cuts his song off with an irritated groan. "Now? I was almost to the chorus!"

"Desculpe. But you're better at naming things than I am, and I need help coming up with something to call the creature in my dream diary."

"You have a dream diary?"

"I'm starting it tonight. I'm going to figure this thing out."

"That's cute!"

Cellbit can see Roier's silhouette shaking with silent laughter through the shower curtain. Wordlessly, he opens the curtain so he can take the shower head down and spray Roier with it.

"It's serious," Cellbit says, ignoring Roier's screeching protests. "I think it's messing with my head."

"Put that down- vete a la verga, fuck!"

Roier bats at Cellbit's hands until Cellbit lowers the shower head.

And then Roier yanks the shower head away from him and sprays him with it.

"Pendejo!" Cellbit shouts. (Not the best swear word, but it's all he could come up with on such short notice.)

He skitters away from the shower and looks, horrified, down at his soaking wet pajamas.

"Whoops," Roier plainly says. "Guess you'll just have to sleep naked tonight."

He grins, and Cellbit hates him. He wants to kiss him soooo badly!

So he does, and it's nice.

A few minutes later as they crawl into bed, Roier says, "Hey. I have a name for your monster."

Cellbit looks at him. "Yeah?"

"Call it Venom. It's, like, dissolving your dreams, right? Like poison?"

Brain poison, hmm.

Cellbit grabs his brand new dream journal off of his bedside table and opens it. Right on the first page is a long, detailed description of his dream. Right below it is a description of the creature as well as a really messy drawing.

'Venom', he writes.

...What a specific descriptoin. "Dissolving your dreams", not quite how Cellbit has been describing it.

He glances at Roier out of the corner of his eye.

Hm.

The first part of the dream goes normally.

And then Cellbit is downstairs at the kitchen table with his parents. There's also a girl there, but Cellbit hadn't looked at her face that night, so she doesn't have one now.

"I can't do it," Cellbit whines. He balls his hands into fists and fights the urge to smash his own face into the table.

"You can," his father insists. "You're a smart kid! Why don't we take a break."

He gets up from the table and goes to cut some watermelon.

Cellbit knows what's about to happen next. But he can't close his eyes, because his eyes were open that night.

"Let's try one more time, okay?" his mother asks.

He sniffles and nods.

He looks down at the problems. He can't understand him, he's so stupid. He's so stupid! Why can't he be like [her]?! She's good at math. She's even finished her homework.

His vision starts to blur. He can't see. He can't- he can't breathe oh fuck he can't breathe why can't he breathe what why can't he

A scream.

He looks up and watches his father finish plunging his watermelon-cutting knife into his own stomach.

"Pai!?" the girl screeches.

"I can't do it," Cellbit's mother whispers. "I'm a failure. I can't do it."

She wrestles Cellbit's pencil from his hand and raises it to her eye and-

Cellbit gasps as a clawed hand rips the table into pieces in front of him.

As the dream shifts and as his body turns back into his own, he's pulled by the creature- by Venom- into a loose hug. Its claws dig into his back, but they don't hurt.

He looks up, and he finds himself face-to-face with-

Roier was the first person that Cellbit let himself get attached to after he was released from prison.

He'd met Roier by pure chance, and it was love at first sight. He was just so... and he's still so...

"Does this dress make my ass look big?" Roier asks, posing in front of Cellbit in a way that most people would probably call sexy.

...perfect.

They'd met at their mutual friend, Maxo's, club. Roier wasn't on the pole that night, he was instead working the bar, and he and Cellbit hit it off immediately.

The next time Cellbit had been gone, Roier wasn't there, but his 'cousin' was. Melissa, according to Roier, owns half of the club.

And then, seven months later while rummaging through Roier's closet looking for a hoodie to steal, Cellbit had seen one of Melissa's dresses, and, well. Cellbit isn't stupid, okay? But he hadn't said anything because he didn't want to break Roier's trust, and he lives by that idea even now almost two years after their marriage.

If Roier wants to tell him something, he will. It isn't Cellbit's place to push.

Cellbit checks out Roier's ass appreciatively.

"Everything you wear makes your butt look big," he replies.

Roier nods and smiles, more than content with that answer, and he goes to the other side of his dressing room to start putting his makeup on.

Cellbit tries to make it to every one of "Melissa's" shows. He's a good husband, he wants to support Roier in everything he does.

...And he can't sleep anymore unless he has Roier by his side. Does that make him clingy?

He yawns, anyway, and he leans back and slumps in his chair. He might move to the dressing room's sofa, he's exhausted. (He might not be able to sleep without Roier, but he can rest his eyes, at least.)

"Is it okay if I stay back here?" he asks. "I need to lay down."

Roier glances at him through his mirror, concern lining his face. "Are you okay?"

Cellbit waves his concerns aside. "I'm just a little tired. I don't think I'm going to fall asleep, but I don't want to accidentally pass out during your show. That would be bad for business."

Roier's eyebrows furrow, just slightly. "Are you sure?"

"I mean, if it's okay-"

"No!" Roier cuts him off so quickly that he even seems to surprise himself. "I mean. It's okay, but you might not be comfortable. I can try and find you a pillow?"

His voice is shaking, just slightly. Hm.

"Nah, I'm good," Cellbit replies. He shrugs his jacket off and balls it up in his arms. "I've slept in worse places before."

"If- if you're sure, then go ahead."

Something feels... off. Maybe it's just because Cellbit is tired, but something is just. Weird.

But Roier eventually leaves the dressing room, though not without giving Cellbit a big fat messy lipstick-covered kiss on the lips.

Cellbit moves to the sofa, and he pillows his head on his jacket, and he closes his eyes, and he... he falls asleep. Just barely, because his dream is a faded memory around him, but. But.

But Venom isn't there.

The third stage of the dream is the coldest. It gnaws at Cellbit's brain, because it was the middle of January when his parents died. He was alone and under the bridge and covered in blood and absolutely freezing.

The dream doesn't ever go on past the bridge. He always just sits there shivering until he wakes up unless Venom shows up.

So he sits, and he shivers, and he waits to wake up. His body is crying, and the tears are freezing to his cheeks. He can't breathe. He can't stop thinking of... of... fuck, who is that girl? The one who chased Cellbit out of the house. The one with no face but the same voice as him.

A police car speeds over the bridge above him. It's going to his house, he knows this. The morning after the bridge, he snuck back towards his house, and the police car was still there. So was the girl. So were his parents bodies, wrapped in sheets and being carried to a Federation-white van.

He's a mistake. [She] was always better than him. [She] never hurt anybody. It isn't fair!

He sobs and buries his face in his knees. He won't sleep tonight, Cellbit remembers staying up all night because he couldn't close his eyes without seeing his parents die in front of him, and he still can't close his eyes without seeing it.

"I'm a monster," he whimpers, the first time he'd ever spoken those words, but not the last. (Later, he would try to embrace them and become the monster the media labeled him as, but it didn't help.)

There's a snarl above him, and then there's Venom standing above him with its fangs bared.

"I-" Cellbit chokes, forced to repeat what he'd said all those years ago. "I need to turn myself in. I have to!"

He stands. Venom moves to block him, grabbing onto his shoulders and holding him in place.

"There have to be healer heroes," Cellbit reasons. "They can fix them."

(They can't, and they won't.)

If possible, Venom looks distraught. The darkness wavers around it, and that's when Cellbit realizes that this is the closest they've really gotten to each other. This close, he can almost make out a face hidden behind Venom's teeth, buried deep within its mouth. But it's too dark, but if he looks hard enough...

Venom steps back, and he tears the bridge apart, and Cellbit finds himself face-to-face with-

Roier is cooking dinner tonight, and it smells wonderful. Of course it does, Roier's the one cooking it. Everything he cooks is wonderful, because he's wonderful.

Cellbit sits at the table watching. The kids are all in the other room doing homework, and it's almost peaceful.

Roier slips with the spatula and drops it into the pan. He swears and scoops it out and swears again as the oil inside burns him.

Again, almost peaceful.

Cellbit swiftly stands from his chair and goes to help Roier.

"Here, let me-"

Roier lightly smacks his hand. "Não, não. Go away."

"Mmm, what if I wanna stay with you?"

He slips an arm around Roier's waist and snuggles up against his back. He rests his chin on Roier's shoulder and watches a beautiful smile spread across Roier's face.

"I guess it's fine," Roier sighs, playing up the theatrics. "I guess."

And then it's peaceful once more. Cellbit watches Roier cook, and he pays special attention to Roier's biceps. (Sue him, his husband is hot.)

But then, in the other room, Richarlyson starts shouting:

"This is stupid!"

"Calm down," Bobby drawls. "It's just multiplication, let me see-"

"No, I can do it!"

Cellbit tenses. Roier doesn't seem to notice, and that's fine. It's nothing for either of them to worry about.

"You've literally been working on that for hours," Bobby argues. "Let me see."

"Não!"

Quietly, Pepito pipes up with, "I wanna see!"

"No!" Richarlyson yells. "I can- I can do it!"

"Let me see," Pepito pleads.

(Cellbit can't see.)

"Fuck you, give me the homework," Bobby snaps.

"Fuck you, it's mine!" Richarlyson exclaims.

(Cellbit can't breathe.)

"You literally can't even do it," Bobby mocks. "Give it."

(Cellbit can't-)

The world dissolves around him, and all he can see is his father's body sprawled across the floor and his mother across from him still muttering about how useless she is as he still muttered about how useless he is and he's both 26 years old and eight and he can't breathe and and and and and-

"Cellbit!" he hears. Two warm, gentle hands settle on his cheeks, and he blinks, and he's in his own kitchen. With his husband. Crying.

"It's fine," Roier whispers. He presses his forehead against Cellbit's, eyes slipping shut. "It isn't going to happen again. You're fine. They're fine. It's fine."

Cellbit blinks. The kitchen sounds miles and miles away, but he still heard that, and he knows for certain that he not once has told anybody about the night he killed his parents.

He swallows, fresh tears stinging at his eyes. "What isn't going to happen again?"

Roier tenses, but he doesn't move. His eyes squeeze even further shut, but he doesn't move. His mouth narrows into a pencil-thin line, but he doesn't move.

Cellbit can barely feel his hands, but he still moves his arms to hold Roier around the middle. The kids are still fighting in the background, but... but he can't handle them right now.

In a minute.

"Do we have to talk about it?" Roier hesitantly asks.

Cellbit's answer is immediate: "No. Just... sorry. I'm sorry."

Roier's brow furrows. "'Sorry'? Sorry for what, eh?"

"You shouldn't have to see all... all that. I don't even want to talk about it, but-"

"No, shut up. I'm sorry for sneaking into your dreams every night. It kinda just happens, I don't control it, but... it happened, and you were so sad, and I wanted to help."

Cellbit smiles faintly. His own eyes slip shut, and he can almost not see the bodies this time.

"You do help," he responds. "You help more than you could ever imagine, even outside of the dreams."

He tips his head up to kiss Roier, soft and brief and gentle.

Against Cellbit's lips, Roier mutters, "I can stop."

Cellbit shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. Now that I know it's you, I can stop freaking out about a buff scary monster guy haunting me."

Roier huffs out a quiet laugh. "I can try and be less scary, but I don't control that, either."

"It's still you. Just... God, does this make me a monsterfucker?"

Roier's laugh is much louder this time. He bites Cellbit's bottom lip before pulling back.

Cellbit's eyes open, and he looks into Roier's, and he can see the love in them, and he can feel the love in his own.

God-damn, how did he get this lucky?

"Who are you calling a monster?" Roier demands. He pinches Cellbit's side and turns back to the stove. "Fuck you, sleep alone tonight. I don't even care."

Cellbit smiles and invades his husband's space once more. He hooks his chin over Roier's shoulder, and he sighs against Roier's cheek.

"Te amo," he says. He presses a chaste kiss to the side of Roier's jaw.

Roier's ears turn red, but his face betrays no emotion.

"Your breath smells," he says, a smile teasing at his own lips. "Go brush your teeth before we eat."

Cellbit rolls his eyes, but he leaves to go do as he's told if only to try and finish panicking on his own and try and calm down before dinner.

He passes through the living room, and he sees Bobby at the table helping Richarlyson with his homework.

Some things do change, after all.

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#guapoduo #spiderbit #here's a bit of a weird one #i'm playing fast and loose with 'superheroes' here lol #this is such a weird au i love it #basically: roier has some kind of sleep control! he can enter dreams and change them #but he always looks scary because he himself thinks he's scary for being able to do that #this is inspired by roier's old dream stream with bobby and tilin where they blew up the server

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