#eight; you are dodging the question. will you save others knowing that is not their wish or is your moral self aggrandizing more important | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cowgurrrl · 6 months

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I've been rotting away in bed all weekend recovering from a cold and I made the mistake of rereading some parts of OFTM and I miss them so much 😭 how's our favorite famous duo doing? I can't stop thinking about reader having to defend/support joel for whatever reason, but it's with the vibe of this meme LMAO like that is HER man, how dare people say anything about him

J!!! I love this request!! Thank you for sending it in and I’m sorry it took so long 🩷

Girls on Film

Pairing: rockstar!joel x actress!reader

Summary: this ask

Warnings: unedited because you can’t make me, discussions of toxic behavior, language, Joel being a dilf, June once again not knowing how to properly end a fic, I think that’s it??

Joel is protective of his kids. Sometimes, a little too much, in your opinion but you didn’t marry him because he does things half-way. With each new addition to the family, his papa bear instincts grew and grew. And if you’re being completely honest, his protectiveness and love for his kids is part of the reason why you ended up with five kids to begin with.

When he was giving his interview to People during his Sexiest Man Alive shoot, he was asked what accomplishment of his he’s most proud of. Without missing a beat, he said, “my family.” He went into what little detail you use to talk about the kids in a public setting, even getting a little misty-eyed in the process. The second the crew was out of your house, you nearly jumped his bones right then and there. You found out you were pregnant with the girls about two months later.

So, yeah, he’s a great dad, and it’s super hot. Whatever. It’s universally known within your family that there’s almost nothing he wouldn’t do for his kids. He just loves them with everything he has and wants them to live full and happy lives. Which is fine until he bears his claws in public.

Following a particularly problematic documentary with some of today’s biggest stars, Joel was more than ready to say what had been on his mind when an interviewer stopped him on a red carpet and asked, “are there any people in the music industry you wouldn’t let your daughters date?” The daughters in question were never specified but it’s either between his married thirty-one year old, his lesbian (also married) twenty-eight year old, or his three year old twins. He wasn’t comfortable thinking about any option.

“My kids are free to date anyone they want, but we have a strict no assholes policy in our house.” He said and the interviewer raised her eyebrows. “Like I wouldn’t let ‘em date any of those idiots from that documentary.”

“Why do you say that?” The interviewer asked and Joel shrugged.

“My kids deserve better than some fucker in black eyeliner claimin’ to save rock ‘n roll when all he’s doing is being a sexist pig who makes shitty music.” By the time his words reached your ears, it was too late to stop him. The clip from the interview was making the rounds before you can even get home.

Paul, his poor, poor manager of several years, reaches out to him the next morning to ask if he wants to make a statement, amends, anything to smooth this over. Joel curtly responds to his long email with a short, “no,” and that ends the conversation. What’s even worse if you can’t even argue with him. He’s right. You’ve seen first hand how people in the music industry treat each other and it’s awful. Why should he be the one who gets shit on because he spotlighted other people’s behavior?

You are able to dodge questions, paparazzi, and others wanting to know the inside scoop for weeks until you feel yourself getting just as frustrated as Joel was. Leave it to the press to want the wife to offer explanation for her husband’s actions. It isn’t until you get an offer from Watch What Happens Live with Andy Cohen that you agree to even think about saying anything.

That night, Joel stays home with the kids and watches you walk out on stage with Carolina in a long bell bottoms, platform wedges, and your (Joel’s) favorite vintage band shirt. You and Carolina hug Andy and get some initial questions answered but it doesn’t take long before the subject turns to Joel.

“Now, I know everything’s been very hush, hush but Joel started a lot of discourse online about the music industry. What can you tell us about what he said?” He asks and you nod, smiling and playing with your wedding ring.

“That’s been like the question of the month, hasn’t it?” You joke to break the ice. “Look, I think we all saw the same documentary. We all heard what those men said and to act like we didn’t is, honestly, kind of ridiculous. Joel knows the industry better than I do and he knows that nothing is going to change unless you call out the people making it miserable for younger kids.”

“So, you agree with what he said?”

“One hundred percent. He was right that we have a no assholes policy for our kids but, other than that, we really don’t have rules about their dating lives,” you say. “And I think he was right to call out those guys. It’s not fair that they get protected by their little boys club and that just has to be the way things go. I think it’s bullshit.”

“You seem to feel passionately about this.” Andy says and you nod.

“Well, it’s not just because people are coming after my husband. It’s because we’ve both seen what any toxic environment can do to people which is why he owns his own label now.”

“And it’s doing very well. He just signed one of the biggest breakout stars of the year, didn’t he?”

“He did. And you know why it’s doing so well?” You ask, leaning in like you’re about to tell him a secret. “Because he doesn’t sign assholes. He doesn’t put his name next to theirs. He doesn’t even want to be associated with them because for as much as it’s his name, it’s also my name and our kids’ names. So, people can say whatever they want about what Joel said but I will support him and his mission and when his artists start winning Grammy’s and spots in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, we won’t even remember the names of the people who got fifteen minutes of fame and a shitty sound bite to show for themselves.” You say and somewhere in California, Joel nearly jumps out of his seat with excitement, praising you like you’re there with him.

The second you walk off stage, your phone lights up with Joel’s contact photo and you laugh as you answer it. “Will you marry me?” He asks before you can even say hello.

“I’m assuming you saw the show.”

“Saw it? Baby, I recorded it,” he says. “When are you comin’ home?”

“Tomorrow. You’re supposed to pick me up, remember?” You ask and he groans.

“You ain’t allowed to be that sexy on TV across the country.”

“Keep it your pants, cowboy. I’ll be home soon.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He sighs dejectedly like a ten-year-old.

When you get back to California the next day, the discourse has been put to rest and Joel is almost giddy when he watches you come down the escalator. The flowers in his hand get crushed when you hug him tight and let him kiss you like he hasn’t seen you in years. “Where are my children?” You ask when he finally pulls away and he smirks.

“With Ryan. The kids wanted to have a play date.”

“So, the house is empty?”

“And clean.”

“Joel Miller, will you marry me?” You echo his question from earlier and he laughs.

Then, like a perfect gentleman, he takes your suitcase, opens doors for you, and drive you home to properly fuck the shit out of you. (Author’s note: I want to put <3 right here so mf bad but I won’t because I’m a professional. PS old man rockstar!joel fucks severely. PPS it’s canon because I say so)

#one for the money two for the show #rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader #rockstar!joel miller #the last of us au #tlou au #joel miller au #joel miller fluff #joel miller series #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller

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veronicaphoenix · 4 months

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Chapter tags & trigger warnings: slight angst, best friends' comfort, alcohol intake, sexual innuendos, mentions of praise kink and spankings, discussions of rope play, implied depression. | Word count: 6.2k | Cross posted on AO3. | Series masterpost. ✧.*

General trigger warnings: This work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction and violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

As I cleaned the house that Sunday and meticulously removed the dust from the desk in the studio at the back of the house, I stared at the useless standing calendar that Jesse’s mother had gotten him for his last birthday. It had been used for nothing, except to reduce the space in the already cluttered desk and now to remind me that two weeks had slipped away since I last saw Lia. We had never spent so much time without seeing each other, and her absence now felt like an unfamiliar void that was expected whenever we weren’t immersed in our shared work or entangled in the demands of a hectic tour schedule.

I sighed, my frustration finding a target in Jolly, whose scattered dirty socks littered the hallway. I damned him out loud only to be answered back from the living room with a retort, his voice dubbing me a “you’re an annoying housemaid.”

I contemplated picking up the socks and throw them at his face. Instead, I gathered them with two fingers and deposited them in the hamper before hastily retreating to my room.

After washing my hands, I perched on the armchair in the corner, a book in my hand. However, the attempt to lose myself in its pages proved useless as my mind incessantly replayed the echo of Lia’s absence. Giving up, I took out the phone from my pocket and dialed her number for the fourth time that day.

I hadn’t talked much to her lately because Lia had been staying at Mitch’s place. The subtle shifts in her behavior, her guarded glances, and the way she dodged spending time alone with me or the way she avoided certain topics made me aware that Mitch and her had probably talked about our friendship, about our situation and what it meant in their relationship. It was no secret anymore that Mitch didn’t like it when Lia and I spent too much time together, especially if he wasn’t around. It was only natural that Lia didn’t want to disappoint him or give him reasons to think about something that wasn’t there. After all, they were together —had been for nearly a year now—. I understood why she had lied to him that night, as I understood that this year-long relationship had undoubtedly solidified his claim over her. Mitch had more rights to have Lia than I did, even if I knew her better than him and knew how she liked to take her cereal in the morning, what temperature she wanted her tea served at, the idiosyncrasies that made her fidgety or prompted her to nervously bite her lip or nails, what smells bothered her, and how little control she had over alcohol.

That Sunday, I knew she was back at her apartment. Mitch had left two days ago with his band. Lia was alone, grappling with the remnants of her former self; the person she had been before he came into her life.

I gave her a graceful forty-eight-hour window. When I looked down at my phone again and still didn’t see any calls or messages from Lia, I called her, anxiety growing, and kept on calling until I got her to answer.

“Fuck, Lia, what’s going on?” I blurted out as her voice reached my ears from the other end.

“Hello to you, too, Noah.”

“Save it. I’ve been calling you for hours. Are you avoiding me?”

“Why would I be avoiding you?” She questioned. I could hear her movements against the backdrop of her flat.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” I replied. I was slouched in the armchair, attempting to contain my anxiety and frustration, yet I was tempted to jump from my seat and start pacing around.

“I’ve been busy, Noah.”

“Listen,” I asserted, rising from the armchair and starting the unnecessary pace back and forth. As I spoke, I straightened the cupboard door and aligned the books on my desk. “I’m sick of you telling me you’re having business meetings, or writing, or drawing, or taking care of your flowers. I know you’re alone, so drag your ass over here so that we can spend some time together or I plan on kidnaping you, I swear.”

Silence. I anticipated a stifled laugh, but none came.

It took me ten minutes to convince her. When I did, I was tempted to throw a fist in the air.

Within thirty minutes, she was on her way.

“You’re borderline desperate for you best friend, dude. I can only imagine how it would be if she were your girlfriend,” Jolly mentioned casually after I told him that Lia was coming. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to him the number of times I had checked Lia and I’s conversations on iMessage and how many times I had tried contacting her throughout the day.

I shot him a disdainful look.

“Can’t you stop it?”

He responded with a nonchalant shrug, comfortably settled on the sofa, engrossed in his phone while drinking from a can of beer, and throwing occasional glances my way.

“You’d understand if you had grown with her. I don’t feel right when she’s away for so long,” I admitted, a sensation of sickness settling over me each time she went MIA. I was literally falling sick like an old man.

I was feeling particularly good that day when it came to my physical health, but the days prior I had been dealing with my usual flower madness.

“I would get it checked, man,” Jolly replied, sensing the need to address the escalating situation. “This level of dependency you have with her is going to end up driving you insane. Who’s to say that this weird-ass disease of yours doesn’t have something to do with your obsessive attitude towards her? You’re tired of picking up my dirty socks? I’m tired of finding dry flowers everywhere. Sure, I get the whole ‘growing up together and sharing childhood traumas’ thing, but I’m afraid this is only going to lead to another one if you don’t sort yourself out.”

“Are you saying this is psychological? That I’m coughing up flowers because I want to?” I scoffed.

Jolly leaned forward, his eyes fixed on me from the other side of the house, the end of the living room. There was a seriousness coloring his tone when he spoke.

“It’s a psychosomatic disorder, that’s for sure. Otherwise, someone would have been able to tell what’s wrong with you by now.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting my best friend’s company.”

“You say that, but you don’t know what other effects that constant cheesy longing is having on you. I’m starting to consider that maybe we should really start taking your grandma’s folklore stories more seriously. You’re walking a precarious path, dude. Coughing up flowers, incessantly messaging and calling Lia… Listen to your grandmother, I’m sure she’s got something wise to say regarding this. There has to be a connection…”

“Jolly, I’m not in the mood for this shit, honestly.”

“Well, then, are you going to keep calling Lia ten times a day when she’s married and has children?”

His question left me momentarily speechless. I’d never considered that, never seen that future, that possibility; Lia building a life without me.

A sudden wave of panic crashed over me.

I swallowed hard.

“I didn’t call her ten times,” I defended, even though I knew it was a lost battle.

Jolly, in his slouched position, merely raised an eyebrow and chuckled. I wasn’t sure if the whole situation thrilled or tired him.

“Whatever you say, man,” he concluded, returning to whatever he was doing on his iPhone and taking another sip from his beer.

Walking around the kitchen isle, I tried to shake off his words from my head. He had pissed me off. Those insinuations… Fuck it.

I grabbed one of the tea boxes from the cupboards and started preparing Lia’s favorite tea, purposedly refusing to offer Jolly any drink.

“Do you want me to leave you two alone?” He quipped without looking up.

“Now what do you mean by that?” I asked, stopping on my tracks, tea bag in my hand.

“I don’t mean anything,” he said, raising his voice. “Why are you getting so defensive, man? I’m just offering you some time with her. It’s not so crazy after all these years of you two living in a bubble of your own and excluding the rest of us on your outings to the city center, concerts, or museum dates. If you prefer I don’t say anything, then good, I’ll stay. We can watch a movie together or cook something. I miss her, too, in case you didn’t know, and I’d like to catch up with her.”

"You don’t have to go,” I conceded, dropping my shoulders. I was aware that Lia’s increasing absence had affected everyone, not just me. Mitch seemed to be pulling her away from our collective lives. Thank God the band was still her priority.

“I want to see her,” Jolly stated, rising from the sofa. He turned off the TV —that had been playing in the background uselessly— and tossed the remote onto the empty space beside him. “You think I haven’t noticed something’s off with her? Hell, even Steven noticed. He told me she spent two hours in silence while sorting out the merch boxes the other day. Two hours without saying a fucking word. He freaked out.”

A chill ran down my spine. When did that happen? Had it been last week? Last month?

“Why didn’t he tell me?” I questioned.

“I don’t know. The point is, I do know what’s going on. I know you’re worried that her relationship with Mitch isn’t going that well.”

I dropped my shoulders once again, letting out a sigh as I swayed my head tirelessly.

“She doesn’t tell me anything, that’s the fucking problem,” I told him honestly. “If I ask her, she’ll tell me everything’s ok, and I can tell by the look on her face she doesn’t want me to ask any more questions, so what am I supposed to do?”

“Maybe you could talk to her about it today. I don’t know Mitch that well to come to any conclusion. The dude seems pretty decent to me,” he shrugged. “But you and Lia need to talk. Tell her how you feel.”

As if it was that simple, that easy.

“Dude, it’s Lia. She adores you. Hell, she has you on a pedestal. Before Mitch, everything was Noah this, Noah that. Maybe she’s pent up because she’s in a relationship and she doesn’t know how to manage a boyfriend and a best friend simultaneously, but I’m sure if you sit down with her, ask the right questions, she’ll tell you and both of you will release some tension.”

“Maybe,” I responded, still feeling uncertain. I was scared to realize that we weren’t the confidants we used to be.

“Listen to me and do it. I’ll stay for a while, then I’ll go get some stuff from the supermarket. Jesse has eaten all the chocolate chip cookies again, that bastard. Maybe I’ll go spend some time with Folio and his dad and leave you two alone.”

I sighed, not knowing what else to say.

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem. Now, can you make me a coffee? Or you’re only here to serve princess Lia’s wishes?” He asked, pointing with his eyes to the mug she usually had her tea in whenever she came over.

I rolled my eyes.

“I’ll make you a coffee.”

Lia arrived not long later, donned in snug black leggings, a black and red flannel draped over a white tank top, her hair open and falling graciously over her chest. Jolly, ever the exuberant host whenever required, opened the door and offered her a boisterous welcome with a hearty “hi, Gremlin” following by a hug that she reciprocated. The delightful sound of her shy laughter wafted from the entry to the kitchen as I poured hot water from the kettle into two mugs.

As Jolly ushered her inside, her eyes flitted around looking for me. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me, her smile faltering, and her eyes widening in surprise.

“No,” she uttered, mouth agape.

Jolly shifted his gaze between Lia and me, attempting to piece together the situation. Then, an amused expression appeared on his face. “You didn’t know?” he inquired, standing at her side.

She blinked in disbelief, still looking at me in the open kitchen.

“Hi, Gremlin,” I greeted. “No hello? Nothing?”

God, it was so good to see her. I couldn’t contain my smile even though I knew she was probably unhappy about the change she was seeing in me.

“You… When did you—? Oh, my goodness,” she gasped, bringing both hands to her mouth. “When did you cut your hair?”

“Last week,” I replied.

“You didn’t tell me…”

I shrugged. Then, noticing she was frozen in place, I gestured for her to come to me. When she was at arm’s reach, I wrapped my arms around her. Her response was delayed, arms hesitantly wrapping around my neck. When I pulled back, her fingers found their way to my recently shortened hair, lightly grazing the strands on my forehead.

I was amused at her commotional reaction until I realized she wasn’t feigning it. She was about to cry.

“Hey, it’s just a haircut,” I gently touched her elbow.

“But… It was so long. It took so many years to grow.”

"It’ll grow back,” I reassured her, although the truth was, I had no intention of letting it reach the previous length. I was done with long hair for now, at least.

She let out a sigh and dropped her hand.

Jolly noticed the silence and the low energy that Lia brought with her, and immediately intervened with light-hearted jokes.

I appreciated that even though Lia wasn’t having much of it, he put on an effort, and he kept us entertained as we enjoyed some pastries and cookies with the coffee and tea I prepared, with stories from his childhood in Sweden and customs different from the ones we had here in the States.

Even though childhood was something that neither Lia nor I remembered as a happy time in our lives, we held onto the memories of our days spent together, the bicycle rides when she had learnt how to pedal, the hours spent in my bedroom where she had started drawing pathetic funny things —a unicorn with socks, a lion with braids— and where I had learnt to play guitar and later on I had taught her how to use the instrument. There was so much we had learnt together… My heart warmed up when I heard her talking about our experience learning to swim together with an excitement that had been missing lately. Grandpa had enrolled me in some summer swimming course, and he had managed to convince Lia’s mother to enroll her as well. On one occasion, I almost drowned due to the teacher overestimating my abilities, and Lia had momentarily panicked and jumped in the water after me impulsively, even though her swimming skills were also limited. That day we returned home totally frightened and traumatized, only to burst out laughing a year later when we remembered each other’s faces and the scolding the teacher gave Lia for her unnecessary rescue attempt, which only prompted another teacher to get in the water to save the two kids.

While I cleared the kitchen from our small tea party —if you’d call it—, Lia and Jolly escaped to his room. He had recently acquired a new guitar and Lia was thrilled to see it. She had been actively helping him to select options before he purchased the one and she was glad to see that finally he had his hands on the one he fell in love with.

I overheard part of their conversation, and one of Lia’s comments made me smile widely as I closed a cupboard, letting out a giggle.

“Your room is so messy, Jolly. Bring in a few girls and this would easily turn into bedlam.”

“Oh, God no!” he interjected. “Spare me from having another annoying housemaid. I have enough with that one. Let me be, alright?”

“I heard that!” I replied.

Approximately an hour later, Jolly left, taking a handwritten list of groceries with him and slyly winking an eye at me before closing the door behind him. I rolled my eyes at him one more time, even if he couldn’t see me. As I turned around, I was suddenly overcome with the weight of Lia’s presence in the house.

She was standing a short distance away from me, having said goodbye to Jolly moments ago and now looking like a lost puppy unsure of its next move. Where was her confidence? The melancholy etched across her face didn’t escape my notice. My gaze traveled over her subtly, without being too obvious. Had she lost weight?

“Hey, I got you something,” I announced, suddenly remembering my purchase of two days prior. “Wait here.”

I left her standing there with an arched eyebrow as I dashed to my bedroom. I reappeared holding a flowerpot. Lia’s eyes widened as I handed it to her.

“I got it the other day from a new flower shop next to the photography store where Bryan buys his stuff. I’d seen this flower before, but I had no idea it was called Black-eyed Susan. I bought it just because of the name, of course,” I let out a laugh, only to realize that Lia was holding the plant and had frozen again.

She blinked, looking down at the yellow flowers, and a solitary tear traced a path down her cheek.

“Wha—? Are you crying? Lia, why are you—?”

Before I could finish the sentence, Lia placed the pot in the isle and threw herself into my arms.

“Whoa, hey. What’s—"

Fuck. Maybe these were the type of flowers she had cared for in her garden when she lived with her mom and now they were reminding her of that time. What did I know? I was just into flowers enough to know that jasmine and black petunias were her favorites. Maybe I should have chosen those. Damn it.

“I thought you would lik—"

“I miss you so much,” she interrupted, her voice muffled against my chest as she let out a series of sobs. Her hands fisted the back of my hoodie and her body pressed flush against mine.

I frowned. For a second, I stood motionless. Then, I tightened my grip on her and buried my face in her hair, inhaling her. Good god, had I missed having her like that. Knowing that she had missed me, too, filled a hole that had been empty for weeks. Months.

Holding each other, I thought about how things would be if they were different. How often I would get to have her like this, how often I could hold her and lose track of time in her arms, losing myself in her scent, her warmth; the feeling of her body wrapped in mine.

I wondered if this was how things were supposed to be between best friends. If others found themselves in this situation, in this predicament, if this was the dance of life. Was it merely friendship if I yearned for her to be tightly pressed against me and I admitted it wasn’t solely for warmth? If I longed for the sensation of her breath on my neck every time we had drifted to sleep together on the couch or even in bed, where our fingers would interlace beneath the covers and we would assure each other that it was just to ease the nightmares?

I closed my eyes, letting a wave of relief spread through me. I needed this. I needed this honest reaction from her.

“I miss you, too,” I whispered into her hair.

I let myself float in the sensation of the hold we had on each other. Her fists were gripping the back of my hoodie and her nose brushed below my neck when she moved to find deeper shelter. Why did it feel so comforting? So… good?

Lia was so much like home.

We clung to each other tighter, harder, reaching a point where it felt like we might die in that place, in that position. If Death were to come for us, this would be a strangely peaceful way to go.

Lia pulled away first, wiping her tears and grabbing a paper napkin to clean her nose. After a heavy sigh, she offered me a watery smile. Why did I sense it was more to reassure me than her actual feelings? We took one step forward to take two backwards.

“What am I going to do with you?” I mumbled, looking down at her tenderly.

“I’m such a baby…”

I didn’t say anything. Just walked back to her and wiped the last tear that escaped her eyes with my thumb.

“Don’t do that.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it’s going to make me cry again.”

“All right then,” I raised my hands in surrender. “I don’t think I can’t take more of you crying, so no more wiping tears. Got it.”

I managed to coax a smile from her, a small victory that helped us to get out of that ethereal moment we had been caught in.

A couple of minutes later, after drinking some water, Lia suggested pulling out some board games from the drawer in the TV stand and spend the afternoon entertaining ourselves with Scrabble and the whimsical chaos of Unstable Unicorns. She had gifted the game to Jolly last year for Christmas. I couldn’t resist a wry comment about how the game seemed to mirror ourselves, how unstable we seemed to be.

When my stomach grumbled after an entertained forty minutes, sharing playful banters, laughs and playful shoulder shoves, I rose from the carpet where we had been seated to get us a couple of beers and prepare some popcorn, given that Lia refused to eat the mango that Jesse had peeled that morning and had kept in a container in the fridge. By the time I came back, she was seated on the sofa, legs crossed in a lotus position, the game forgotten. She had a book in her hands.

“What is this?” She asked.

No sooner had I recognized which book she was holding than I tried to retrieve it from her grasp, Lia skillfully evading my attempts.

“Nothing.”

“’The Seductive art of Japanese Bondage’,” she read. Slowly, she looked up at me, tilting her head to the side. “You’re into tying girls?”

“That’s not what it is,” I attempted to clarify.

“Isn’t it? Then, what is it?”

“Lia…”

“What? You had the book just casually laying on top of the magazine pile underneath the coffee table.”

“Put it back, come on.”

“Why?” The situation definitely amused her. Any trace of the vulnerable Lia I had in my arms an hour ago completely gone. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”

I took a moment to reply.

“Yes.”

“I knew it.”

“What did you know, exactly?”

“Jesse and Jolly are not particularly known for reading too much. But you…” She looked up at me after opening the book. After seeing my exasperated expression, she rolled her eyes and her tone got more serious. “I know you’re into kinky shit behind closed doors, Noah.”

I rubbed my forehead. Yes, I was very uncomfortable with her having that knowledge, but I wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

“I’m not the only one, I dare say,” I replied, raising an eyebrow at her.

She frowned and put the book on her lap.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not gonna tell me you don’t enjoy being a good girl and getting praised while, you know…”

“Oh, God,” she exclaimed, dropping the book at her side and putting both hands in the sofa, straightening herself up, suddenly commotional. “No, I don’t.”

“I know you well enough to know that you do. Now hand that book back. Come on,” I insisted, extending my arm and hand to her and wriggling my fingers.

“I’ll hand it back when you tell me what it is about,” she continued. She wasn’t one to give up that easily, was she?

“I don’t want to have that conversation with you,” I honestly said.

“Why not?”

“Because… It’s not right. Just hand it back, or I swear I’m going to have to tackle you down until I take it from you.”

“Wow, are we getting there? What else will you do to me?” She teased. Her playful self was back again.

Really?

“For fuck’s sake, Lia. What did you drink?”

“Just the tea you prepared, and the beer” she said sarcastically. “Did you pour something in it?” She arched an eyebrow at me.

I narrowed my eyes at her and placed my hands on my hips.

“You’re being so feisty, girl.”

“I’m just pushing your buttons.”

“You do not want to do that,” I warned.

“Maybe I do,” she retorted with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

The conversation had definitely taken an unexpected turn. Was it normal to have such a conversation with her? There was a subtle flirtation waving through our words that couldn’t be disguised. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was attempting to distract herself from the sadness she carried when she crossed the door, but there was something more. She wasn’t merely seeking momentary fun with me. I had a dangerous feeling telling me that she really meant it when she said that perhaps, she did want to push my buttons.

Where were we headed?

“Okay, then,” I decided, crossing my arms over my chest. “Do you want to know what I’d do if you were mine and you kept up with this?”

“Yes, I do want to know,” she replied, like an attentive student, eyes fully open and undivided attention fixed on me.

“Good, brace yourself,” I stepped closer, towering over her. Her eyes following me, her head tilting upwards. I could sense her getting intimidated. “Lia Parker, I’d bend you over and get your ass red until you apologized. And maybe later I would keep you on the edge for hours until you begged me to…”

Her face flushed crimson.

“OH. MY. GOD.”

I stared at her for a few seconds, scrutinizing her reaction, contemplating her face, her lips. The imagery of bending her over my lap, or over the kitchen isle maybe, flashed through my mind but reality hit me. This wasn’t right. She had a boyfriend. I was her best friend.

“This was a bad idea. Jesus Christ, Lia,” I muttered, grabbing the book from the sofa and stepping away. “I’m just curious about this, okay? It doesn’t necessarily have to be anything sexual. I can show you to do some interesting knots and you would see what I mean, but it’s just weird discussing this with you.”

“We’ve always discussed everything,” she replied, standing up.

“Not everything, Lia,” I responded, silently acknowledging our unspoken boundaries.

Whether it was about sex or the aspects she concealed from me concerning her relationship with Mitch, it was clear that we hadn’t discussed everything in the past few years.

“Please?” She implored, effortlessly swaying me with just the flutter of her eyelashes.

She could bring me to my knees with barely that innocence.

“Sit down. I’ll get us another beer and we can talk.”

"Okay.”

She did so, settling back into the comfort of the sofa and its cushions. I tossed the book back into her hands. From the kitchen, I regarded her with a smirk, unable to resist teasing her with a “good girl”. She blushed again, though she was quick to shake her head in dismissal and look away from me.

I cracked open two beers and placed them in front of us. Taking a seat on the couch next to her, I mentally braced myself for the impending conversation.

“All right. What do you want to know?”

“What is Shibari?”

I answered her question by giving a quick explanation on the matter. Shibari was a form of artistic rope bondage originated in Japan, used by samurai in the Edo period to restrain prisoners. However, over time, it evolved into something else, an art to create visually appealing and aesthetically pleasing patterns on the body. I told her that now it had become certainly something more erotic, being involved in certain sexual contexts.

Her interest was palpable, evident in the sudden seriousness that replaced any earlier levity.

“Isn’t it dangerous?” she asked.

“Not if done right,” I reassured. I shook the book as if to emphasize my point. “It’s supposed to be executed with the comfort and safety of the person being tied as a priority. And with the right partner. Trust —and consent, of course— are the main thing. So, you have to fully trust that person before you give yourself to them. And it connects the two. One ties, the other one gets tied up. It’s a kind of meditation practice.”

“It’s hard to see it as a meditation while you’re tied upside down,” she remarked, eyeing a picture on the book where I woman hung from the ceiling in an empty room.

“Well, I guess we’ll never really know until we try,” I replied, and we shared a serious look.

I felt her shifting next to me, as if a tad uncomfortable. Clearing her throat, she asked if she could lay on my lap, alleging that she was tired.

“Of course.”

She laid down, using my thighs as a pillow. I adjusted my position, too, ensuring I wouldn’t get hit accidentally where it hurt the most.

“You know, you’re pretty comfy.”

“Gee, thanks.”

We held the book together and she turned to the next page. I resumed my explanations. Although I hadn’t learnt that much, I tried to give her an insightful overview with my words. I realized I wanted her to learn about this so much, to share my same interest. Seeing her genuine attentiveness to the topic warmed me.

“Shibari isn't just about remembering knots; it's like magic with ropes, a unique way to connect. It's all about how you handle the ropes, playing with speed, tension, and tempo to create different vibes and feelings for yourself or your partner. Using ropes in a playful, sensual, and slightly challenging way helps us understand our own desires and intentions, as well as those of our partners. It's a cool way to explore and connect on a deeper level,” I read from a passage.

“That sounds... lovely,” she made a face as she moved her eyes to look at me and we both shared a laugh.

I kept on reading as she shifted on my lap to get her head to get more comfortable.

She slowly drifted into a peaceful slumber, and then, she was asleep. I couldn’t bring myself to wake her up. I remembered hearing Nicholas, who treated the stillness of his cats with the reverence one might give to sacred moments, saying that it was a crime to disrupt the sleep of his cats if they chose to rest on him, so I chose to let Lia sleep without moving an inch.

The entrance door of the house opened a while later. Jolly entered; a cardboard bag cradled in his arm. His furrowed brow increased as he took in the scenario in the living room.

“What are you two doing?” he inquired.

“She’s asleep,” I whispered, my voice hushed.

“That’s not exactly what I told you to do,” he retorted, feigning confusion.

“I know,” I said wearily.

But I couldn’t bring myself to move. My hand rested gently on her shoulder; arm draped across her chest. With the other, I’d been using my phone, and the only other time I tried to move was when her phone started buzzing on her pocket. It was Mitch.

I wondered what he would say if he knew that her girlfriend was lying in another guy’s lap while he was away. I scoffed at the thought. The douchebag deserved it. I put her phone on do not disturb mode and left in on the table.

Without uttering a word, Jolly placed the bag in the kitchen, then approached the sofa, grabbed one of the blankets that lay on the pile at the end of the sectional and draped it over Lia’s body.

“She’s passed out.”

“Totally,” I concurred, our voices having no discernible impact on her rest. Her breathing was as steady as a boat navigating calm waters.

Getting back to the kitchen, Jolly announced that he had brought stuff to make tacos, to which I reply with a simple “great.”

“Did you talk to Matt?” He continued, emptying the items from the bag onto the counter.

“Yeah, he texted. 10am tomorrow?”

“Yep, but he said he’ll drop by first.”

“No problem.”

I laid my head back and closed my eyes for a few seconds, only to be disturbed by his voice coming from the kitchen again.

“What have you been reading?” He inquired, pointing with his gaze to the book that laid forgotten next to me on the sofa.

“She was interested,” I told him, knowing very well what he would say next.

“You kidding me? And she didn’t run off?” He pretended to be shocked, but he scoffed as he said it.

“No, she fell asleep while I was reading it to her,” I said, my voice still calm because I didn’t want to disrupt the peaceful moment Lia and I were sharing while she slept on my lap.

“There’s something really wrong with her,” Jolly mused.

There’s nothing wrong, I wanted to say. She was probably just tired. And about the stuff we’d been discussing… There was nothing wrong in being interested in it, in learning about it. Jolly was talking as if he was a saint, a vanilla dude in bed while we all knew he wasn’t.

He excused himself by saying he was going to change. The closing of his door was what finally jolted Lia awake.

Her eyelashes fluttered a few times, and she rubbed her cheek against my thigh before adjusting her eyesight to the light in the room and remembered where she was. Her cheeks were reddish, and she looked so sweet.

“Hi, sleeping beauty.”

She smiled sheepishly, rubbing the sleeve of her flannel over her eyes. She noticed she was covered in a blanket and instinctively she tightened its edges against her chest. After a minute in silence, she touched the hair that fell over my eyes.

“I think I can get used to it. I like it.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I responded.

She stretched like a cat when she sat up, her muscles grateful.

“Have you not been sleeping well? You were in a deep sleep for a good hour,” I inquired, instantly missing her weight and warmth pressed again my legs.

She sidestepped my question, expressing a certain shock at the realization of her long nap.

“Shit,” she muttered as she checked her phone and saw three missed calls from Mitch and several texts. “I need to get back home.”

“You can stay the night,” I suggested.

“All the rooms are occupied,” she explained, standing up and running her hands through her clothes, her movements marked by a subtle grace.

“Not the studio. You can sleep in my bed; I’ll use the pullout sofa.”

She shook her head, a delicate cascade of chestnut hair accompanying the motion.

“I’ve got an online meeting tomorrow morning and I’d rather be home,” she said, heading towards her stuff. “I also need to take care of this beauty,” she continued, looking towards the Black-eyed Susan flowerpot waiting for her in the kitchen.

“Lia,” I followed her quietly, rubbing my hands on my sweatpants, fighting to preserve the sense of her warmth on my body. “I have to ask. Is everything okay with Mitch?”

She was not expecting the question; I saw it in the two seconds that she held my gaze, the subtle widening of her pupils.

Lia deftly veiled her emotions with a nonchalant response.

“Yeah…”

“Just ‘yeah’…? What is it? I can tell you’re upset. You’ve been super sad all day, and I know it’s not just because I cut my hair.”

I managed to earn another small laugh from her, but it wasn’t a big smile. It faded away quickly. She started fidgeting with her fingers, her touch grazing a ring on her left hand.

“We just had our first argument a few days ago and… Well, we just got heated up, that’s all.”

I closed the distance and stroked her hair, and I swear I could feel her leaning into my touch only to retreat the moment she realized what she was doing.

“Is Jolly back?”

“Yeah, he just got back. He got stuff to make tacos. Want to stay for dinner, at least?”

Her negation felt like a bucket of water being poured over me. I decided not to insist.

That night, right when I got into bed, I opened iMessage and I texted her.

“I loved having you home for a while today, even if you were passed out for like an hour. Take good care of Black-eyed Susan for me.”

“I will defo do, thank you very much. Black-eyed Susan sends her regards, a big hug and a kiss. Good night, Nowah.”

I typed one last message. “Sweet dreams, Lia.” I locked my phone, left in on the bedside table, and tried to sleep.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian x ofc #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens cult #jolly karlsson

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brywrites · 2 years

Text

Every Side | Reid x Reader

Summary: When work cuts their reunion short, Spencer Reid tries to memorize every side of the Reader in the few hours they have together. Reid x fem!Reader, ✨soft smut (non-graphic but still 18+)✨

Author’s Note: I was listening to Vance Joy’s newest album and I heard this song that was just so Spencer I had to sit down and write this!

........

The summer evening air is sticky sweet and she is the only thing on his mind. After a week and a half on the road with Rossi leading trainings for local law enforcement, Spencer Reid can’t stand to be away from her another minute. When she opens her apartment door and he runs straight into her arms it’s like he’s whole again. Breathing in the smell of her perfume and burying his face in the familiar soft skin of her neck as her hands smooth over his back.

“God, I missed you,” she sighs.

“Missed you more,” he replies without missing a beat, pressing his lips to that soft skin. He peppers a trail up to her jaw before capturing her mouth in an overdue kiss.

Their fingers are twined together when she leads him over to the couch and he can’t seem to look away from her smiling face. “I’ve got a whole weekend with no plans,” he tells her. “We’re doing anything and everything you want to do.”

“Anything?” she asks, eyebrows raised. “Careful, love, you might regret that.”

“I won’t. Anything you want to do, you name it. Park picnics, fancy dinners, museums visits, road trips –”

“You?”

A laugh escapes his lips, heat rising in his cheeks. “I - well, yes. I’m certainly an option.”

The ability to catch him off guard like this is just one of the many things he adores about her. In some ways their love still feels so new, so much still to be discovered and experienced. At the same time the last eight months have been a lifetime with the way she fits into a space in his heart he thinks she must have always occupied. She brings out the best in him, sees sides of him he wasn’t even sure existed. And he’s hopelessly head over heels for her.

The first thing she asks for is to have dinner together. After a week on the road a home-cooked meal sounds divine, so he sits on the counter chopping vegetables for the curry she’s making and regales her with tales of Rossi’s expensive taste in dining and hotels during their trip. They eat warm naan fresh out of the oven and she pours them both chai lattes and they’re grinning all the way through dinner as they sketch out their plans for the remarkable weekend before them. It’s blissful and silly and right - until they’re doing the dishes together and she’s flicking water at him as he tries to dodge the aim of the soapy suds and suddenly his phone rings.

Her hands freeze and his heart sinks because they both know that ringtone. Sure enough, Garcia is on the other end of the line to explain that a case has escalated while he and Rossi were away. The Bureau wants them out there as soon as possible.

“I’m sorry,” he says the moment he hangs up the phone.

She shrugs, drying her hands on the dishtowel. “I know. But there are lives to save. Where are they sending you?”

“Denver. Serial arson. We fly out at 8 AM tomorrow.” It’s unbearable already, the thought of another few days spent in unfamiliar, empty hotel rooms. Takeout dinners and police station coffee and people that aren’t her. Aren’t the one he loves, the only one he wants to see right now.

“I guess you gotta go home and pack then, huh?” It’s less of a question than a resignation, an understanding admission of defeat. Deferring her own desires to his duties so easily.

That surrender something stirs in his chest and he shakes his head. There’s only one thing he needs right now. “No.” She looks up at him, eyes wide. “No, I have a go-bag ready at the office. I might not be able to give you everything you wanted this weekend. But I can give you one thing.” Reid cups her face, pulling her to him. Those wide eyes of hers search his as he leans in to kiss her, his teeth grazing over her bottom lip. “And you can give me something to remember you by.”

Her breath catches and her hand traces up his chest. “When did you get so smooth, Doctor Reid?”

“Around the time I realized how much I liked the sound of you calling me doctor.”

They meander their way into her bedroom, giggling like teenagers as they undo buttons and remove layers, fingertips wandering every which way. When he finally gets his shirt off, she places the softest of kisses to his collarbone, her touch warm against his chest. “Are you sure you’re okay spending the night here?” she asks.

“Very. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” He sinks down onto the bed and wraps his arms around her waist. From there it’s easy to press his face to her chest. He can hear her heartbeat as he presses his mouth to the valley between her breasts. “All I want is to be with you. All I ever want is you.”

That confirmation is all she needs to join him on the mattress, straddling his hips as she tangles her hands in his hair. Pulls just a little bit, just enough to elicit a groan she catches in a kiss. The taste of tea still lingers on her lips and he wants to savor it, drink in the way she feels and the warmth of her tongue.

When she leans back to catch her breath her eyes find his, so full of longing. The way she looks at him makes him melt on the spot. It’s the way she sees him, the way she knows him, a gaze that leaves no room for misunderstanding. He can feel it, feel her, and he needs more of her. His greedy hands roam over her body, down the plane of her back before finding the curve of her ass. A soft squeeze before his touch travels across her hips and he pushes her panties down her legs. She whimpers at the brush of his fingers over her heat and god, he’s so hard already.

Being with her is like nothing he’s ever felt before. Every touch is so loud, every sensation amplified, but it’s never too much, not when it’s her. With her, every second of passion is laced with something stronger. He realized it early in their relationship - the way he felt more connected to her than he ever had with anyone else before. It’s that love that makes it all feel so much more. How she trusts him so completely, how he finds himself telling her all his secrets without any fear, how she makes him feel so safe. So loved. So enough.

“You’re sure taking your time,” she murmurs, hands clutching bedsheets.

He looks up from between her legs, tongue swiping over the wetness on his lips. “It’s a luxury I don’t have enough of,” he tells her.

He bows his head once more and she cries his name. “I miss you already. Miss you so much.” A tear slips down her cheek and he crawls up close to her to wipe it away.

“You have me now.” He kisses the corner of her eye, tasting saltwater. “I’m right here.”

It’s intimacy in every sense of the word, he thinks, that turns the heat of arousal into a forest fire. Sets all of him ablaze beneath her lips, makes every single motion feel so magnificent.

He loves her. He loves her so much he cannot fully tell her in words. Only in closeness, in contact, in the fine, tender frenzy of the flesh.

The summer night unfolds outside her window as she lays back on the bed and opens herself to him like a gift. A perfect, pretty offering. He treats her with the proper reverence such a sacred thing deserves. Devotes himself to every inch of her in an attempt to make up for lost time. While he has been blessed with an eidetic memory, Reid has come to find that no memory quite does her justice. Nevertheless he commits himself to finding and kissing every spot, every scar, every square inch of her skin. Tries to hold on to every sound she makes, each moan or mewl, each time her breath hitches and she begs for him by name. He will memorize every side of her to stave off the loneliness the road demands.

In a hotel room alone he will close his eyes and replace every monster of the criminal abyss with replays of these moments. Her eyes shining like stars as she looks up at him through her lashes, the way her lips part in a gasp, the softness of her hand on his cheek and her kisses sprinkled across his jaw. These memories will be his solace in the days to come, but he tries not to get too lost in holding on when he can simply hold her; and so he tries to be present in the now without worrying about tomorrow.

Tonight, he is all hers, and she holds him so tight as he buries himself between her thighs again and again and again.

The air is sticky and sweet as they find new ways to say I love you without words. And when they are both thoroughly spent he goes to open her window, letting the late night breeze cool the bedroom. She falls asleep quickly, which takes him by surprise until he notices the clock on her nightstand signifies that tomorrow is today now. In just a few hours the sun will rise and he will be crossing time zones once more.

Despite the early start to his day, he stays awake a little longer just to look at her. He listens to the symphony of her breathing, watches her shoulders rise and fall. Sweat still paints her face, her hair is wild on the pillowcase, and even in her sleep she smiles. And he loves every side of her. The sighing lover who licks a stripe down his belly, the laughing girl who splashes him at the kitchen sink, the patient listener of his many rambles, the knowing smirker glancing at him from behind a book, the love of his life fast asleep under the moonlight looking as peaceful as he has ever seen. Every piece of her has a place in his heart and tonight he just wants to love all of her for a little bit longer.

“I love you,” he whispers as dreamland calls to him. Hoping that somehow she’ll hear him.

His sleep is brief. An alarm on his watch is muffled by the pillow he stuffed it under. Reid rises slowly and quietly in the dim morning light. He dresses haphazardly and writes her a quick love note. In the bathroom he finds the t-shirt she sleeps in next to a bottle of her perfume. He snags the shirt and spritzes it with the fragrance, knowing she won’t mind if he borrows it for just a few days.

Something else to remember her by, to keep her close to him.

The train to Quantico is mostly empty. He holds his messenger bag tight in his arms, daydreaming of her still. He’s not quite sure when he’ll be back, but what he’s sure of is this: when he comes home, he will ask her to move in with him. Because he can’t stand the thought of being away from her for a second more than he absolutely must. Without her, his world won’t quite be whole. In a matter of months, she’s become his whole world.

Sitting on the jet, his phone buzzes with a text from her. I love you too, it reads.

He smiles. Leaning back in the seat, he puts it back into his pocket as start their journey up into the sky. The sun is high in the early morning sky, painting the world orange and gold on every side and he closes his eyes, playing back in his mind every moment with her that he’ll miss until she is in his arms again.

✨

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #fanfiction #imagine #reid x reader #spencer reid x reader #brywrites #every side #every side of you

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mycoolwritingcorner · 1 year

Text

Sailor Moon: Reignstorm - Chapter 5: Enter Reign

The Makai Tree shot out one of its branches at Sailor Moon, which she caught effortlessly between her two hands, stopping it dead. She then rolled out of the way, deciding to attempt to reason with the tree.

“Listen! I can feel you’re in pain! I know you don’t want to do this! Just stop!” She said, placing her hands up in front of herself.

To her surprise, however, a flame shot out of one of her hands and onto the Makai Tree’s surface, causing it to recoil.

“What?” Usagi said, before being forced to dodge another of the tree’s attacks. She then looked down at her hand, confused, “That’s… new.”

…

“I don’t understand, why did Usagi change again?” Artemis asked as he and Luna watched the battle from a nearby rooftop.

“I can’t say for sure, but if I had to guess, I would say Eternal may have been an incomplete transformation.”

“Incomplete?”

“Yes. When the eight Sailor Guardians entrusted Sailor Moon with their power, she needed time for herself and the Silver Crystal to properly adjust to it.” Luna explained.

“Oh, I get it! And since she hasn’t transformed for the last few months…”

“Exactly, she has been able to evolve and unlock her ultimate transformation, one that allows her to utilize the powers entrusted to her by her friends.”

…

Sailor Moon wasn’t the only one whose power had increased, however. The other Inner Guardians felt their strength increase several fold with their new transformations.

“Changing your outfits won’t save you!” An said as she launched an energy attack at Mars, which the red-suited guardian effortlessly dodged.

“You sure about that?” She said with a smirk, before utilizing her new power, “Mars Raging Inferno!”

A wall of flame exploded from the Guardian of Fire and towards An, shattering her psychic shield and forcing her to the ground.

“My turn!” Venus shouted, rushing towards An, “Venus Love-Struck Dynamo!”

A large heart made of yellow energy shot out and struck An, rendering her unconscious.

“An!” Ail shouted at his partner, taking his attention away from his two assailants. A mistake that would be his undoing.

“Mercury Hydro Burst!” The Guardian of Water shouted, engulfing her adversary in water.

“Just like old times. Jupiter Lightning Barrage!” The Guardian of Thunder said, launching thousands of bolts out of her body and electrocuting the water which Ail resided in, knocking him out.

The four Guardians then turned their attention back to Sailor Moon, who was currently dodging between the Makai Tree’s branches.

“Sailor Moon! There’s a strange energy permeating from all of them! I think that’s what’s causing them to act this way! Can you help them?” Mercury called up to her.

“I don’t know! These powers are all new to me! Apparently I shoot fire now?! I still need to figure out how to goodify people in this form!”

Suddenly, as if to answer her question, Usagi saw a familiar object materialize into her hand.

“The Moon Stick?” She asked. While it looked close to the Moon Stick she had lost years ago, there were some differences. The biggest being that the crescent atop the stick was now silver instead of gold, “Wait, I know what to do!”

Sailor Moon raised the Moon Stick high above her head, and channeled the power from the Silver Crystal in her compact into it.

“MOON HEALING ESCALATION!” She shouted, causing the street to fill with light. When the light died down, they saw Ail and An had returned to normal, while the Makai tree was once again reduced to a sapling.

“What… What were we doing?” An asked, sitting up and rubbing her head.

“We were hoping you could explain that to us.” Venus replied.

Sailor Moon descended down to her friends, her wings dissipating as she landed, she opened her mouth to speak before being cut off by a voice from above.

“Excellent! I expected nothing less! Glad to see you all haven’t lost your touch.”

The Guardians immediately directed their attention upward, where they saw an armor-clad, cloaked figure floating above them. The figure held a staff in their hand, atop of which was a crystal that the five guardians immediately recognized.

“The Malefic Black Crystal! I knew that the energy surrounding them was too similar to be a coincidence!” Mercury shouted.

“But I thought we destroyed it!” Jupiter said, confused.

“Oh, you did.” The figure said, descending to ground level, “Well, most of it, anyway.”

“You! You… did something to us. Twisted our thoughts…” Ail said, clenching his head in pain.

“Yes, yes, you played your parts like good little pawns. However, I no longer have any need for you.” They said dismissively. Then, with a wave of their hand Ail, An, and the Makai Tree sapling simply vanished.

“What did you do to them?!” Mars asked angrily.

“Oh, fret not, I’ve simply sent them back to the primitive little world I got them from. After all, I may need to make use of them someday in the future.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” Sailor Moon asked, shakily.

“You may call me… Reign. As for what I want… don’t worry…” They said, opening a dark portal behind them, “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Quick, don’t let them escape!” Venus ordered, but it was too late. A mere moment later Reign was gone.

So... two things I need to address.

1. This chapter is late. 2. This chapter is short. And hopefully both can be addressed with me saying... I graduated from college last week. So you can imagine I was a little busy.

But we're (I hope) back to our regular schedule of bi-weekly updates!

NEXT TIME: I won't say what the next chapter is about but I will reveal the title... Midnight Secret Talk (if you know you know ;) )

Until then, let me know what you all think! Comments, likes, reblogs, etc. are very much appreciated!

And come back next time for Chapter 6!

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the-kittens-of-vol-tron · 1 year

Text

Enchanted

First Chapter! Previous Chapter!

AO3!

Chapter 10: Words

Summary: A plan forms to figure out who captured Keith

Word Count: 2,987

Lance’s POV

He gently brushed the hair from Keith’s face. Enjoying how relaxed he looked. How perfect he looked. How long had he been staring? Long enough to be a creep. But in his defense, he was dead for a bit. He almost lost the chance to never see him again.

Soon he was staring into Keith’s open eyes. A sleepy expression on his face.

“Morning Prince sleepy head.”

Keith squinted his eye briefly before pressing his face into the pillow. “Morning.”

Lance grinned at him, pressing a quick kiss on his head. “I need to get changed.” He started to roll over. Keith wrapped his arms around him as soon as he moved. Pressing his head into his back muscles.

“Stay?”

“Was the eight hours we slept not enough?”

Keith shook his head no. “I bet you didn’t even sleep.”

Lance chuckled softly. “I did…for an hour or two.”

“Wow, a whole two hours.”

“Have you not seen how much I’ve slept the past two days? That’s like hibernating for a month for me.”

Keith pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder blades. “You were healing.”

Lance grabbed the other boy's arms. Holding them softly. “And I’m officially healed.”

Keith moved his head up, resting it on the other boy's shoulder. “Good. I did order you not to die.”

Lance hummed, “I mostly followed it.”

They sat in silence, their soft breathing filling the air. “Was she right?”

“Was who right?” Lance leaned his head against the other boys.

“Honerva. Yesterday she asked if you regretted what you did for me.”

Lance stared down at the floor. He hated her. He still didn’t understand why she asked those questions. Almost as if she was trying to get him riled up. Reveal a secret he wasn’t aware of.

“Lance?”

“Hm? Sorry. Lost in my head.”

“Her questions seemed painful.”

Lance shrugged some, “I just didn’t want to answer them. But Coran thankfully ended it.”

“Yeah,” Keith hugged him tighter. “But was she right?”

The knight shook his head. “No. She wasn’t. She doesn’t know the first thing about me or my feelings about the situation. Or about you.” He turned his body some so he was facing the Prince more. Cupping his face gently with his hands. “I regretted it briefly. Because I was failing what you asked of me. Because I was leaving you.”

“Then you confessed to me and I was upset with myself. I had a chance that I never thought I would. And I found out when I was dying…I didn’t think I was going to get saved. I thought I was a goner.”

Keith placed his hands over Lance’s. Leaning into his touch. “Did it hurt?”

“Getting impaled?” He asked with a chuckle.

Keith nodded.

“It hurt like a bitch.”

Keith laughed.

“I’m serious! When Coran was stabbed he kept fighting and didn’t even groan in pain. I thought it would be manageable. I even forced my body to relax! But shit…that was intense.”

Keith couldn’t stop laughing. Pulling his head back some so he could cover his face as he laughed. Apologizes fell out of his mouth as he giggled.

Lance smiled at him. He was too cute. “You’re just laughing at my suffering.”

“No. No. I promise I’m not.” Keith somehow managed to say through chuckles. Wiping his eyes before looking at his knight. “Sorry. You were just so nonchalant.”

Lance leaned forward, pressing his lips against his. “We should get ready for the day. I’m sure once we get back to Daibazaal there will be a lot of work.”

Keith frowned, “you think?”

Lance stood, “for me. You will probably just sit there and look moody.”

He frowned harder.

“Yeah like that.” He effortlessly dodged the pillow Keith chucked at him.

---

“Morning!” Romelle waved at them as they walked in. Adam rubbed his forehead. His face scrunched with discomfort.

“Seriously El, stop screaming,” Adam mumbled.

Romelle rolled her eyes at him, “I’m talking normally.”

“You’re literally screeching,” he snapped back.

“Maybe you’re just hungover.”

“Maybe you’re just hungover,” Adam said in a mocking tone. Raising his hand to grab Romelle’s wrists as she tried to smack him.

Lance pulled out a seat for the Prince. Sitting down next to him. He took him to a smaller dining room. One that the knights used. Romelle and Adam were the only ones present. No doubt their people were in a meeting and Coran was enough for protection.

Lance dished up his plate. Telling Keith which dish was which as he nervously looked around the table.

“Oh, Lance!” Adam shot up, suddenly unconcerned about his headache. “Guess what I found out last night?”

Romelle rolled her eyes, mumbling something as she stabbed the food on her plate.

“What did you find out?” He lifted his cup to his hand, taking a sip of the fruity liquid.

Adam grinned. The grin he used when he had something he deemed utterly important to share. “Shiro definitely likes men.”

Lance choked on his drink, nearly dropping his cup and his body tried to push the liquid right back out. Keith’s mouth was hung open slightly. His whole body rigid. “I’m sorry what?” Lance managed to wheeze out.

“Takashi. Shirogane. Likes. Men.” He enunciated each word. As if that was what Lance was stuck on.

“I heard you the first time.” Lance placed his cup down, wiping his mouth. “But…congratulations?”

Adam laughed. “Congratulations indeed. Look!” He pulled down the neck part of his body suit. Dark marks littered his skin.

“ADAM!” Lance immediately tried to cover Keith’s eyes.

Adam fell into a fit of laughter. Holding his stomach as Romelle rolled his eyes at him. Lance covered his face, he was happy to be home despite all of this.

---

Lance took them back to the garden after breakfast. Letting Keith explore the areas he couldn’t last time. Keith was pressed against him, resting his head on Lance’s shoulder as he talked about the different plants.

They were sitting under a weeping willow, their hands intertwined between them.

“Someone’s coming.” He quickly pushed himself away from the Prince. Managed to be in a standing position as Kolivan and Honerva turned the corner.

“There you two are.”

Keith stood, nodding at his dad. Keeping his eyes off the Altean woman. Lance silently made a note to ask him more about his feelings regarding her.

“We will be leaving for Daibazaal after dinner.”

“Sounds good, your majesty.” Lance dipped his head at the Emperor.

“Do you feel well enough to be back on the job?” Kolivan genuinely asked.

“Yes.”

The Emperor smiled at him. His eyes shifted to his son. “Walk with me?”

“Sure.” He stepped toward his dad. Lance moved to step with him.

“Lance. I would like to talk to you.” Honerva said, her smile its usual coldness.

He pushed the desire to tell her no down and nodded. Meeting Keith’s eyes briefly. “I’ll see you later.” He stepped toward the other Altean, letting her lead him out of the garden. Gripping the handle of his sword tightly.

“Oh relax. I’m not going to hurt you.” She laughed at him. Switching to Altean.

“I didn’t think you were.” Or you wouldn’t get close enough to, he thought to himself. He didn’t have a reason to not like her. She really hadn’t done anything to hurt him, minus the questioning.

She was just odd. The energy around her was weird. Almost frightening.

He brushed it off since she was an alchemist. His parents were but he understood it enough to know there were different branches. His parents worked mainly with herbs and nature. Honerva worked with quintessence and other energy.

Yesterday's actions were the first time she did something that directly hurt him. He couldn’t shake the feeling she enjoyed it. He felt as though Keith had a similar assumption.

She led him to her office. “Please sit.” She gestured toward an empty chair by her desk.

He moved toward the chair. He had been here before but never alone.

She sat in another chair, grabbing a clipboard and pen before wheeling toward him. “I talked to Kolivan about your theory that someone in his castle was working against him.” She tapped the tip of her pen against her clipboard as she spoke.

Why was she talking to the emperor about this? “Okay.”

“I want to create,” she paused. Searching for the right word. “A tool to help track them down.”

“I see…what does this have to do with me?” He would help out in any way he could. Follow any orders, but be part of the invention process? Wasn’t his specialty.

“Well, you know the castle. And I can assume that you have taken the time to memorize everyone who works in the castle. Who comes and goes, when and where.”

“I do. But others do as well.”

She glared at him, “do you not want to help?”

He straightened his back, “I do. But I don’t know why I’m needed when others have the same information.”

She crossed her legs, “let me break this down for you. You went to save the Prince. You were up close and personal to the entire ordeal. And with your connection to the Prince, you will be more motivated to help find these people. Does it make sense?”

He gave a shallow nod. He was still confused but he wanted this conversation to end. He wanted to find Keith again.

She smiled, “was there anything different about these Galrans you fight while trying to get to the Prince?”

Lance dragged himself into his memories. Was there anything different? They wore the same outfits, the armor Zarkon issued. They didn’t look any different. They fought just like any other Galran. He paused on the thought. They fought differently. More animalistic.

The reason the grunts were so easy to take down since their attacks were messy. Uncoordinated. The little bit of fighting he had seen around Keith was thought out. Planned. A slightly different style that Kolivan pushed for.

“What is it, Lance?”

He shook his head. Something told him to keep his discovery to himself. "Nothing gave them away."

The woman frowned, "that's truly unfortunate." Her lips twisted into a smile, "let's hope they don't strike again."

“...Yeah.” She smiled at him a bit longer. Until he shifted slightly in his seat in uneasiness. “Was that all you needed?”

She snapped out of her own daze. “My apologies, knight. I’m sure I’m keeping you from a very important task. But I will need some of your blood.” She held out her hand, waiting for his.

“Why?”

She rolled her eyes slightly. “I am working on a new project for the knights. They’ve already given me a sample of their blood. No need to be difficult.”

Lance reluctantly peeled off his right glove, letting her grab his hand tightly. She quickly poked his finger and took her sample. Her touch lingered on him a bit longer than he thought was needed.

“Are you sure you don’t mind serving Galran’s?” She asked as she stood to place his sample in a cold box.

He slid his hand back into his glove. “No…I don’t mind at all.”

She closed the box, “even after what they did to your family?”

“The Prince and his parents didn’t kill my family.”

She smirked at him, “so confident when you don’t know. You’re free to go. I’ll mail my project over when it’s done.”

He stood from his chair, nearly bolting out of the room. He collided directly with the princess. Knocking them both to the ground. “I’m so sorry!” He scrambled up pulling her up in the process. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you right?” He looked her over.

“I’m fine Lance,” she patted her dress down, “where were you going?”

“I’m not sure. I was just-” he dragged his hand down his face. “I need to find Keith.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, “first name bases?”

He sputtered, how did that slip out? “I uh- well- he’s a good friend- I just-”

She laughed, bending slightly at the action. “You should see your face right now.” She tried to take another deep breath, more laughter escaping.

“Allura!” He felt his marks glow.

She took another deep breath, straightening her back. A smile on her face. “I think he’s out in the courtyard. That’s where I was going.”

“May I walk with you?”

She nodded and they fell into step together. “We have missed you, Lance. I hope you know that.”

“I’ve missed everyone too.”

“You’re truly happy there?”

“More or less. I sometimes miss Altea and everyone, but I enjoy what I do.”

“And being with Keith?” She elbowed him slightly.

Lance released a breathy laugh. “He is a perk.”

“You know you’re allowed to be romantically involved with your person right?” She said in a questioning tone.

“Yeah…” He opened the door for her. Leading outside.

“Then why do you seem hesitant?” She walked through the door. The courtyard immediately came into view.

“It’s not me I’m worried about. He’s a Prince.”

She frowned at him. “Lance?”

He knew what she was going to say but thankfully Romelle called for them. Adam and Shiro were sitting next to each other, and Krolia and Keith sat, a book in his hands. Romelle ran toward them, hugging Allura tightly.

He forced a smile on his face. He didn’t want to discuss that yet.

---

Keith’s POV

He stretched his back some. Even with wormholes and technology advancements, he wasn’t the biggest fan of flying to different solar systems.

“Keith, Shiro, and Lance. Come to the throne room after dinner. There are some things that we need to discuss.” Kolivan said as he made his way toward his own chamber. His body looked heavy with stress.

Keith headed toward his own room, Lance following behind him. Seeming to be more on the lookout than usual.

He flopped down on his bed, his body suggesting a nap. “Do you think someone in the castle is a traitor?”

Lance sat down next to him. Propping his sword on the bed beside them. “It’s the most likely reason in my opinion. I did recheck everything when I left that night. The only way in was your door.”

“Someone could have broken into the castle and come in.”

Lance hummed in consideration. “That is a possibility. I’d mention it to the Emperor.”

Keith made a small noise, moving slightly so his head was on his knight’s lap. Something he never thought he would be able to do. “Read to me?”

“Sure,” Lance reached for the book, holding it with his right hand. His left hand playing with Keith’s hair.

He allowed himself to get lost in the motion. Listening to Lance’s soft voice. The smoothness of his gloves. The domesticity of it all. He didn’t want to leave this space. He didn’t want to leave Lance.

He could stay here forever if it meant he could spend eternity with Lance.

---

“I don’t think we should rule out the idea that someone broke into the castle and then came to my room.”

Everyone nodded, Shiro writing down the thought on his notepad. They sat around a circular table. Keith, Lance, Shiro, Krolia, and Kolivan. All discussing who could have captured Keith. How they got in. Were they an employee? An outsider? How many?

They didn’t have any answers but ideas were thrown out left and right.

Lance raised his hand, gathering everyone’s attention in the room. “Pardon me, but,” he focused on Keith’s parents. “Did you encounter any Galrans in the base you infiltrated?”

“Some,” Krolia stated.

“Did you fight them?”

“Yes, though only to knock them out. They’re already in our prison system. Most were unlabeled Galran’s. Some were on the wanted list.” Kolivan said, pulling up the list of names on his tablet.

Lance frowned, “I shouldn’t have killed mine. I wasn’t thinking clearly. But I digress. When you fight them. Did their style seem odd? Old fashion maybe?”

Both adults shared a look, silently communicating something. “Yes, it was closer to how Zarkon trained his soldiers. Some of the fight patterns were pulled straight from the old books.” Krolia said as Kolivan nodded.

“I stopped that training style as soon as I took over. Re-trained everyone who stayed with me to what we have today.” Kolivan replied.

“I think that’s what we need to look for to test who works in the castle,” Lance said, a hint of excitement in his eyes. Happy to discover something that would quickly solve this problem.

“Shiro, set up a training regimen for tomorrow morning. Everyone is getting tested on their skills. Lance, you’ll be with Krolia and me observing. You have to have a keen eye to notice that.” Kolivan stood, silently ending the meeting. “This conversation does not leave this room. If everyone passes, then we will look at Keith’s idea.”

Everyone verbalized their own goodbyes and headed to their own places. “Will you stay with me for the night?”

“Of course,” he could hear the smirk in his voice.

They rounded the corner to Keith’s room. A Galran messenger bowed as soon as he saw them. “What is it?”

The messenger held a small box. Barely enough to take up half his hand. “Sorry, your majesty. This is for Knight McClain.” He held out the box.

“Oh uh,” Lance reached for the box, staring at it as the messenger bowed again and walked away.

“What is it?” Keith asked again, opening the door. His knight is still staring at the box. He pulled the other boy into the room, closing the door behind them.

Lance opened the box, pulling out a tightly folded note. He opened it, scoffing slightly before crumpling it. Pulling out a silver chain. A blue crystal hanging off it.

“A necklace?”

“Yeah…from yours truly.”

“Who?”

“Honerva.”

-----

Ohhhhhhhh things are picking up

Thank you for reading <33333

#enchanted #klance #langst #kangst #klangst #chpater 9 #altean lance #knight lance #galran keith #prince keith #posted on ao3 #kats writing #lance voltron legendary defender #lance mcclain #lance vld #keith kogane #keith vld #keith voltron legendary defender

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karkles-does-things · 2 years

Note

U want ideas uhm,,,, what where u saying in the tags of that other post abt 'fresh out of the lab simeon'??! ,,, Colour me interested and intruiged kakity i want to knOW,,, whats all that abt huh >:3

WOW THANKS um okie so just to get ideas flowign um. Stream of consciousness snatches of dialogue n description.

Aight coming back up here after I wrote it - none of this stuff is addressed or mentioned in canon lol it's just like, stuff I know about this character. How Simeon became Simeon. In the finished product we won't know he was ever that different from how he is now, but it's a really fun bit of bonus content I've been playing around with

---

"Well done, Specimen B."

The creature in question leaped off its vanquished brethren and trotted proudly up to the Doctor, grinning. "Did you see that?" it asked. "Did you see how I did that?"

"I did," said the Eldritch, a touch of amusement in her voice.

"One is powerful, so I knew I could not beat it in a typical fight, so I observed and I waited until the right moment and then-!"

Specimen B whipped around in a mock sneak attack to demonstrate. Its tail almost caught Specimen A in the face.

The larger creature flinched away, then growled. "Watch it!"

"Oh, my a-POL-ogies." Specimen B wasn't fazed in the slightest. It didn't look particularly sorry either, in fact, it looked just a step away from downright smug. "What troubles you, One? Mourning your defeat?"

"Silence."

Specimen B opened its mouth, the glint of a witty retort shining in its eyes, but a low giggle from the Doctor cut them both off.

"Enough of that. You will have more chances to prove yourself, Specimen A. Save this for another time." She turned, beckoning to them with a single spindly finger. "Come now. There is more to be done."

Specimen B shot its counterpart a smug look before starting off after their mistress. If it was aware of the glinting teeth and stifled growl behind it, it didn't pay it any heed.

---

"And I believe that puts me in lead again," said Specimen B, licking Army Man blood off its claws.

"LIES! I slew SEVEN of the creatures."

"And I eight."

Specimen A frowned. It turned and began to count the remaining pieces of bloodstained armor.

"Fascinating. It takes you that long to count to eight?"

Specimen A turned back, growling low.

"It is not that large a sum. Do you require my assistance?"

"Shut your filthy mouth."

"Accept the facts, One," said Specimen B, slipping under the bigger creature and flicking its snout with the tip of its tail. "I have become superior."

"Foolishness," hissed Specimen A. "You will never surpass me. You have no idea of the hundreds I have slain while you were nothing more than a concept."

"Oh, but surpass you I shall," smirked Specimen B. "That you came first is true, but that's merely because you're a prototype. Of me." It sat up proudly, puffing out its chest.

"You're insufferable," growled Specimen A.

Specimen B dropped its posture, batting playfully at the larger construct. "You know you love me."

Specimen A dodged easily and scoffed. "Love is for mortals. Animals and Army Men. I have no sentimentality for you."

"Of course, of course. Naturally," said Specimen B. It was smiling.

---

"Hm. Not particularly useful, are they."

Specimen B lay calm on the examination table as the Doctor tinkered with its limbs. It shrugged to the extent that it could under the circumstances. "I dunno. I like them."

In the corner, waiting it's turn, Specimen A's ears twitched. It lifted its head, watching the Doctor carefully.

The Doctor's hands paused for just a moment. But she resumed moments later, and showed no other reaction. "Specimen B, how many times must I remind you to speak precisely?"

Specimen B groaned in realization, lowering its head.

"I do not like this...vernacular. It's terribly uncouth. Smacks of the Infantry. Are you Infantry, Specimen B?"

"No."

"I made you to be better than that, you know."

"Right, I know, I know. Sorry."

The Doctor gave a disapproving noise.

"I- that is- I apologize, Mistress. I will watch my tongue."

"See that you do," said the Doctor, voice uncharacteristically curt.

Specimen B winced.

The Doctor chuckled fondly, pausing in her work to run a soothing hand over Specimen B's head. "Fret not, little one. All is forgiven." She picked up her tools. "For now."

"Thank you, Mistress."

The Doctor clucked her tongue, examining her construct's limbs. "Now," she said breezily. "You say you like these?"

Specimen B perked up. "Oh, I do, Mistress."

"Fascinating. Care to elaborate?"

Specimen B blinked and shifted a bit on the table, staring off in thought. "Well," it said slowly. "It's true that they aren't large enough or sturdy enough for their intended purpose, but I can still make use of them."

"Such as?"

"I can jump higher and stay in the air longer. If I start from a high place I can glide. And if I expend enough energy I can fly with them! It's simply...not for very long."

"Hm. Be that as it may, my intention for these was sustainable, long-term flight."

"Oh, I'm aware of that," said Specimen B. "It's simply...well, it's important to be able to work with what you have, is it not?"

Tense silence hovered in the lab for a moment. Specimen B seemed unaware of it, but Specimen A was watching intently, eyes flickering back and forth between the two.

"I do not think so," said the Doctor. There was ice in her voice.

Specimen B blinked. "W-well surely-"

"I believe in the improvement of all things. Advancement. Enhancement. I have no tolerance for failure."

Specimen B seemed to shrink with each word. "But- I mean-"

"I dislike watching you flit about with those things. It looks terribly undignified. So large and ungainly, doing everything you can to stay off the ground."

Specimen B blanched. Stifled laughter sounded from the corner.

Specimen B's ear twitched. It turned, teeth bared, to glare at Specimen A.

"Did I not tell you?" snorted Specimen A.

"I am not too- I do not- I am NOT overweight."

Specimen A ignored this, continuing to laugh.

"I am not. I was built like this. I am supposed to look like this." Specimen B turned to look hopefully up at the Doctor. "Isn't that right, Mistress? Tell it, tell it you made me to be this way."

Either the Doctor didn't hear or she chose to ignore this. She finished tinkering with Specimen B's nervous system and stepped away. Her mask was an unequivocal frown.

"...Mistress?"

She gave a curt wave of her hand. "I am finished. Put those things away. I do not wish to look at them anymore."

Specimen B blinked.

Specimen A got up and stretched. "Any time now, little suckling pig."

Specimen B leveled a glare at it and snarled. Shaking itself off, it stretched out its wings and pulled them back into nowhere space.

#my writing #my ocs #simeon tag #doctor tag #001 tag #ask to tag #chaos story lmbao #max don’t look :(

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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 2 years

Note

msr + world war ii

the way I could technically spin this to fit with the actual canon in-universe AU (6×03 Triangle) but like... I'm actually gonna do a twist on the 50s AU I started trying to write while I was brainfried from a cold this past week lol. this is so random and probably won't make any sense without reading my tags on this post lol

Binary Star

~2k words | WWII AU Pilot | pre-MSR | AO3

Dana Scully nearly lost her younger brother from violent illness when she was eight years old. What she did lose was the proper use of her left leg, but what she gained was an intense need for understanding of the human body. It's only intensified as she grows older, fights her way into medical school right as boys her brother's age are fighting their way through enemy lines in Europe.

Young men in the prime of their lives with the lives they planned to lead stolen from them see a young, pretty woman with a crippled leg using a cane coming to treat their injuries and they have one of two reactions: they either look sidelong at her with scorn, or they start crying. All the doctors are healthy, said one boy, her younger brother's age, and no one can understand each other. That's the moment Dana knows she chose the right profession.

Fox Mulder lost his little sister when he was twelve, and gained an intense need to understand why, and what happened. His father was a government contractor before the War, and got back in with the secret services as soon as the States decided to step in. Fox dodged the draft because of the familial privilege that couldn't save his kid sister, and because the FBI wanted him on the home front. Maybe his father couldn't bear to sacrifice another child to whatever happens behind the scenes in those smoke-filled government offices where they claim war plans are made, when really it's so much more than that.

Dana has seen things that she can't explain. Men with their flesh eaten away, that she can only treat with dangerous doses of painkillers; some who came home with fifty years added to their age after only being gone for a few months; a nurse who exhibited symptoms of radiation exposure despite never leaving the country and another who died painfully of a tumor that Dana has only ever seen in illustrations, eating through her sinus cavity into her brain. That last is the one that piques Dana's medical curiosity; the woman had insisted with a surprising gravity and calmness that she'd been abducted and experimented on. The vividness of her descriptions, of white light and fear she could never fully remember, was such that Dana has to doubt it was all contrived, or a symptom of the cancer. She's heard talk of conspiracies, the government conducting secret experiments in New Mexico or other unlikely places; her sister believes it all, but Dana questions. She wants to know.

Mulder isn't expecting the knock on the door of the basement office; he isn't even supposed to be down here. There are more important things to worry about and work on than the mysterious x-files, what with a war going on all around them. But there's a folder down here with his sister's name on it, because if any case can be considered unexplained, it's Samantha's abduction. His father had ordered an FBI investigation, but Mulder thinks it was all for show. He knows a little too much about what goes on down in Roswell, New Mexico; just enough that he keeps a lookout over his shoulder. No one knows he came down here again, so he pretends he doesn't know he's always putting himself in danger and he quips that there's no one down here, just the FBI's most unwanted.

Dana was told she might find the man she's looking for down here, in an unused office full of files. She wonders if her answers are down here, or if Fox Mulder is holding them in his hands. He pulls off a pair of reading glasses and looks at her with mild surprise. "Agent Mulder," she says, resting both hands primly on the buffed, comfortable handle of her cane, "I was told you might be able to help me."

He listens, absolutely intent, to the little doctor who limps into his office and rattles off a description that lines up with half the abductee stories he's heard. He has permission to take a case in Oregon, teenagers disappearing and coming back wrong or broken. It sounds a little too much like the boys who are sent home from the front lines, and a little too unearthly; they're sending him to make sure whatever facet of their conspiracy it is doesn't get out. So, on impulse, he invites Dana Scully to come along with him. He doesn't have a partner right now, he says — Diana was sent to a Naval base overseas — and he could use her medical expertise. Maybe they can help each other.

"Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?" He asks when he hands her the file, and Dana scoffs. Her patients have told her some terrible, inexplicable tales, but no matter what she doesn't see behind the scenes of this war, she's never given credence to the notion.

"Logically," she replies, "I would have to say no. Given the distances needed to travel from the far distances of space, the energy requirements would exceed any kind of craft's capabilities."

Mulder's eyes brighten and he smirks. "That, Dr. Scully, is conventional wisdom. What do we do when, in the case of these kids or your patient who died, convention and science don't offer us the answers we need?"

"The answers are there, you just have to know where to look." This is the tenet she has built her life on. Her search for knowledge began when she was eight years old, the first time she questioned God and the world she lives in, and has led her here. And when she's on a train the next day, sitting across from Mulder's sleeping form, she wonders if this is the right place to look.

Mulder squints one eye open, watching the little doctor, or maybe little spy, as she watches things he can't see pass by outside the window. She's got bright, curious eyes; he'd seen it in how intensely she argued with him about the existence of life beside their own, in the way she fixed him in her gaze like she was trying to figure him out. He's still doing the same; he's just as curious about her as she seems to be about the world around them.

He rolls onto his side, reaches across the space between them and carefully taps her left knee — the one she favors, pretty heavily by the worn look of the top of her cane. "A doctor with a gimp leg?" He asks, maybe a little bit teasingly just to see the reaction he'll elicit from her, when she looks at him.

Dana is used to the questions about her disability, but she's also used to the disapproval or doubt in her soundness as a physician that tends to come with it. Mulder, sprawled across the seat in front of her, seems purely curious. She blinks down at him, finding it strange because when they're standing, he's so much taller, and folds her hands on top of her knee.

"Polio," she explains. "When I was a girl. One of my brothers nearly died, I came up crippled. That's the reason I went into medicine, actually."

Mulder nods, like he understands. Later, in a dark hotel room, he'll tell her how the loss of his sister sent him running to solve mysteries that others wouldn't care about; they might just be more similar than either of them thinks. Their innate curiosity, longing for knowledge, to understand, draws them together. They both want to understand each other, as well.

Dana isn't an investigator, but Mulder is a mystery she wants to solve. He touches her gently, hesitantly, when she impulsively flies into his arms, he flinches at the flames when the hotel lights on fire and then turns angry. His entire face lights up in a tremendous, all-consuming grin when she starts laughing in disbelief in the cemetery and he catches her when her cane slips and she loses her footing on the wet terrain. He calls her by her last name, not her title or "Miss" like she's used to hearing; it reminds her of how people have always referred to her father.

For a moment, it's like there's no war; she forgets about Bill Jr. deployed with the Navy, forgets about Charlie deserting from boot camp and never calling. She forgets, for a second, that she is not and will never be normal or whole, and that she's caught up in a mystery that might put her in danger.

Scully argues with him, almost constantly. She's the skeptical daughter of a Navy captain who's spent her life fighting for a place in a profession that would have her be only a nurse, secondary to everyone else. She questions everything, won't believe a word of his theories. But she listens. She doesn't disregard him, doesn't tell him he'd be better off codebreaking or spying on the Axis; she wants to learn, wants scientific answers for unscientific questions, and when she's caught in a corner, barely staying upright because it's muddy out and she's staring down into an empty grave, she laughs. She doesn't rail against her own lack of knowledge, doesn't argue the way she's been since the moment they met. She looks up at him, something intense shining in her eyes, and she laughs. Mulder cannot comprehend her.

She loses her cane trying to keep up with him in the woods, trying to either hide from or find the source of the blinding lights hovering over the forest. He's not sure which it is; if she thinks they're in danger, or if she wants to know more. Billy Miles, comatose only hours before, is in the light, with Theresa Nemman in his arms. The wind picks up, the light blinds him, and he's not sure where Scully is or if she's seeing this; he hopes she is.

She shouts his name over the sound of the wind whipping through the branches, and he finds her limping through the undergrowth, shining her light toward the ground. He drops to his knees and digs around in the brush for a minute, counting the seconds. He wonders if his watch will have lost time again. Scully balances herself against his shoulder, staring up at him with wide eyes.

"It was incredible," he breathes, and she nods.

Her mind is playing air raid sirens, instincts shouting at her to get out of there, that the light came from a foreign plane or weaponry; nothing she's ever heard of can hover that way, though, and she knows Mulder is thinking of flying saucers. She can see it in his eyes, feels it mirrored in herself when she sees the sheriff's boy and the medical examiner's daughter, alive and whole. It's absolute wonder.

She came here looking for answers, but found something she cannot explain. No answer, just more questions. She's found a mystery, or maybe two. Maybe a friend. Maybe more.

He knows, as well as he knows the back of his own hand, that there are, in fact, more important things to worry about. Abductions by extraterrestrials, experiments done by the government or secret services, should be secondary to winning the war, but what if the two go hand in hand? What if the same is true of him and Scully; she's small and curious and determined enough to be a soldier herself, fits into the mysteries he's after like she was born to be there.

Neither of them expected to find each other in the midst of the tension wrought by the war. Maybe neither of them knew where to look.

#literally read the entire transcript of the pilot just for sequence of events #this is. not what i planned to spend my day doing but hey #Lu writes #txf #the x files #dana scully #fox mulder #mulder and scully #msr #msr fanfic #todayinfic

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ladymelisande · 3 years

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Thank you for speaking up about how River gets infantilised by this idiotic fandom and Eleven gets demonised. It's so bad, I don't know if you have listened to it but even fucking Big Finish with that horrendous Jack and River story engaged with that. It was so horrible, how has River become this sad damsel in distress and the Doctor some type of nightmare husband when we've only ever seen them flirting and very dramatically confessing their feelings for each other????

I actually thought I would get a flood of hate of how I am a misogynist that only thinks of Eleven as a character, so it's a happy surprise to see someone that is not a mutual agreeing.

They both get infantiliced, to be honest, the fandom acts like River is also this... pseudo Mummy Kink character with Eleven, that she always conforts him and that he never returns the favour, like he is some child and not a grown arse man. And while I agree that we have seen/listened River smothering the Doctor... That wasn't with Eleven, it was mostly with Ten and Eight. Literally the only time we see her apparently do something to apalease him is in Manhattan and he wasn't happy or asked for it... So why acting as if that is some obligation he put on her, the fuck?

There is literally not a single scene where she is babying him in any way as they pretend she does. This is more the rouse of the fanon that came with BF and the Classic Doctors being besotted with River, suddenly they all were better than Eleven and River was this damsel in distress that had to be saved from her evil husband because otherwise he would slave her away on his whims.

Because yes, that totally happened- Oh, wait no, it didn't.

(He stands his ground when she slaps him here: "I suppose that's for something I haven't done yet?' He is right, why should he pay for something he hasn't done? There is no cowering here, like they would want, I bet).

(The fandom also counts this scene as one of his 'crimes' on hurting her. Because he dares to not trust her, even when it's obvious he suspects she is in prison for his murder).

Here someone said he was 'manhandling her' because he stopped her from dodging his question (also they need glasses because I can see he is not putting pressure there).

He's constantly defying her, constantly challenging her. He is not there just to admire how beautiful, smart and badass she is and neither is she in other way around. A good romance is when the characters are the cause of each other's development. So why when he does what he is meant to do as a character he gets shat on and she gets praised?

In a way, I think I get why they do it, the other Doctors are easy to manage, easy to leave on there as basically non-entities that are there to worship the ground that she steps without a single argument. Twelve? Twelve probably regrets ever being him. All those Doctors are sweet candies that would never question River, meanwhile the evil husband has to actually go toe and toe with her is the one that is not worthy of her. Oh, but that's fucking hilarious considering that of all of them, he is the one that is more like her.

Eleven and River literally parallel each other as much as they differ each other. He is more closed off while she shouts her feelings from the roofs. He uses a young mask not because he looks down on her age but because he thinks that would get him to loved, while she thinks won't be loved if she is not this perfect fabulous superhero.

Hell, even in BF she does this ironically funny speech (to a stranger) about how he is a ghost and she is tired of being alone and... Hasn't that being his perspective since she started coming back to his life after the Library? Her coming and going off his life? And when she complains about him not being there, er, has everyone forgotten AGMGTW?

They are literally having the same damn experiences backwards. But I guess that Migratory Girl Boss Fandom has to do what they do: strip a female character of her complexity to make her either a victim or an unfeeling machine so they can freely pretend the male character is the problem when there is no problem at all. Cool. Nice. Keep going and ruin all the interesting things.

I detest Ja/ck Harkness so I didn't even get close that that boxset and I have ignored The Diaries since they stopped doing story arc, but that sounds so bad it gives me shivers, are the BF writers so boring that they just started copying the fandom's old arse and near ridiculous plots? Like, as Moffat said, one thing is ignoring an interpretation (I mean, I ignore THORS like the plague) but other is like... Having the episodes there and say 'this totally happened' and I am like *screenshot*, no, it didn't?

#may answers #eleventh doctor #river song #eleven x river #fandom ridiculousness #migratory girl boss fandom #sorry for the delay nonny #this was long

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phykios · 3 years

Text

Ain’t No Sunshine, modern royalty, 1970s au [read on ao3] thank you as always to my darling @darkmagyk for taking a true story off the rails

May 3rd, 1979. The date seemed to jump off the page, the loud, bold text almost mocking her.

Not that she was keeping track, but it was just about four years to the day.

She’d woken up this morning, feeling kind of off, wandering around her apartment in a daze as she hustled her children out the door for daycare, losing time on her bus commute to work. It wasn’t until lunch, as she took the time to go through her day planner, that she realized: four years ago was when she had last seen Percy Jackson.

Though why Annabeth was thinking about him right this second was anyone’s guess.

Oh, sure, she’d thought about him a lot all throughout her pregnancy--thought about him, cursed his name, dreamed of strangling him for leaving her alone with these two absolute terrors--but as the years had gone by, and she had lost all hope of ever making contact with him again, he’d sort of fallen by the wayside of her thoughts. Something must have been going on with the navy mail system, because absolutely none of the letters or postcards she’d sent had ever been received, and she couldn’t reach out to Sally, since Annabeth had lost her address as well.

There was always the possibility that he… well, that he wasn’t around to receive letters anymore. But she tried not to think about it.

She tried her best not to think about him at all, these days.

Today, however, her childhood best friend turned US navy midshipman had popped up on her internal radar, and had just decided to take up residence in her brain. Her normally mind-numbing job couldn’t even properly distract her, and she spent all afternoon daydreaming about his messy, perpetually windswept hair, and his toothy, contagious smile, and his gorgeous green eyes like she was some kind of pathetic, lovestruck teenager, obsessing over her rockstar crush. Taking calls, scheduling appointments, and dodging the creepy advances of the assistant CFO were slightly more palatable if she had something pleasant to think about.

Old-fashioned romance was for suckers, anyway. Who needed it?

At least it was Friday. Fridays were KFC days, and she really did not need to accidentally burn dinner today. Again.

She hated it, but her kids loved it. God knows they could barely stomach whatever she usually attempted.

She sent them to bed early-ish, and settled down in front of the TV with a glass of wine. She didn’t usually indulge, but she had had such a weird day, she felt she deserved it.

Taking a long, long sip, she could no longer deny it: she really fucking missed Percy.

She missed him like she’d miss a missing limb, and it was all the more cruel because she’d lost him once, and miraculously found him again, on that fateful trip home from Athens. A military brat stuck at the American naval base in Spain to save money, waiting for a spare seat to open up on a plane so she could go home, by the sheer force of luck, she’d practically tripped and fallen into the lap of her childhood best friend.

And then she did trip into his lap. And then into his bed. And stupid, stupid, Annabeth, she’d always been so bad with her birth control.

Her little boy, he had blond hair, but sometimes he would look at her, or laugh at something, or drool in his sleep just like his daddy, and Annabeth thought she might just fucking die from it.

She loved her children, of course, how could she not? But she wasn’t about to deny it--sometimes, alone in parenthood, juggling dishes and laundry and schoolwork and life, she felt like she was drowning.

Sharp, piercing, the doorbell rang, knocking her out of her reverie. A little tipsy, still in her rumpled work clothes, she set the glass aside, and made her way to the door. “Mr. D,” she said, opening it, prepared speech all ready to go, “I told you, I’d have the rent for you by--”

She stopped, blinking, speechless. It was not Mr. D.

“Hey,” said the man outside her door. The ghost from another world that she had, apparently, conjured with her thoughts.

“...Hey.”

He smiled, a little strained, the light of the streetlamps casting harsh shadows on his face. “It’s good to see you.”

“How did you know where I lived?” It was, perhaps, not the most elegant thing to say, but she hadn’t exactly planned for what would happen when Percy Jackson, love of her life, father of her children, long-lost best friend wandered back into her life.

“Can I come in? Maybe for a Coke or something?” he asked, not answering her question.

She almost wanted to say no. For every letter never returned, for every month gone by without a word, for every day spent raising their children without him, not knowing if he was alive or dead--she almost said no.

But this was Percy. She could spare him a Coca Cola at least. “Sure,” she said, leaning away, “come on.”

“Great,” he said, and this time, his smile was all real.

So focused had she been on him, she hadn’t even clocked the older man who stood behind him. “Sir,” said the other man, with the air of a beleaguered secretary--and Annabeth would know, “I really must advise--”

“I’ll just be a minute,” said Percy, not even bothering to look back at him, pushing past Annabeth’s half-extended arm.

“But, sir, your father--”

Percy let the door shut in his face.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “Harsh.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well… I’ll make it up to him later.”

“Who is he?”

But Percy didn’t answer. “Nice place you got here.”

He was being nice, of course. It was a craphole apartment in a craphole side of town--but the rent was cheap and the bus was convenient, and she only felt the slightest bit of shame as she led him to the craphole couch, handing him a coke from her craphole fridge. Christ, his suit looked like it cost more than her TV.

“Is your… husband home?” he asked, delicate.

“My what?”

“Your husband. I saw, um…” Embarrassed, he flicked his eyes to the ring on her left hand.

“Oh, this? It’s--it’s not--” Hastily, clumsily, she fumbles it off, pulling around the knuckle. “I’m not--I’m not.”

He blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I just--it’s to ward off creepy guys, right? Like, they won’t take no for an answer unless they think they’ll have to deal with an angry husband, so I just…”

In her more pathetic moments, she pretended that it had been given to her by the man before her. She had picked something small and simple, something that she thought he might have gone with, and pretended he had slipped it into her pocket the day she left the naval base.

“That’s--cool. That’s great, I mean. I mean, that’s--”

“What do you want, Percy?”

Not at all bothered by the shortness of her tone, he sighed, closing his eyes. “I have a… personal question I need to ask you. And I’m sorry to bother you with this, I just--I have to ask.”

Ominous. “Okay?”

“Did we…” He sighed again, mouth twisting. “Did you, as a result of our repeated sexual encounters four years ago, happen to have any children by me?”

He just rattled it off, as if it was something he’d said over and over and over again, tired of receiving the same answer, but never expecting anything different.

“Excuse me?”

“I know, I know, it’s an extremely rude question, and I know I have no right to ask you, especially since it’s been so long, but I swear, there’s a reason I--”

“Did you never get any of the letters I sent you?”

At that, his head shot up. The look in his eyes could only be described as ‘terror.’ “What?”

“I must have sent you half a dozen,” she said, crossing to the kitchen, the wine making her a little bit short. She had, in fact, sent him eight letters, with pictures, and never received a single response, but since he seemed genuinely lost, she decided not to tell him. Plucking the most recent photo down from the fridge, she returned to the man in her living room, his knuckles white around the can.

Standing before him, she handed him the photograph. He took it, fingers shaking. “We… you…”

“Percy Jackson,” she said, like she was introducing him to someone at a party, “meet your children.”

Even after they had just been born, Annabeth had seen how obviously they were his. Only their daughter had the same messy black hair, both both had the same long, straight nose, the same intense, brooding brow as their father--and when her son smiled, or her daughter laughed, it was hard not to see the shades of Percy so strongly in them. It was hard to see them, too.

Percy’s mouth was trembling. His eyes were wide, glassy, fixed on the photo. “My--” he swallowed. “What--what are their names?”

“Alexander,” she said, softly, “and Anne--”

“Annemarie,” he breathed. “Alexander and Annemarie.” He looked up at her, his eyes shining. “You remembered?”

Of course she remembered. Two lonely kids, she and Percy had spent so much of their childhood together, playing house, building their perfect family, even if only in their imagination. Alexander for his mother’s cousin, and Annemarie because he had wanted to name their daughter Annabeth, and she wouldn’t let him. Twenty years later, alone and in pain, holding her newborn children and alternately cursing the man who made them and desperately wishing he were with her, Annabeth had known that they could only have one set of names, even if their father might never meet them.

His face crumpled. He dropped his head into his hand, and groaned, like someone had pressed on an open wound.

“Percy!” Annabeth sat down next to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his leg. Four years later and it still felt so natural to touch him like this. “Are you okay?”

Nodding, he grunted. “Yeah,” he croaked, voice hoarse, “I’m okay. I’m fine. I just--” And then he shuddered, a hand coming up to scrub at his eyes.

He was crying, she realized suddenly. Annabeth used to be the one that cried. She could count on one hand how many times she’d seen him cry. He hadn’t even cried when she had finally left the naval base.

Taking a shaking breath, he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his expensive suit. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, shattered. “I didn’t--I never--if I had known, I swear, I would have left the navy. I would have come home.”

The silent, unspoken “to you” echoed in the dead air of her apartment. “Why didn’t you?” she asked, quietly.

They held each other’s eyes, an eternity passing in a heartbeat. Neither wanted to break the sacred silence, to bring words into the crystalline moment that hung in the balance between them.

“I never got your letters,” he said, tears in his eyes. “I… after you--left, I…” he sighed, aching. “I… got hurt. Bad.”

Annabeth couldn’t breathe.

“And,” he huffed a laugh, wet and messy, “and then I met my father. Can you believe it?”

Her eyes bugged out of her head. “You what?”

He nodded.

“He’s alive?”

Sally rarely spoke of him, and Percy had always refused to. Annabeth had just assumed he had died, years and years and years ago.

Percy laughed again, humorless. “He’s the king of Thera.”

Her jaw dropped. “He…”

“Yeah.”

“Are you shitting me?”

Shaking his head, he smiled, rueful. “I wish.”

Words from a half-remembered newscast floated through her mind. Alexander and Annemarie had been right terrors that night, and she had only been half-listening as the reporter informed the world that Triton, hereditary prince of Thera, had died, killed in military action. “He… found you?”

Percy nodded, miserable. “He told me--asked--told me to--to find anyone I might have…” And then he swallowed, tears in his eyes again, real, glistening tears. “And I am so, so sorry, I know--I know your job is here, and your whole life, and the children, but I--”

She took his hand in hers, squeezing gently so he didn’t fly away. “It’s okay,” she said. “Just say it.”

“I’m supposed to--I’m supposed to… if you would… come with me,” he trailed off, suddenly shy.

For the second time tonight, she felt like she’d been hit with a sledgehammer. “...What?”

“He… my father… the king wants--needs heirs. He… he asked for a list of women, and I… gave him your name.” Stomach hot, Annabeth wished she had the courage to know about the other women on that list. Or to ask why Percy, young and handsome as he’d been at both twelve and twenty, wasn’t out there making some new ones himself. Why was he chasing down old leads? Why was he chasing down Chase bastards? “You’d--you’d live in the castle,” he said, like he was trying to sell her on it, though she could tell his heart wasn’t really in it, “and we, well, we’d technically have to get married, but that doesn’t need to be a big deal. You’d get your own rooms. You can set them up however you want. And you’d have a personal staff, a stipend, and the kids would get private teachers, and--”

“Staff?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Yes?”

Staff. Someone to do the laundry and clean the dishes. Someone to cook dinner and look after the house. Someone to help. Someone to do all the parental things that she just could not do, not by herself. Not without him.

“I know I have no right to ask this of you,” he said, squeezing her hand. His hand was just as big as she remembered, and just as warm. “And I would never, ever force you to do anything that you wouldn’t want to--”

“Yes,” she said, interrupting him.

He blinked, dumbly. “What?”

“Yes. I’ll come with you. We all will.”

“...Oh. Uh, great. That’s--that’s good. Are you sure?” He looked like a lost little dolphin, eyes huge and uncertain, and then, Annabeth did the one thing that she’d been desperately wanting to do for the last four years.

She pulled his face to hers, and she kissed him. Shocked, he stiffened, almost pulling away--before relaxing into her, cupping her face in his big, warm hand. Eyes closed, they leaned their heads against each other, sharing air once more for the first time in years. She had lost him twice already: once as a child, when her father had decided to move her across the country, and once as a lovestruck college girl, when she had to leave the naval base, four years ago. She wasn’t about to lose him for a third time.

And for the first time in forever, she no longer felt like she was drowning.

#my fic #pjo fic #pjo #percabeth #percabeth fic #au #the rivalry ends here #the au which we have affectionately named 'chop chop'#for... reasons...#darkmagyk #perseannabeth

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frogsmulder · 3 years

Note

For the sleepy prompts…. How about “it's 2am. your lover is still playing video games in the living room, so you grab your pillow, settling yourself in between your lover's thighs as you watch them play, and soon enough, you're asleep again” :)

Old Relics

Mulder and Scully play on the Gunmen's old playstation; about 800 words; rated g; tagging @today-in-fic

They haven’t been in this new house of theirs for long, only a couple of days. They haven’t much between them, only the bare minimum keepsakes, little trinkets that make up a person, a relationship, a lifetime. These, they fit into a dozen or so boxes. They don’t have haulers: that would raise their profile. But what they do have is Maggie, who doesn’t question why such a big house is meant for only two people; why there’s only a dozen boxes to fill it. She helps them move their stuff from storage where it has been collecting dust for two years, it’s the same storage locker that they used to put all of the Lone Gunmen’s possessions away. All of it now is sitting sprawled between the kitchen and living room.

There’s one box labelled: LIVING ROOM, ELECTRICS, that Mulder has been excited to unpack for days now. The first morning, he had woken up and plodded downstairs, wrapped his arms around the waist of his wife from behind and asked: “Can we set it up tonight?”

She had turned her head away from the pot of coffee she was making to kiss his cheek. “Not tonight,” she had let down softly, and the next morning. But this morning when he had kissed the crown of her head and stolen a bite of her bagel, she acquiesced.

“Will you play with me?” he asked through bagel crumbs.

She shook her head and laughed, “I can’t guarantee that much.”

So now here they are, sitting on old cushions their Navajo blanket shared across their laps, playing Micro Machines on the Gunmen’s old PlayStation. They nudge each other’s shoulders, trying to distract the other. Mulder shouts when his car turns the wrong way off the track and Scully cheers when she wins the race. Mulder grumbles saying it was beginners’ luck, but after eight more races, Scully winning all but two, it’s clear that luck isn’t a factor. Eventually, Scully buries her nose into Mulder’s neck and sighs sleepily.

“I think I’m going to go to bed now. Come up when you’re ready.”

Mulder kisses her goodnight and watches as she carries herself up the stairs. He smiles to himself, knowing he is the luckiest son of a bitch there ever lived. As her footsteps fade away, he flips through the case again and pulls out Crash Bandicoot, popping it into the PlayStation.

It’s dark when he hears the soft footsteps of Scully on the stairs again. He only notices the sun has set because the sound of her approach distracts him from the game. “Hey,” he smiles and accepts her embrace as she folds herself into his lap. “I didn’t think you would wait up for me.”

He strokes her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear and she hums like a cat would purr. It amuses him how the hard exterior of Dana Katherine Scully crumbles away when she is tired. She was the same on stakeouts all those years ago.

“I didn’t,” she mumbles. “You do know it’s 2 am?”

“It is?” Mulder had been so hyper fixated on the game that he genuinely hadn’t noticed.

She smiles at him fondly. “What am I going to do with you?”

Settling into his side, she watches as he continues to dodge what look like Venus-fly-traps on steroids out to kill him. She leafs idly through the games case until she finds one that looks vaguely interesting to her.

“What’s this one?” She holds up a yellow disc with a little character in white and the words RAYMAN on. Mulder saves his game before swapping it into the console.

He opens up the memory card option and finds two saved games LAN and FBI.

“Is LAN Langley?”

It’s an innocent question enough, but seeing his name and the fact that it is 98% completed brings a wave of unforeseen grief over Mulder.

“Yeah,” his voice cracks. “It’s strange to think that he never finished the game…”

He leaves the rest unsaid because it doesn’t need saying; he knows she is thinking it too.

“He named me FBI as well,” he half laughs. Scully places a consoling hand onto his chest, but Mulder wraps his own hand around hers and brings it to his lips for a kiss. “I’m fine. Really,” he whispers.

Scully, too tired to argue, lays down, resting her head in his lap. He covers her with the blanket as she settles down for the second time that night.

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable upstairs?” he murmurs with genuine care.

After years of sleeping in crappy motels worse than their living room floor, she can’t say it’s much of a pain.

“I’m most comfortable where you are.”

#This is a love letter too my childhood #I would have mentioned so many more games but there's only so many waranted in writing #Also rayman is the best game ever come fight me #No I was not born in the 80s #This is the one time when my outdated references are actually useful #dana scully #the x files #msr #fox mulder #xf fanfic #my fic #Also shout out to the guy who made the controls backwards on the last level of rayman and making my life hard #I was playing whilst writing this to get in the mood #I also found this very hard to write and I don't really like the flow of it but eh

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wannabecoyote · 4 years

Text

Sasha woke up, she didn’t remember falling asleep but that’s just every Tuesday for her. Her whole body is sore and lethargic, also a normal Tuesday. What isn’t a normal Tuesday however is WAKING UP IN AN UNFAMILIAR CELL. She very much does not appreciate being imprisoned for god knows whatever reason or at all really. She sat up and tried to practice the breathing exercise she and her friends found.

Breathe in for four seconds. Hold for seven. Breathe out for eight.

Rinse and repeat.

She swallowed once she feels calm enough and looked around the room. She’s very surprised that she isn’t descending into yet another panic attack but she ain’t gonna question her good luck now.

She felt for her phone and breathed out a sigh of relief when she found it is still in her pocket. With trembling hands she typed a message to her friend.

‘dude I could be dying rn. im pretty sure I was kidnapped. no cap. idk where I am. keep my witch stuff.’

She took a picture of the cell and sent it to Dylan.

She pocketed her phone with another inhale to fortify herself. She looked around and found her cell sealed with a laser beam thing. Like a sheet of light keeping her in. Like some real Steven Universe shit.

She walked up to it and tried to touch it. She pulled her hand back with a curse when she was zapped unceremoniously by the rude laser. She started flicking her hand trying and failing to shake the pain off.

She put her singed finger in her mouth and looked around for something that could help her. To the opposite of the laser gate was her cot, a raised platform that comes up to her thighs and padded with cushion. To the right hand side was a sink with running water and a glass near it. She assumed that was for her to drink. All she found that are detachable from their posts are pillows, the glass, and blankets. She walked over and snatched the pillow from the cot to test it against the laser.

She held the pillow forward and slowly touched the other side to the laser. She was startled from this when a something moved in the hallway. She threw the pillow away and focused on the figure that slithering closer to her cell by the minute.

She pulled a face of disgust when a weird hybrid of gorgons, aliens from the movie Aliens, and freaking predators came in front of her. It was very disconcerting.

“Human, you are before your queen, bow.” The talking monstrosity said.

The audacity!

“I’m sorry but you ain’t my queen. My queen is Sappho and you don’t look anything like her,” she said and the guards beside the queen gasped.

The queen’s face distorted in anger. Sasha’s face showed her disgust at how uglier the queen became.

“Eugh, dude seriously ngl you look like someone punched your mother’s stomach when she was carrying you and then when she gave birth to you she somehow dropped you multiple times because she always gets surprised by how ugly you are,” she said with a shrug. If she was gonna die, she’s gonna make the most of what she has right now.

The guy on the left let out a noise that sounded a lot like a laugh. Sasha smiled proudly and gave the alien a wink. It feels good to know someone appreciates your humor. They stepped back a bit, spooked. The queen’s face becomes more distorted but this time she was looking at the alien that laughed.

“You find this amusing? You are nothing but dust in the cosmos. You are nothing. Remember your place [species slur]!” she shouted at them. The poor guy bowed their head and uttered a silent acquiescence.

“HEY DON’T YOU FUCKING SAY THAT TO THEM YOU NIGHTMARE IN ELMS STREET LOOKING ASS!” Sasha shouted. NOBODY, FUCKING NOBODY FUCKS WITH THE ALIEN GUY. HE IS B A B Y.

Both aliens looked at her, one with a look of horrified admiration, and the other with pure contempt in her eyes. Nine of them. Creepy. Why’s it gotta be a fucking odd? Why fucking nine? It’s fucking gross. Eugh.

She was startled out of her disgust for the nine eyes by the sound of someone pressing in the code for her cell…presumably. The laser wall disappeared and the queen loomed ominously over her. She bolted as soon as she can. Narrowly dodging the disgusting snake alien thing that tried to strike her. She took the alien’s appendage and ran. Dragging them along with her to wherever the fuck.

“Why are you doing this human? I am not an ideal hostage, no one cares about me,” the alien said. Sasha’s heart broke with the way that they said it. As if it was something factual. No one should be made to feel like that. If she was gonna escape she’s gonna take this bean with her.

“You are not a hostage,” she said. Behind them the queen is screaming profanities at everyone and the soldiers are gaining on them. “You’re a friend, I can see that you hate it here. You’re as much of a prisoner as I am. We’re gonna get out of here, yeah?” she looked back and her alien friend nodded with a look of disbelief on their face.

“Why?”

“Because they don’t treat you right.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with you, besides, I will slow you down.”

“Of course it does! I made you laugh, you’re my friend now.”

“What exactly is a friend? You’ve mentioned it twice now.”

“You don’t know what friends are?!”

“I do not. I am sorry,”

“No! Don’t be! I wasn’t mad at you or anything.” She sighed, this is difficult. “A friend is someone that you like, someone you spend your time with. Someone that you can rely on. Someone who can rely on you.”

“…and I am your friend? How?”

“Like I said, you laughed at my joke.”

“That sounds superficial, especially compared to what you mentioned friendship entailed.”

“It doesn’t have to be really deep, does it? I like you because I do. Do you not want to be my friend?”

“It is not that I do not, it is that I do not understand why you would want to be mine.”

“I just do okay? You’re a great dude.”

She looked at the soldiers chasing after them.

“How many?” she asked the confused alien. “Few. There aren’t much.” She nodded and asked where they are as they ran for their lives. They yelled out directions and she followed as best as she could.

She ran faster than she ever has in her life. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. Her alien friend tried but they couldn’t keep up with her. They lagged behind but she wouldn’t leave them. She couldn’t.

They reminded her too much of herself.

So she stood. In front of him. Shielding him from the soldiers that had caught up with them. Her friend told her to run. To leave them. To save herself. She didn’t.

The first soldier engaged her and she punched him. Remembering all those self-defense lessons from tiktok. They were bipedal and has almost the same structure as humans so she assumed they have similar anatomy. Her assumption proved true when the alien she punched in the throat gasped and flailed for air. Her confidence renewed she jumped to the next alien. She tore through them, using everything she has on her arsenal. Her hands, fingers, nails, feet, her teeth, and everything else that she has.

They were fragile. They were easy to destroy. She has cuts all over her body but she cannot feel pain right now. Her friend is looking around at the carnage she has brought with fear in their eyes. All the fight left her body when they looked at her with fear. She moved forward to reassure them that everything was going to be okay but the queen arrived.

She was holding a gun of a sort and she was pointing it at Sasha. She ran straight for the queen, her teeth barred, screaming at the top of her lungs.

The queen expecting her to run was thrown off guard when she slammed against her. Sasha rained punches on her captor. Blindly smashing and hitting. The sound of pounding of flesh and bones crunching filled the air. She did not stop until two arms wrapped around her and restrained her.

“…okay, it’s gonna be okay. It’s alright, you’re alright. You’re safe.” It was a familiar voice. She didn’t know whose voice. She can feel the strength leaving her body. She hasn’t slept in two days.

“Alien… friend… safe..?” she asked, slowly losing her consciousness.

“Yes, your alien fiend is safe.” He sounds like he’s smiling.

#humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are space australians #humans are insane #humans are deathworlders #humans are adorable #earth is a deathworld #earth is space australia #aliens #alien #alien friend #friendship #violence kinda #gen Z #i dont fucking know aymore

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male-reader-requests · 3 years

Text

Dog Days Pt.1

Pairings: Mirio Togata x Male!Reader

Word Count: 2,344

Warnings: This is technically part two to Puppy Love but it can be read as a stand-alone. This is also going to be split into 2 parts just because this one is already stupidly long, and I promise the next installment of this will be better and have more to do with the request!

When people first meet Mirio they tend to akin him to the sun. He's very bright and nice and lives to make people happy, and that's who he is. He doesn't hide behind a mask of lies to please others, that's just who he is.

When people meet (M/N) on the other hand they always think he's lying. No matter how nice and polite he is to everyone around him they always think he's some sort of delinquent, that he's a horrible person. "There's no way someone that tall could be good, no way someone with a quirk like that is a decent person."

Sometimes (M/N) wishes they were right.

(E/C) eyes shown with disdain as they looked on at the wreckage before them, blinking lazily as red shown in the dark. Mirio had somehow convinced him, despite (M/N) really not wanting to, to come see class 1-A and help out with training. It had seemed like a good idea, sort of, but now (M/N) just wanted to go to sleep.

This had all started because of that broccoli haired boy, what was his name? Midio? Medusa? Mizuza? Whatever his name was he'd found (M/N) and Mirio sometime this morning.

The two of them had been outside, Mirio messing with the flowers and grass while (M/N) worked on a paper for his History class. It was an odd, but cute sight if you ever saw it in person. Mirio had his head pillowed on one of (M/N)'s thighs, the taller male making use of his many pairs of hands. Two hands were typing away at the laptop in his lap, two of them were propping him up against the ground, and the other two were playing with golden hair.

Truthfully Mirio would have loved to have (M/N)'s undivided attention, but him passing his classes was also important so he chose to stamp down on that feeling. It was a nice and sunny day, warm and on the weekend. The two of them didn't have any plans but they did want to spend the time together, and Mirio had used that as a weapon.

Soon after (M/N) had finished his essay the green boy had shown up, talking to Mirio about some kind of training that (M/N) was too tired to remember but somehow the two of them had gotten dragged to a cityscape training field.

Aizawa was there, looking as tired as (M/N) felt, along with 19 students. Scratch that, there was 20, one of them was just ridiculously short.

All of them were dressed out of uniform, most likely in their hero costumes, and were staring at Mirio and (M/N) as if they were forgien objects.

(M/N) sighed, (E/C) eyes closed as his hands stuffed themselves in the multitude of pockets in his clothing. He hated dealing with children, 99% of them were afraid of spiders, but he hated dealing with teenagers more due to them not having come to terms with their fear of spiders. He wasn't a mean guy, but when someone is being rude to you over something you can't control it can make you pretty pissy.

And now here (M/N) was, looking at the wreckage brought on by an anger issue having pomeranian. He was hiding, well not really hiding but going stealthily behind the profanity-wielding child, in the shadows in a hope that they'd just call the match off.

(M/N) wasn't really much of a fighter. He could fight well, hell he could kill a man if he so pleased, but that wasn't really his thing. Due to the arachnid-ness of his being, he was much stronger than other people. Like actual spiders, he was somewhere between 100 and 150 times stronger in proportion to his weight, so (M/N) decided to use that strength to do wreckage clearing and rescue missions.

But now this blond Bitch was getting on every single nerve in his body and making him think of changing over to a confrontation hero.

"Come out you eight-legged freak!" the blonde yelled, hands sparking as he shouted to the sky.

(M/N) sighed as he sat on the ground, head propped up by one set of elbows as the others slowly gathered silk from his back. The kid was good, he could admit that, but he needed lots of polish. A literal shit load of polish, and then he would be a great hero.

With another sigh (M/N) looked up at the sky in wonder, wondering why he had to have been the one here, before whistling sharply. It got the kid's attention quickly, spinning around ready to attack, only for his hands to get attached to his body by a mass of silk slowly turning him into a cocoon.

He thrashed about, screeching as he slowly tilted back before falling with a less than dignified yelp. Groaning as he forced himself up off the ground (M/N) moved over to the kid, watching as he yelled out some pretty creative insults. (M/N) then promptly sat on his chest, ripping the ribbon off of the kids neck before holding it up in the air.

A buzzer went off before some red-haired kid made his way into the wreckage. Not wanting to see the kid mauled (M/N) got up, leaving the kid to pick his friend up. On the way out he met Mirio, giving the blond the ribbon that was meant for the two of them.

"You were great out there!" the blond was practically vibrating. He'd always enjoyed watching (M/N) use his quirk, watching him fight. "Yeah?" (M/N)'s voice was low and tired, but there was a slight smile on his face as he gently ruffled the blonde's hair.

He left after that, Mirio entering the training area to watch as Bakugo was drug off by Kirishima.

Izuku didn't really know what he'd been expecting, but this wasn't exactly it.

Earlier that day he'd found Mirio and uh... his boyfriend? together. They'd been talking softly about something but had stopped when Izuku had approached them. He then word dumped on them about how his class was doing some kind of special training and that it would be much appreciated if they could come and help.

Mirio had jumped right on, but the other boy had been a bit hesitant. Izuku could tell why now.

Mirio and (M/N) had thrown everyone's names into a bag and were drawn at random, fighting whoever until they either got through the whole class or were too tired to continue. The fights had all been stupid easy so far, Mirio taking everyone out quickly, or making them surrender.

(M/N)'s fights had been a bit messier. It was obvious he was uncomfortable fighting, his strength going on display when he'd hit through a wall on a missed punch. Everyone was wary of him, they knew nothing about how he fought and what kind of strengths he had other than the eyes and the arms.

The first person against (M/N) had ended up being Jiro. It had been a quick match, (M/N) capturing the girl in silk, but now after she seemed slightly dazed as she sat on the floor in the back of the room.

As Izuku looked around the room he realized that everyone that (M/N) had fought was actually more or less dazed, looking extremely sleepy. Confused, and a bit concerned Izuku made his way over to Jiro who had been hit first, but was cut off as Aizawa declared (M/N) the winner of his fight between him and Bakugo.

Mirio went to go greet the other male before going to his fight, (M/N) coming in looking tired.

There were soot marks all over his skin thanks to dodging Bakugo's attacks, and Izuku watched as he rubbed at his eyes, smearing it like cheap eyeliner. He watched as (M/N) yawned and made his way over to a corner before sitting, letting his head fall back and close his (E/C) eyes. The red ones stayed open.

It was a bit unnerving to look at that, to watch as pure red eyes moved around in their sockets to look around. It was hard to figure out where they were looking exactly since they were one color without a pupil, but Izuku got the general idea that he was looking around at everything.

Midoriya had heard things about (M/N) from other students and in passing, most of it coming from Mirio gushing about him at any given point, but he knew he was strong.

A lot of people, mostly the second years, seemed weirded out that (M/N) had already decided to become a rescue hero. It wasn't very common that people decided what kind of hero they would become in their 3rd year, most waited until they had a bit of experience to see what they were best at, and even then most people wanted to become confrontational heroes, to be the person who took down the bad guy and saved everyone. (M/N) seemed content to stick to the shadows.

Maybe it had to do with his arachnid quirk, not wanting to be seen or to be put in any danger? Maybe it was just a personal preference though?

Midoriya hadn't realized it, as per usual, but he was mumbling to himself. Lost in his own little world he didn't notice that 6 red eyes had shifted to look at him, (S/T) ears tuned into the mess of words pouring from his mouth.

For (M/N) he was used to people talking about him behind his back, he was odd even in a world of superheroes. He had 6 arms and 8 eyes, he was far from normal so people talked about him. Most of it wasn't very good, people talking about how creepy he was and how he wouldn't be a good hero because he wasn't good with people, but the drivel coming from the bush-boy was statistics and questions about his quirk.

All of it curiosity without any of the disgust and distrust.

Curious, (M/N) focused all 6 red eyes on the boy, his figure slowly coming into focus.

Like an actual spider (M/N)'s eyes were put into groups for seeing different things. 3 of them were for noticing motion in a blurry wide-angle vision, 3 of them were specifically for judging the distance between things, and the 2 that weren't red were the only ones that actually focused on things and saw in color. These ones were for locking onto things when he needed to.

Right now the green-haired boy was a blurry figure that actually just looked like a tall bush. He was roughly 8 feet away, mumbling to himself.

Confused, and slightly concerned as to why the boy had taken such an interest in him, (M/N) let his head drop onto his shoulder, cracking his eyes open to squint at the male. He didn't seem to be noticing his surroundings, but the other students were ignoring his words so this must have been a normal thing.

Sighing, (M/N) sat up so that he was leaning forward, scooting himself around so he was actually facing the kid.

He was a little under average height, messy hair and wide eyes, freckles. He looked like the sort of kid you'd want as a younger brother, cute in a sort of boyish way, but now he looked like a deer in headlight.

Midoriya, who had been lost in his own world, hadn't noticed that (M/N) had moved, but now the tall male was a bit closer. He was sitting cross-legged, arms propping him up on the floor and on his elbows, but all 8 of those eyes seemed to be trained on him as his head tilted slightly to the side.

It... was horrifying in all honesty. (M/N) was tall, he was a big guy in general, but as he peered at Midoriya it was terrifying. Like being under the eyes of a predator.

"What's your deal?" (M/N) said softly, the words slurring slightly with exhaustion.

Midoriya knew he was being spoken to, knew that (M/N) was talking to him, but at the moment he was a mere statue in a garden. He was stuck.

The area where (M/N)'s eyebrows should have been furrowed, confusion crossing his features. The kid had been mumbling to himself just fine a moment ago but now he was completely still, eyes impossibly large.

Concerned, (M/N) drug himself to his knees, leaning forward to lightly tug at the kid's uniform. It was like setting off a firework, fine for a second or two before he exploded.

He immediately tried to jump back, only to stumble and fall like the clutz he was.

(M/N) blinked owlishly at the kid, who was also blinking in confusion.

The kid wasn't... actually scared of him, right? He was a teenager, he could get over his fear and realize that (M/N) wasn't going to hurt him... right?!

The kid looked scared though, and it felt like a punch to the gut.

Sighing lightly (M/N) waved a hand at the green-haired male, moving to stand up.

"Sorry for startling you," he mumbled, pulling his hood over his head before stuffing his hands in various pockets.

Times like now (M/N) wished he had been born without so many limbs, even if it was just so that he could have sleeves to hide himself with.

#anime #xmalereader #x male reader #Mirio Togata #mirio togata x male reader #mirio x male reader #bnha #mha #bnha imagines

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listentothelittlebird · 3 years

Text

So I wrote Waterbender Jason Todd and that was a blast (the series is Gotham’s White Lotus!) but I went through a ton of drafts for how Jason got reintegrated into the Batfam - and here’s one of the drafts!

Word Count: 2760 words

I like this one because it’s dramatic :) Enjoy!

(This draft essentially diverges directly after Burning Iceberg - some of the diversions can be seen in the tags!)

An explosion, Oracle’s words quickly filtering into their comms.

“I have eyes on the combustion bender. Looks like he’s still looking to complete his contract.”

Batman’s voice came next, barking an order for Robin to return to the Batcave.

“But-”

“Little bird, you should probably listen to the B-man,” Red Hood jumped in, “Seriously. Lay off this one for all of us, alright?”

Robin huffed, but obeyed.

The explosions followed Robin’s movements until Batman was able to intercept the bender. Red Hood dropped down soon after. Batgirl had taken to accompanying Robin back to the Batcave. Nightwing informed them that he was on his way to Gotham, likely to check up on Robin for his own assurance.

The blasts caused Red Hood to dart to one side, Batman to the other. Before the smoke filling the empty warehouse could clear, a blade was pressed to Jason’s neck.

“Where is my son?” the voice hissed. The Pit was long gone, but that did nothing to quell the snarl that answered the question.

“Nice to see you too, Talia,” Jason spat out. He could guess why Talia had come to Gotham - investigating the new mask that held his build, as well as the absence of one eight-year-old after his most recent mission.

“Where-” the sword dug deeper, “-is. My. Son.”

“Where do you think?” Jason snarked, “C’mon, Tals, you can’t be that much of an idiot. Detective it out yourself.”

Talia growled. “You poisoned my child’s thoughts,” Talia murmured darkly, “If not for you, Damian would have completed his mission successfully, and been ever closer to becoming a satisfactory Heir. I should have recognised your meddling from the start.”

Jason chuckled. The smoke was clearing, now, and from the comms, it seemed that Batman was apprehending the combustion bender. He hoped Oracle could hear him and had alerted the others.

“You kept Damian from his father,” Jason stated evenly, “The least I could do was tell the kid about his Dad and his brothers. You know, the brothers you never told him about? Not to mention his sister, too.”

“He is the blood-son.”

“He is the youngest son, and you’re gonna have to get through me and the rest of us if you so much as think of hiding him away again.”

Batman dropped down in front of them. Talia’s sword was still dangerously close to his neck, digging in slightly, nearly drawing blood.

“Back away from the Hood, Talia,” Batman growled, “This is between you and me.”

Talia stilled.

“You haven’t told him,” Talia realised.

Shit.

The sword was humming, growing warmer. Jason could feel the heat on his skin.

“You told me you wanted revenge. You told me you wanted your replacement gone,” Talia was on a roll, now, grasping greedily for control, “You told me you wanted him to pay. For not avenging you. For leaving The Joker walking.”

Jason shuddered at the mention of the Rogue. He could feel Talia’s shark-like grin at his neck.

“A shame,” she tutted, “You realised, didn’t you? That he never cared for you. No wonder you have yet to tell him the truth.”

Batman took a stuttering step forward. Jason tried to control his breathing, the blade heating up enough to burn. She was trying to get under his skin. Trying to…

Jason made sure to inject rage and malice into his next words, “You’re not the only one with tricks up your sleeve, Talia.”

Underneath his jacket was a flask of water for emergencies.

“Oh?” Talia hummed menacingly, “And what may that be?”

Jason moved, breaking out of the hold. The sword flared into flames.

The jet of water knocked Talia back several paces, but not before she could take a slash at his helmet. The material melted into his lenses, and Jason cursed, ripping off the helmet just in time to block her blade with an ice-coated arm.

“The spirits. That was you.”

“Bingo. Looks like the Pit didn’t melt out your brains.”

Jason met the flurry of attacks steadily, bending the broken ice into water blasts and back to ice once more, dodging the flames and ignoring the singed marks on his clothes.

Another explosion. Jason’s gaze darted just enough to see that the combustion bender had returned, hands bound but still conscious.

“I should have never helped you,” Talia stated, a tone of finality, “It’s only right I bury you again.”

A bout of flames aimed for his face, forcing Jason to roll backwards, just out of reach. By the time he got back to his feet, Talia was standing beside the combustion bender, who was already in stance. Another explosion sounded, right above him.

Jason only had time to curl up and erect a crystal of ice around him before the warehouse roof fell.

He could taste the smoke on his lips, the dust of wood and cement. He waited one, two seconds, straining against the weight of the building against the ice, before digging into his jacket, pulling out a small comms unit and stuffing it into his ear.

“-you hear me? Hood!” Oracle was yelling.

“I’m under the warehouse,” Jason gasped out, coughing up the smoke and dirt and dust, “I’m- I’m underneath. I- please. Please get me out. Fuck.”

He was trembling. The ice creaked, painfully loud in the silence.

“I can’t-” his lips moved without his permission, “-can’t do this again. Shit. I- don’t make me do this again.”

Distantly, he registered that his voice was no longer modulated, like it was in his helmet.

“I found him,” came Batman’s grunt, and if Jason had enough space within the ice, he would have keeled over in relief. The soil beneath him rumbled, but Jason had long come to associate this specific tremble with earthbending. The earth opened, and Jason gasped as he dropped into the ditch, which closed and engulfed him in darkness.

“B?” Jason whispered, the sound echoing. He was vaguely aware of someone approaching him as his breath quickened.

“It’s me, Hood,” Batman’s voice sounded, and Jason sobbed.

“I- shit. Shit.”

“It’s alright,” Batman soothed, “It’s-”

Batman cut himself off, coming to a stop just in front of where Jason was on his hands and knees, desperately trying to quell his panicked breathing.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him into an upright position on his knees. Jason flinched as a flashlight was shined on his face, then gulped audibly as Batman visibly jolted back in shock. The light stayed trained on his face, even as Batman reached out slowly, as if scared he would disappear. His hand first found Jason’s arm, then his neck, pressing to his pulse, and then reached to his face, peeling off the red domino mask with a fragile touch.

A beat passed, where Jason stared into Batman’s cowl, desperately waiting for a reaction.

“Batman, what’s Hood’s status?” came through the comms.

“Jason?” he whispered. He tugged off his cowl, and Bruce’s eyes shone with flickering hope and brokenness.

Jason sucked in gulps of air in between his hitched breaths, enough for him to rasp out one word, “Dad.”

The light moved away from his face, a black gauntlet grasping tightly onto his arm, nearly bruising in its grip, pulling him roughly forward. Jason lost his balance, tipping straight into a tight hug that knocked the breath out of him, just as it knocked the first tears loose.

“Dad,” he whispered again, the grip around him tightening somehow, “Dad.”

“Jason,” Bruce returned just as reverently, “Oh, son, why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I’m-” Jason sobbed, gasping, “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know… how… how to tell you. Didn’t know what to say. I-”

Bruce shushed him quietly, and Jason dissolved into tears in his father’s arms.

“Jason?” Bruce had whispered, and then the words through the comms were too muffled to make out.

“Batman? Batman, are you there?” Dick tried again, sharing another concerned look with Tim. Bruce had gone silent, save for words that were too hard for them to make out. Cass placed a steadying hand on Dick’s shoulder, a silent sign of support.

“Tune into Red Hood’s comms,” Oracle chimed abruptly. Dick frowned, but did as told.

“-Dad,” the voice, unmodulated for the first time, cracked with emotion, and the two brothers froze. The voice bordered on familiarity, despite the lower tones and faint rasp.

Damian, who had been inattentive to the audio up until that point, straightened abruptly from where he had been scrutinising a batarang. He was by their side in moments, focused intently on the blank screen of the Batcomputer as if it could provide him the answers of the universe. Cass looked on with narrowed eyes, picking up the tension in their stances, tension for different reasons.

“I’m sorry,” was heard, dissolving into incoherent phrases that were shushed by another voice. Bruce, Dick’s brain supplied. That was Bruce comforting Red Hood- comforting-

“I’m not hearing things, am I?” Dick’s voice trembled, humour falling flat. Tim’s face was pinched beside him, vaguely pale, likely mirroring his own.

Beside them, Damian breathed deeply, in and out, and turned to them with a determined tilt to his frown.

“The brother I mentioned before,” Damian started, snapping Dick’s attention towards him, “The one who told me about the zoo, about hugs. He told me about you as well, Grayson.”

Damian met his eye with only a flicker of hesitation. “He told me you loved hugs, and other forms of physical affection. He told me you once ate a box of cereal and started doing cartwheels down the hallway. He said you taught him how to fly, and how to fall.”

“Prepare the medbay for smoke inhalation,” Batman’s voice intoned. Alfred had appeared on the steps to the Manor, already making his way towards the medical supplies. Tim and Cass shared a look, and followed.

“Jason Todd,” Dick blurted, Tim’s steps faltering, Cass freezing. Something clattered out of Alfred’s always-steady hands. “The brother you’re talking about. Is his name Jason Todd?”

Damian’s gaze, still wary and too-old from his childhood training, nodded with conviction.

Alfred paused at the bedside, taking a moment to stare at the absolute miracle in front of him, sleeping peacefully with the same expression he had once seen on a small malnourished boy. He had just managed to convince Master Bruce to wash up before staying vigil by Master Jason’s side, and Alfred was quietly glad for the moment to allow himself the time to take in Master Jason’s aged appearance.

Alfred rested a hand on Jason’s head, and allowed himself an indulgent brush through the young man’s hair, the tuft of white hair tangled into his raven hair.

“My dear boy,” Alfred whispered, “Words cannot describe how glad I am, to see you alive.”

Master Jason twitched slightly, eyes flitting open just enough to take in Alfred’s face. A small smirk made its way to his lips, a greeting as much as it was a sign of his relief. Master Jason hummed out something intelligible, but Alfred shushed the boy, and his eyes easily slid shut once more.

Jason jolted awake with a gasp.

“Jay,” came a soft rumble, “Jaylad. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

Jason flitted his gaze over the room, cataloguing everything he could see in the dim lighting, before familiarity met him with sudden certainty. His gaze drifted over to the speaker.

“It’s okay,” Bruce repeated softly, guiding Jason back to lying against the pillow.

“B-” Jason grimaced at his dry throat, “Bruce?��

Bruce offered him a cup of water. Jason squinted at it and lifted his hand, but Bruce’s hand lowered it before the water could so much as ripple. “No bending in the Manor,” Bruce huffed, his lips twitching into a small smile, “Alfred would have your head in no time.” Jason huffed a laugh as the cup was pressed into his hand.

When the cup had been emptied, Jason cast another glance over the room. It was Bruce’s bedroom, Bruce on a chair beside the bed, Jason in the bed, now propped up against the headboard.

“The bender,” Jason started, turning to eye Bruce, subconsciously checking for injuries. He had a nasty-looking bruise on his arm, but otherwise looked alright.

“He got away,” Bruce stated, “With Talia.” Bruce paused, visibly reigning himself in, settling for, “Jason… I have many questions.”

“I’m sure you do,” Jason agreed with a cringe, “There’s… a lot to cover.”

He blinked then, perking up once more, “Damian. Can I see Damian?”

“Talia let you meet him,” Bruce guessed. Jason nodded distractedly, shuffling himself out of the covers and inching towards the edge of the bed. He paused to sniff the baggy shirt he was wearing, and blinked at Bruce. “Am I wearing your clothes?”

“You are,” Bruce confirmed, lip ticked up in amusement. There was a concerned glint in his eyes as Jason stood up, swaying through a head-rush. Bruce’s hands stuttered towards him, but hesitated. Jason took the initiative and wrapped his arms tightly around Bruce, and Bruce hugged him back just as firmly.

“Damian’s having breakfast with the others,” Bruce spoke softly, “Are you… ready to see them? Or would you rather me bring Damian up alone?”

Jason hesitated.

“I kind of owe them all answers, don’t I? Let’s just get it over and done with. Rip it off like a band-aid.”

Bruce hummed, lingering in the hug for a long moment before finally letting his arms go loose. Jason pulled away with a small smile, Bruce brushing a hand over his face with an overly tender expression.

There was vague scuffling coming from the kitchen.

“Quick, grab the coffee, Dami!” Dick hollered with a laugh, easily swiping Tim into the air and holding him over his shoulder. Tim twisted with a feral kick at Dick’s face, which he easily dodged by maneuvering until Tim’s arms were pinned and his legs stuck out too far to hit anything substantial.

“Be careful, Masters,” Alfred called from where he was dealing with their pancakes, not once looking up to acknowledge the play-fighting.

Cassandra was watching from the side, the only one to acknowledge Bruce and Jason as they walked in, giving them a smile and a wave. She stepped towards Bruce first, pulling him into a short hug, and did the same for Jason. Jason froze unsurely, but Cassandra smiled into his collar and giggled. “Cass,” she murmured, pulling away to beam, “Hello, brother.”

Jason returned the smile tentatively. “Hello, sister,” he offered, Cass’ smile stretching wider. Bruce looked ready to burst with emotion.

Tim whined and slumped over in Dick’s grip as Damian, on Dick’s encouraging nod, poured away the coffee into the sink, “This is unfair! Absolutely unfair! It’s only been a week and I’m already suffering from middle-child syndrome. Unfair.”

Jason snuck up on Dick and pounced, tipping them both to the ground and grabbing Tim out of Dick’s hold. “Middle children have to stick together,” Jason nodded sagely, grinning widely as Tim stared down at him dazedly, from where he had ended up sprawled on top of him.

“Jay!” Dick chirped brightly, and Jason grunted as the older boy flopped on top of them both, “You’re awake!”

“Get off, Dickhead!” Jason managed to roll out from under him. One thing led to another, and suddenly Jason had himself wrapped in a Dick Grayson Hug that was definitely not stopping anytime soon. That was about the time he met Damian’s eye, and he gave the boy a warm smile.

“What did I tell you, Baby Bat?” he drawled, rolling his eyes and gesturing to Dick’s arms, “Dickie loves hugs. Can’t get away from him even if you tried.”

“Damn right,” Dick hummed happily, squeezing briefly, “You run now and I’ll hunt you down and hug you for even longer.”

Jason gave an answering pat to Dick’s shoulder in acknowledgement. To Damian, he shook his head in mock-annoyance. Damian stepped forward, then, and folded himself against Jason’s other side. Jason curled his arm around the boy, and Damian shoved himself more firmly against his side.

“Your eyes aren’t green,” Damian whispered.

“No, they’re not,” Jason agreed, “I… it’s a long story, but I managed to get rid of the Pit rage, and got my bending back, while I was at it.”

“We have time,” Tim pointed out, settling himself on the ground in front of the small pile of pressed-together bodies, “I don’t think you’ll be extracting yourself from Dick anytime soon, either.”

Jason huffed, smiling softly. “I’ll start from the beginning, then.”

#AU of an AU #Gotham's White Lotus #straight from the trash doc #batfam #Jason Todd #in this au Damian was sent to Titans tower and they both got blindsided by the combustion bender Talia sent right behind Damian #Damian was meant to take down Tim #but instead Damian Noped out of there with Tim's help #Jason was procrastinating getting back to Gotham by doing spiritbending as a White Lotus member #dark spirits were invading Gotham so he started being Red Hood on the streets while quietly spiritbending the dark spirits #I might share the other parts of the drafts eventually but this one's the main j u i c e #cw cursing #Jason gets buried under rubble #Talia al Ghul #bruce wayne #tim drake #damian wayne #Dick Grayson #Cassandra Cain #Alfred Pennyworth #honestly really happy with this part in particular but the previous parts leading up to it just didn't flow right for me #fanfic

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poesparakeet-fics · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Caleb Widogast, Caduceus Clay & Caleb Widogast, The Poly Nein - Relationship Characters: Caleb Widogast, Caduceus Clay Additional Tags: Tickling, ler!Cad, Lee!Caleb, Punishment, Injury, Injury Recovery, Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Caleb Widogast is a Mess, Teasing, Queerplatonic Relationships, Pinned, Wrestling, Forced Self Love, And for once I don’t mean that in the sexy way., Safewords Series: Part 3 of The Poly Nein Summary:

Caduceus shows Caleb the consequences of dodging a healing spell around people who love you.

This one’s SFW, so please enjoy it here or on AO3!

This is what happens.

They came home battered, beaten and pissed besides. The others hung around for Jester’s prayer of healing, but Caleb slipped away, too full of old wounds and grey memories to give up his new wounds quite yet. His head ached and his side pulsed painfully while he climbed the stairs. He was nearing his door when a great, heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

“Here,” a warm voice hummed from behind him, “lemme get that for you.”

“Oh Herr Clay, it’s–”

Caleb’s sentence was choked out by a sudden sucking feeling accompanied by a sharp sound in his chest as Caduceus’ spell took hold.

*POP*

Caleb froze, then swayed in his tracks. Perhaps the injury had been a little worse than he thought. He turned around to thank his friend, only to see thunder in the firbolg’s eyes and freeze. He had seen Caduceus upset, annoyed and disappointed, but he wasn’t sure he’d seen him furious before. Until now, that is.

“For real?” Cad’s voice was still it’s usual low, placid cadence. He closed his eyes and pinched the top of his nose.

“Wh-”

“That was a broken rib, Caleb.”

“I was just going to bed–”

“You didn’t take a lick of healing from Jester.” He paused while Caleb floundered under a wave of embarrassment, guilt and stubbornness. “Your rib would have been the first thing to heal, since it’s the most life threatening. Unless you had a dagger through your heart I didn’t know about.”

The lie that was ready on Caleb’s tongue died there.

“I… ah… I did not know it was broken.” He finished lamely.

“That is not…” Caduceus closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, “That’s not the point, you… dammit, OK. OK, We’re gonna deal with this.”

His hand closed around the back of Caleb’s coat, and the now-healthy wizard yipped as he was lifted effortlessly off his feet. As easy as it was to forget Caduceus’ quiet anger, it was easier to forget his rarely-used strength.

Caduceus pulled Caleb into his quarters.

“Caduceus, what–”

“It was one thing when you were still too broken to function or believe anyone could care for you. But that’s not what’s happening here, right? You know better than this now.”

Caleb felt a panicked little chill run up his spine as Caduceus carried him like a suitcase.

“Caduceus, just— wait, I didn’t know–”

“Of course you didn’t. That big, stabbing pain in the side of your body, next to all the vital organs? I can see why you weren’t concerned.” He set Caleb on the oversized bed, and used a stern look to him in place. “Take off your shirt, I want to check your other ribs.”

“Caduceus, your spell worked fine…”

The firbolg regarded him with mild astonishment. “You really gonna fight me on this?”

Caleb swallowed, and pulled his coat off, then his holsters and shirt. He sat politely and quietly on the edge of the bed, eyes downcast. Caduceus sat next to him, tugging at his arms to manipulate his torso and peer carefully at him. Eventually he let out a breath.

“It looks like the spell healed all of the physical damage.”

Caleb was just starting to relax with slumped shoulders when one large hand caught him across his chest from behind and pulled his torso across Caduceus’ lap. That gave him a chance to catch the wicked twinkle in his friend’s eye and start fighting, but it was too late at that point. He was pinned with both wrists held over his head by Caduceus’ left hand, his torso stretched over the width of the firbolg’s lap while a heavy right elbow held his hips in place.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Caleb squeaked, legs kicking feebly against the mattress.

“Making sure you remember what happens when you dodge heals from now on. I’m gonna check every one of your ribs, I’m gonna do it until it’s done, and you’re gonna take it because if you bamf away from me, I’m just gonna have to get other people involved.”

With that Cad started to gently trace Caleb’s short rib with a pinching finger and thumb, reaching across the wizard’s body so his arm could block Caleb’s attempts to curl up in a ball.

“Wait, I– Oh, noho!”

Caleb threw his head back to laugh, every squirm just sending him deeper into Caduceus’ embrace. He could feel the firbolg’s mass shaking against his side, chuckling at his reactions.

“One. That first little one looks OK. Is it supposed to be that small? I should really learn more about human anatomy, huh? Two…” Caduceus moved up one rib, and Caleb’s laughter pitched up despite himself, “Hmm, yeah, that looks good too. So, did you think of what could have happened, if you went to bed?””

“Whahat?” Caleb gasped, unable to grasp the question under the onslaught he was suffering.

Luckily Caduceus didn’t need him to. “It could have punctured your lung. -Whoops, there’s three.- It could have killed you in your sleep. Four.”

Caduceus was a good way up his ribcage now, and the precision attacks on every solitary bone under thin skin was escalating Caleb’s desperation pretty rapidly. Being stretched out over Cad’s lap made it feel like his breath was being chased out of his chest by long downy fingers.

“Please! I’m sohohory!” He squeaked, heels drumming against the bed.

“Someone would have found you, cold and dead in the morning. Five. You know, we might have been able to bring you back, but that scar? From finding you? That’s a lot harder to heal.”

Caleb felt a sharp roll of guilt across his stomach. Not that he could express it. “Ahahaha- I-I’m sorry, pleaheeheese!”

“Hm. Are you sorry you did it or are you sorry I caught you? Six.”

“Both!” Caleb squealed, perhaps a bit too honestly.

Caduceus chuckled at him again. “Well, at least I know you’re not hiding things from me anymore. Hmm… where’s seven?”

Caduceus fingers dug around curiously, pretending he couldn’t find the rib he was currently torturing. Caleb thrashed with tears springing into his eyes, but he made no progress in escaping at all. It was like being tormented by a fuzzy mountain.

Caduceus made a frustrated sound, stopping his torment for a second. Caleb sucked in a few deep breaths.

“You made me lose count,” Caduceus explained, voice full of patently false regret, “I’m gonna have to start over.”

“Nein!” Caleb yelped

“You’d better hope you have more than nine ribs.” Caduceus teased, laughing when Caleb let out a frustrated growl.

Caduceus’ fingers returned to his lowest short-rib and started counting them out again, quicker than before. This time Caleb was crying by 3, trying desperately to stay still and expel all his ticklish agony without making Caduceus start over again.

“OK, I found seven this time. Are you ready?”

Caleb sobbed and shook his head no, but Caduceus continued anyway, ignoring his squeal.

“Pleaheeheese! Please, I’m sohohorry!”

“Eight. I do believe you, now,” the firbolg answered, “but the only way you’re getting out of this is to use that special word. And since you’re too stubborn to use that thing when Jester tortures you for fun, I’m guessing you’re not gonna use it now, when you know you deserve it. Not for little old me.”

Little old Caduceus was currently tickling a powerful mage to tears without so much as a bother, but Caleb didn’t have the breath to point it out. The first time Caduceus had seen the Nein really tickle Caleb to pieces, he had broken it up. Jester had to have a patient talk about safewords to convince him it was OK. Now he was wielding it against Caleb, and if he could, the wizard definitely would have pouted about it.

As it was his face was forced into a bright smile that he tried to hide against one bicep, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes to roll past pink cheeks and red ears. His feet kicked helplessly at the air when Cad’s fingers moved again.

“There’s nine. So I think you’re just gonna have to take this, but if you’re cooperative and not stubborn, we’ll get through it quicker, OK?”

Caleb wanted to wail that he didn’t know what that meant but settled for just wailing instead. Caduceus was quickly getting to the ticklish spots that his holsters usually protected.

“Ten. So, are you gonna do it again?”

Caleb felt a flash of panicked confusion before he remembered what had gotten him into this mess.

“Nein!” he wheezed between fits.

“Good to hear. Eleven. Why aren’t you gonna do it again?”

“Bitte! Pleheeheese I can’t” Caleb choked, breathless.

“Oh, yeah you can. Come on, why aren’t you gonna do it again?”

He switched to one finger and a lighter touch, leaving Caleb in hysterical waves of giggles while also giving him a chance to catch his breath a little.

“Because- it would- ahaha- upset theheehee others!”

“Hm. Well, I’ll take that for now. Twelve! Now, what’s gonna happen if you do it again?”

Caduceus had to realize that the shrieking wizard had no way to answer, so he answered for him.

“This is what happens, right? We have a zero tolerance policy from now on.”

Caleb sobbed and nodded in understanding, his whole body bending to try and save the one patch of ticklish skin without any success. Then Caduceus’ hand started to wriggle and prod into his armpit and his whole body jerked like he was electrified.

“AAHahahaha nahahahaha!” Caleb couldn’t get enough of a break to beg for mercy.

“Hmm. Looks like that’s it. Is twelve the right number?”

“Yahahahas!”

“Oh, well, good to know then.”

Caduceus released him, letting the teary-eyed wizard’s arms snap down to belatedly shield his ribcage, his face disappearing into his hands while his body shuddered with laughter.

“Shh,” he soothed as though he wasn’t the perpetrator of Caleb’s state, “ just breath.”

Caleb tried, rolling onto his side to breath into Caduceus’ linen shirt. Hysterical, pitchy laughter jerked out of him when the other man tried to pat his back and immediately stopped with a soft apology.

“You… just… please never do that again.”

“I think that’s up to you, based on the arrangement we just agreed to…”

“-under torture!-”

“… and I mean, it’s gonna happen again. At least one more time tonight.”

There was a moment of heavy, terrified silence.

“…What?” Caleb felt like a cup of ice water had been poured down his back. His eyes went perfectly round.

“I said I was gonna check all your ribs. I feel like if I don’t follow though I’ll set a bad precedent.”

Caleb immediately tried to scramble away from Caduceus, and he would have hit the floor if the firbolg hadn’t reached out to grab him around his middle and hoist the smaller man into his lap.

“Mist! Nein! You can’t, please!”

Caduceus started the patient, gentle work of getting a grip on the wriggling wizard in his lap. He kept his right arm looped around Caleb’s middle, his other arm working to try and grab a flailing wrist. When he wasn’t quite quick enough he made a frustrated sound in Caleb’s ear, right before planting a raspberry between the smaller man’s shoulder blades.

“Hold still!”

Caleb let out a wordless peal of squealing laughter under the onslaught of soft lips, velveteen nose and wooly beard. It bolted down his spine and made his whole upper body collapse.

One big, soft palm gripped his now-limp wrist and heaved it upward, exposing his currently un-tormented right side. Caduceus looped his right arm under Caleb’s captured one, bracing his palm on the back of the smaller man’s head. Caleb’s left arm was pinned against his chest as Caduceus’ other arm wrapped around him to keep him in his seat and hover downy fingers over Caleb’s exposed ribcage.

“Pleaheeheese you’ll kill meeeheehee!” Caleb whimpered through anticipatory laughter, eyes glued on Caduceus’ hovering hand.

“Sssh.” The firbolg soothed into the back of Caleb’s head. “I’m not gonna kill you. We’re just gonna take it really easy, OK?”

His left hand started to rub Caleb’s side in smooth circles, each one climbing higher than that last

“Nooohoohoho!” Caleb whined, eyes squeezing shut as the firbolg’s fingers found his short rib.

“One.”

“Bitte!” Caleb squealed through gritted teeth.

“I want you to repeat after me, OK?”

Caleb tried to turn and look at him, teary eyes astonished, as though Caduceus had asked him to move the moon.

“I -yeeheehee!- I can’t! Please!

“You can, I promise. We’re gonna start off really easy. How about “I deserve to live.”

“Whahahahaat? I can’t–”

“Two.”

“-Aaah! Nohoho! OK, ok, please!”

Caduceus only gave him a moment to take a breath before it spilled out “Ideservetolive!”

“Very good!” The hand holding Caleb in a half-nelson patted his head. “How about ‘I don’t deserve pain.’ for number three?”

“Ahahaa! Says the one torturing meheeheehe!”

“Ha! Are your ribs hurting? It’s a good thing I’m checking on them. Four.”

“Aaahaaa! I don’t deserve pain!”

“See, you’re doing great,” Caduceus praised, “we’ll be done in no time. I know this one’s going to be a little tough for you, are you ready? Five. I want you to say ‘I’m loved and I deserve that love.’”

For the first time that night, Caduceus’ request made Caleb’s jaw lock up.

“Nein— no, aah! I can’t!” He managed to whine through his teeth and the increasingly hysterical laughter that Caduceus was pulling out from deep in his chest.

“You have my permission not to believe all of these for now, but I want you to say every one. Six.” “AhahaHA! Nein, habt Mitleid! Mehehercy!”

Caduceus snorted. “On your ribs or on your low self-esteem? Actually, don’t waste your breath. I already know the answer. Seven.”

“Aaaaii! Please! I c- I can’t remember whahahat I’m supposed to sahahay!” Caleb sobbed, body starting to go limp with exhaustion in Caduceus’ arms.

The firbolg laughed, letting up for a moment to use his sleeve to wipe the tears off his captive’s cheeks.

“I’m loved…”

“I’m… loved…” Caleb panted, his unpinned hand holding on to Caduceus’ currently-stilled tickling hand for dear life, as if it might save him.

“And I deserve that love.

Even breathless and exhausted, Caleb winced like the sentence left a bad taste in his mouth. “I… deserve that… love.”

“Hey, good job. That was one of the hard ones.”

The sound that started to flow out of Caleb was somewhere between a panicked giggle and an exhausted sob. One of the hard ones.

“For this one I’m gonna need the whole phrase. ‘My name is Caleb Widogast, and I am a good man’ Are you ready?”

“No! Please have mercy!”

“Aw, sorry buddy. Not this time. Eight…”

“NIEN, can’t– s'too m-muhuch pleaheese–”

“Nine indeed!” Caduceus chuckled, fingers jolting upward to take advantage of the joke. “It’s not too much. I know you can do it.”

“I c-c- NO PLEASE I can’t while you– CAN’T! BITTE!"

Caduceus chuckled, fingers jumping up to tweak the next rib and yank a short little scream out of Caleb before he stopped moving his fingers and froze, still and menacing.

"That’s ten. Come on. I can’t make you believe it but I’m gonna make you say it.”

Caleb’s weight was leaning into Caduceus’ chest, his head leaning back against one solid shoulder with his eyes closed as he gulped in breaths.

“I'm… a good man.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Caleb Widogast… is a good man.”

“Aw, very good.” Caduceus praised, squeezing Caleb in a small hug. “Ready? Almost finished. Eleven.”

Caleb didn’t even plead this time, he just started to laugh again with his head still thrown back against Caduceus’ shoulder.

“Last one, I promise. I want you to say "I am going to take care of myself for the people who love me, or Caduceus is going to tickle me until I scream. Every time.”

“I CA- I CA- nohohoho! Too lohohong!”

“Twelve.”

Caleb’s back arched and his feet kicked while he shrieked, unable to get even the first part of the sentence out. Caduceus did have a little mercy, then, pausing to let Caleb suck in the breath he needed.

“I'mgoingtotakecare *pant* of myself *hic* forthepeople *hic* who love me or… *hic* this is what happens…”

“Every time.” Caduceus reminded him, tapping his fingers on Caleb’s top rib.

“Every time! Every time! Pleaheeheese!”

Finally, Caduceus let him go, angling himself so the wizard could flop over onto his bedspread. Caleb curled up on his side, face in his hands as the residual laughter started to slowly die down and the shuddering feeling in his bones faded.

“Do you wanna stay here tonight? Least I could do.”

Caleb unfurled with a heavy sigh. “Ja, please."

"Hey Caleb? What time is it?”

“Ah… *hic* probably between 10 and midnight, why?”

“Oh. No reason."

Caleb could see the firbolg’s smug little smile, but was entirely too tired to do anything about it.

Caduceus started to shrug off his outer layers and lowered the lamp while Caleb tucked himself in up against the wall.

"So just to be clear, this is what happens when you dodge a healing spell–”

“Yes! Yes *hic* you’ve made your point!”

“-But it’s going to get worse every time.”

Caleb just whimpered into the pillow.

“I mean,” Cad continued, “getting Jester involved is obviously the last resort. She is the ultimate escalation. And Molly’s not far behind. Maybe Beau first?”

“Nien!” Caleb jerked himself up in the bed in a panic. “Not Beau! She’s right under Molly. Not Beau.”

Caduceus chuckled, sliding himself into the big warm bed next to Caleb.

“So that leaves Yasha, Fjord and Veth. Wanna fill out the ranking?”

Caleb chuckled a little along with him, then whined.

“Nooo. I feel like I’m being made to dig my own grave.”

“If it makes you feel better, you’ve definitely already done that. I saw that reaction to the raspberry. That’s how I’m counting next time.”

Caleb groaned in the back of his throat. The threats felt like they were melting him.

“Mein gotten, to think I used to believe you were the nice one.”

Caduceus chuckled again. He slung one arm over the Caleb ball next to him and pulled the wizard in for a cuddle, rubbing his back soothingly when the other man tensed up.

“Hey, I’m done. For now. Seriously though, who’s most dangerous after Beau.”

Caleb gave a defeated sigh as he relaxed into Caduceus’ soft, solid embrace. The softly lit room took on a golden haze. Caduceus smelled like spices, cardamom and rosemary. Caleb hid his face in one wolly shoulder, his breathing evening out.

“Fjord because he teases, then Yasha because she bites.”

“Heh. So Veth’s the first level of escalation? Good to know. She seems more likely to keep this between us anyway… Caleb?"

The only answer was a snore.

#critickle role #tickle fic #caleb widogast #caduceus clay #tk fic

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apiratewhopines · 3 years

Text

Thanks to @teamhook for the updated artwork. She’s the only person I know who will provide a gift for her own gift 💝

Thanks to @motherkatereloyshipper for helping me pick Killian’s hometown in this story and for being an all around lovely person

Midnight

Chapter 2 — The Stroke

Summary: In which our heroine does what she does best

Chapter 2 of 7 on AO3

“And my imagination will feed my hungry heart,

Leave me one thing before we part”

-A Kiss to Build a Dream On, Louis Armstrong

The spot he was referring to was an out-of-the-way pub serving the greasiest onion rings in existence and a lively clientele that didn’t notice it was one o’clock in the morning and all decent people were in bed. After days of getting by on breakfast bars and the memory of what a full meal tasted like, Emma thought she had died and gone to heaven.

Melancholy tunes droned softly in the background as she demolished enough food to feed an army. The pretty waitress earned her respect when the woman didn’t even blink at her handsome companion, and she liked to think she earned it back when she ordered three of their daily specials without a trace of shame.

Ignoring the way Killian watched with an expression close to awe as she stuffed her face, she happily gulped down a cup of coffee and observed, “Nice place. Come here often?”

“Not as much as I used to,” he murmured, taking a sip of his drink. “Tell me about this man you’re hunting. Is it personal?”

“Please, don’t make me lose my appetite. Surely we can come up with something else to talk about,” she groaned around a mouthful of beef and melted cheese. He had removed his leather jacket when they entered the pub, and his black short sleeve t-shirt stretched across his biceps in a manner entirely too distracting for comfort. Their high-backed booth made it feel as though they were on an island all by themselves, the dark wood and Tiffany lamps creating a cozy cocoon while still allowing a view of the nearly deserted dance floor.

“Ah, definitely personal then. Did he insult your honor? Break your heart? Have you ever even been in love?”

It stung how quickly he was able to see through her. Did she wear her heartache like a stamp on her forehead announcing to everyone she was an idiot? Ignoring the last question, she replied, “He hurt the only person who ever cared about me out of petty revenge. Neal Cassidy broke me. Now I’m going to return the favor.”

“Chills, darling.” His tone was teasing, but she thought she saw him shudder at her words. “I guess you don’t abide the notion of turning the other cheek.”

“Not when the first hit cost me my home, my possessions, and my peace of mind.”

“So he’s the reason you haven’t eaten in days and don’t have any luggage? Sounds like a lovely chap.”

“I don’t need your commentary or your sympathy, Captain. While I appreciate your help tonight, and I definitely owe you one for the meal, I think my past is closed for further discussion. Let’s talk about you instead. What’s your story?”

“I don’t have one, love. What you see is what you get.”

“What I see is someone dodging my question. Guess I’ll have to fill in the details myself then. Let’s see…thirty-something-year-old man who lives a life of boredom and pines for more while feeling stuck in his white picket fence world. You have a decent career in a field that pays well but decided to start a side hustle to meet new people and have something to do after eight in the evening.” Gesturing with her chin toward his forearm, she continued, “Currently nursing his own broken heart over the woman who loved and left him. The only thing I can’t figure out is what part of England you’re from.”

“Well, aren’t you the perceptive one,” he answered with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Although, I would argue it’s cheating since I have my emotional baggage inked on my skin for everyone to see while you carry yours around like an invisible tumor on your soul. As far as where I’m from, a man likes to maintain a little mystery.”

“Come on! You really aren’t going to tell me anything about yourself? After I guessed all that about you?”

With an unfathomable look, he smiled softly and said, “Fine, I’m from Cambridge. Now you know all my secrets. And allow me to call your attention to how well my devious plan worked. My first evening with my side hustle, as you call it, and I’m already having a late night rendezvous with a beautiful woman. One full of food and dancing.”

“There will be no dancing, Captain. But I wouldn’t be opposed to more food.”

“Not sure where you’ll put it, love, there’s no more room on the table. But I’m game if you are. Come on, one dance, and I’ll buy you a whole pie.”

She wanted pie but not as much as she wanted to feel his arms around her. She wanted it so badly her mind raced with images of skin on skin and restless hands exploring. Then her stomach twisted at the knowledge they would say goodbye soon. They probably should have already said it, truth be told. As she debated what harm could come from giving in just this once, he extended his hand and pulled her gently from the seat. Slowly, she felt a small section of her walls crumble and gave him a reluctant smile. “One dance.”

The soft music wasn’t loud enough to allow for an appropriate selection of dance style, but she didn’t mind when he gathered her close and swayed gently in time with his soft humming. She felt his breath stir the hair around her face and realized this was a mistake. Now that she knew how it felt, it would be harder to deny herself an encore. Especially knowing tonight was a one-time thing.

“Tell me something, Swan. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“No, I don’t believe in love at all,” she answered. Her words conveyed her deeply held conviction that poets and Hollywood movie producers invented love to make people so miserable with the lack of it, they had to seek out fictionalized versions to find some measure of happiness. Her tone, however, sounded as though she was open to being convinced otherwise.

“That’s a shame. I think you’ll miss out on a lot of what life has to offer by being so close-minded and scared.”

“If I were scared, which I’m not, I have every reason to be. One of my foster moms told me a long time ago that love wouldn’t buy me a diamond ring, and it was as easy to be in a relationship with a rich man as a poor one. Easier really. I used to think she was a witch, but now I think she had a point.”

“Bloody hell, what exactly did that man do to you?”

She felt his direct gaze like a physical thing caressing her even as his eyes flickered with disappointment. “I told you. He broke me. And my bank account.”

“Money isn’t everything, love.”

“Excuse me if I ignore advice telling me to count my non-monetary blessings from the man who picked me up in his Beamer. It may not be everything but not having it leaves you with nothing.”

“A person who needs forty dollars a day and makes forty is richer than someone who has everything and needs more.”

“Now you’re just being silly,” she said as she slipped from his arms. “And when a rainy day comes? What then?”

“I recently took up being an Uber driver in my spare time, love. I imagine I’ll make more on rainy days.”

Laughing as she looked at his endearing face under the dim light, she shook her head. “About my pie…”

—

She knew what she was doing. She lingered over the large platter containing a sampling of every type of pie the surprisingly eclectic menu had to offer. She watched him with affection as he critiqued each in turn, always saving the bites with whipped cream for her. The best parts, in other words.

She was stalling.

The night hadn’t turned out as she expected. While her main goal was unfulfilled, she couldn’t make herself think of it as a loss when her sides hurt from laughing, and her troubled heart felt at peace. It was a pity it had to end. And not because she had nowhere to go, although that was certainly the case.

Slowly they made their way back to his car, neither one speaking as the noises of the summer night buzzed in the background. She’d said a lot of goodbyes in her lifetime, eagerly in most cases, but was strangely reluctant to add this one to the list. “Well, Captain, it’s been an expensive night for you. I think you better drop me off at the nearest bus station before I cost you any more.”

“You’re always trying to bring the conversation back around to money. Get in,” he ordered as he handed her into the car.

The air in the cabin of his luxury sedan felt heavy with expectation. Neither of them spoke nor hardly moved a muscle. She considered asking him to turn on the radio but didn’t want to miss out on the last few moments of hearing his even breathing next to her. Minutes passed, and it took her a while to notice they had left Storybrooke and were heading back toward Misthaven. “How much further to the bus station?”

“We passed it several miles back. You’re going to stay at my place.”

Under normal circumstances, this would be where she prepared to kick someone’s ass, but she knew deep down, as surprising as his announcement was, she had nothing to fear from him. Well, nothing except a repeat of the broken heart fiasco that was getting harder to remember with every second spent in his company. “Oh no, I’m not. What happened to no strings and no funny business?”

“Calm down, Swan. Our deal stands. I’m working the rest of the night so you’ll have the place to yourself. Trust me, the bed in my guest room is much more comfortable than a seat at the bus station.” Without taking his eyes off the road, he reached into one of the compartments in the console and pulled out a key. “There are some shirts in the dryer if you need something to wear. Help yourself to whatever you want. If you hang around until nine, I’ll even make breakfast. If you don’t, leave the key under the Welcome mat.”

“I think you better keep your key, Captain. There are two ways this could end, and neither one is pretty.” She gave him a sidelong glance and was mildly irked to see him grinning at her.

“Only two? Please enlighten me with your power of premonition.”

Heaving a sigh of frustration, she wished he would be logical about this whole thing. Sure they had attraction in spades; the very air around them seemed to crackle with electricity whenever their eyes met. But she knew it would fade, and the only thing left then would be goodbye. Better to skip the messy part and go straight to the end. “The first is I stay and have breakfast, and it turns into the day and then another night….”

“That doesn’t sound so bad, love. And the second?”

“I leave the key under the mat, and we never see each other again.”

“Hmm, option two is decidedly less appealing. I’ll take what’s behind Door Number One, please,” he joked.

“You think so until reality sets in and you realize you’ve taken in a stray with a score to settle and not a cent to her name. It won’t be long before the sight of me in your shirts makes you cringe, and you resent having to share the couch with a woman who has nothing to give.” She would know having been in a relationship with a person who was only capable of taking, and she vowed never to do that to someone else.

“I have half a mind to hunt down this Cassidy fellow myself after seeing the hit job he did on you. Listen, Swan, the key has no strings. Breakfast is just food. Whatever happens, happens. But if you think I’m going to drop you off at a deserted bus station with only the clothes on your back, fetching as they are, you’ve got the wrong idea about me in more ways than one.”

“I’m not yours to rescue, Captain.”

“You could be,” he whispered in a voice that made her skin tingle. He tossed her a half-hearted smile, eyes stormy with the knowledge she was going to turn him down. Again.

“The fact we both want me to be is warning enough it’s a bad idea. Come on, Killian, let’s call it a night now so we can remember it fondly in the years to come.”

His jaw clenched, and she was worried he was going to fight with her sensible argument. People didn’t meet people in the middle of the road and form attachments in one night. This wasn’t a fairy tale, and she was as far from a princess as a person could get.

Although she had to admit he made a rather fine prince.

Pulling off into a nearby gas station, he turned to her and said almost threateningly, “We’re not through discussing this.”

Then he stepped out and slammed the door as the sky opened up.

—

It was a dirty trick. She knew even as she did it, but it was for his own good. For whatever reason, he felt like he needed to protect her, and she needed to save him from himself. So she waited until he walked into the convenience store and made a run for it.

That’s not to say she didn’t have a brief moment of whimsy. She couldn’t stop herself from placing a kiss on the key he had casually tossed to her as if inviting her into his home and his life wasn’t a big deal. Then she carefully placed it on the dash, grabbing the newspaper from his backseat as an afterthought, and scurried away before she was caught.

Like a rat.

Maybe Neal was exactly the kind of man she deserved.

The rain beat down in a punishing way, her makeshift umbrella getting soggy and soft under the onslaught. She was so busy looking over her shoulder, convinced he was going to search for her and half hoping he was successful, that the sudden absence of the storm took her by surprise.

“Here, miss, it’s raining cats and dogs tonight,” the sturdy doorman of the fancy establishment she was passing said as he reached out to place his umbrella over her. The burgundy awning extended to cover most of the sidewalk and, despite the late hour, classical music was drifting from the open door. Limousines lined the street, spilling well-dressed patrons as they approached the swanky club.

Before she could maneuver out of the way, she was swept into a tide of rich fish, all glammed out and ready for the party to start or continue as the case may be. She overheard one woman, whose hat was so large she had to tilt her head to make it through the door, complain, “Regina’s parties are always so dull even nature weeps.”

Deciding a boring party indoors was better than a lonely night in the rain, Emma changed her stance and walked over the threshold with her head held high like she belonged there. She noticed the plaque on the wall as she entered read The Rabbit Hole and couldn’t help but think it was aptly named. With its marble floors and curving staircase, it was no wonder this wasn’t one of the stops on the Captain’s tour of town. This place was as high-end as they came.

There was a man collecting tickets at a small side table and, with only a minute to improvise, she was glad to see the stubs were roughly the size of the photo she was toting around, one of the few remaining possessions to her name. Without a moment of regret, she turned the photo face down, relieved the love note Neal had written on the back was faded and worn, so only his faint signature was legible. Luckily, the sheer volume of people entering the place meant the employee merely took it from her without looking to confirm it was what it appeared to be.

Following the crowd into a large ballroom off to the side, she saw a black grand piano played with a precise kind of violence by a wild-haired man in a tuxedo. The room was packed to the gills, the group she straggled in with taking the last seats on the far side of the room. The audience was appreciative but far from silent, conversations carrying on as if private concerts of this caliber were a normal everyday occurrence for them. Every time Emma thought she found a place to rest her sore feet and sorer heart, someone took it before she could get there and, in one near miss, she almost flattened a lap dog that warranted his own seat for the show.

Finally, after pushing her way through a narrow row, she found a place and asked the man in the next chair with a hint of desperation, “Is this seat taken?”

Shrugging a silent negative with brooding eyes that lit up when she neared, she tried to ignore the searching glance he gave her as she dropped into the chair and surreptitiously removed her shoes. She could tell by the hint of a smirk he noticed the movement, but at least he had the good grace not to comment on it.

He was handsome in a careworn kind of way. His tousled dark hair and thick stubble were eerily similar to the Captain’s look, and it made her shuffle in her seat with guilt. The man kept staring, his light-colored eyes settling somewhere between gray and green, keenly taking in her appearance and finding it amusing if the continued presence of his smirk was any indication.

As the final notes of the concerto echoed through the room, a burst of applause started. Now that she was fed and able to sit for a few moments, Emma realized she was exhausted. It was a bone-deep weariness far beyond fatigue, and she was fairly confident it could be traced back to a man with blue eyes and more charm than any one person should be allowed to have.

She wondered where Killian was now. If he had already given up or if he was wasting more time and losing out on more money combing the streets looking for his erstwhile damsel in distress. Emma knew what she did was for the best as surely as she knew she would be haunted by the feeling of his arms wrapped around her for a long time.

After a brief break, the musician approached the piano again. Before he could start hammering out another song with the intensity of a madman, a raven-haired woman stepped in front of the instrument. She called out in a commanding voice, “Pardon the interruption but does anyone recognize this man? It would seem there was a mix-up at the ticket counter and someone accidentally handed in a photograph instead of their invitation to this private event.”

Resisting the urge to sink deeper into her chair, she furtively looked around as the audience murmured amongst themselves regarding the unusual disruption. She could tell by the sardonic tone of the woman’s voice and the way she emphasized the word private she wasn’t convinced it was an innocent mistake. A scene would be made if the guilty party were found and couldn’t provide the appropriate documentation.

“Really? No one is going to come forward?” With an annoyed look at the assembly, she sulked, “Fine, I won’t waste any more of your time.”

She saw the woman hurry to the corner and carry on a quick conversation with a few men before the group disbursed and fanned out to cover the room. Feeling her luck was running out, she slipped her feet back into her shoes with barely a wince and slowly stood under the watchful gaze of her neighbor.

She needed to escape for the second time that night, but now she had hundreds of witnesses. Nonchalantly, she surveyed the room, trying to determine the best way. During this perusal, a man caught her eye, and she froze as he began to cut across the room to her side. So much for a stealthy getaway.

Her pursuer had an air of refined boredom with an edge of mischief. His graying hair was an attractive finish to a lean, well-dressed form. Cocking an eyebrow in disdain or maybe curiosity, he spoke quietly to not draw the notice of the surrounding crowd. “A word, madam.”

“With me?”

“Indeed.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Squaring her shoulders, she ignored the way her neighbor watched with rapt attention as she resolutely marched toward her fate.

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