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andypantsx3 · 4 years

Text

subtle | 2 | Shouto Todoroki/Reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

status: complete

length: 2,265 words

summary: Someone leaves chocolates on your desk. You’re determined to track down the sender, certain it’s a mistake, and Shouto Todoroki makes himself as unhelpful as possible.

tags: romance, reader-insert, fluff, valentine’s day

warnings: aged up characters (no smut though!!)

notes: Hi all! Happy Valentine's Day! I'm posting a follow up chapter because so many people asked for it in my inbox. It's completely unedited because I just decided to write it today, and I wanted to get it up before the holiday was over! I promise I will come back and edit at some point in the next few weeks.

No one had come for the box.

You’d made a point to be out of your office as much as possible throughout the day, leaving plenty of opportunity for whoever the sender was to sneak back in and correct their mistake. But every time you reentered the room, there the box was, crowning a pile of your paperwork like a coronet of ineptitude.

You’d checked in with Shouto several times as well, anxious to learn whether or not he’d overheard anything as he changed out of his uniform from patrol, but he proved just as unhelpful as he’d been earlier this morning. He simply leaned towards you, looking almost conspiratorial--spiking both your heart rate and your hopes--only for him to murmur in his low voice, “No one is coming for it.”

Which was so fucking unhelpful.

So you’d set about the office yourself, lingering hopefully on the fringes of people’s conversations, peering about for clues on the agency staffer’s desks, but there was nothing to give the sender away, no whispered snippet of conversation or receipt laying amongst some expense sheets. You might have resorted to sifting through people’s garbage cans, if only Shouto hadn’t taken to suddenly appearing wherever you were investigating, watching you with a wry little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You knew he hadn’t the slightest modicum of romantic interest in you, but that didn’t mean you wanted him to witness you digging through people’s garbage either. That would have to wait until you could get him out of the building.

Which was also proving to be an impossible endeavor. He usually had a habit of lingering after his shift, coming into your office to make queries about one thing or another that almost always devolved into conversations deeply unrelated to work. But today he was especially resistant to leaving, seeming content to lounge around in the chairs you’d set out for clients, draping one distractingly muscled arm across the backs and watching you intently with those heterochromatic eyes.

“Shouto, get out of my office,” you hissed, coming back in at the end of the day to find him still in one of the chairs, his phone clutched in those long fingers.

He glanced up at you, eyes fastening to your features in that attentive way he had. “I work here.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” you asked, trying to suppress a small spike of irritation with him. “Because it looks like you’re scaring off the box sender to me. How are they supposed to sneak in here and take it back if their boss is looming in here like their worst nightmare?”

Shouto looked unconcerned. “I’m not.”

“Not what?” you asked. Maybe he wasn’t their worst nightmare, but being caught by your boss in the middle of correcting a romantic mishap was probably at least a nightmare.

“Not scaring anyone off,” he said, putting his phone away into his pocket. “I know who the box belongs to.”

You stopped short, your attention snapping fully towards him. A thrill of excitement went down your spine, even as regret poured through you. A little part of you had maybe hoped you would end up getting to eat the chocolates, even if they weren’t yours. But this was good news.

“You do? Why didn’t you tell me?” you demanded.

Yor feet guided you to the chair where he sat, and you stood, looking down at him expectantly. He watched you through his long lashes, eyes glinting strangely.

“It’s mine,” he said finally, after a moment that stretched long and slow, like warm taffy.

Your breath caught in your chest, a swell of confusion rising within you. The box was his?

Was he being truthful or was this another attempt to make you take it? Why would he have tried to make you think it was from a secret admirer, then? Why have let you run around all day, attempting to find the sender, if the chocolates had been his all along? Unless...

Unless he was embarrassed. You didn’t know why he might have left them in your office, but you suspected maybe force of habit had drawn him here. Maybe he was operating on autopilot after his distracting shift this morning, since he usually spent so much time in your office, and then you’d come in to find them before he’d had a chance to realize it. And the rest had been history.

But then that begged the question of who he’d really meant them for--your heart sank as the thought occurred to you.

Obviously, you had known since you’d first met him that he wasn’t interested in you. You’d spent years with your thoughts all muddled around him, quelling every blush, never straying into his personal space or staring at him longer than was appropriate. You’d been so, so careful around him, but you’d never had any indication that Shouto was as careful around you. On the contrary, he was always calm and intent--he never looked away from you in a fit of bashfulness the way you had him, and he seemed to have no qualms about getting into your personal space, leaning over you as you looked through reports together, putting a hand on your back to guide you through publicity events.

So yeah, you had known he was basically immune to you. You had known it for a long time. But it still smarted to think of him giving that box to someone else.

God, how embarrassing for you. How mortifying, really, that Shouto had been thinking of someone else all those days that you had been nursing your crush on him.

But you were a professional, you could deal with this.

All you had to do was play it cool, give him back the box and laugh it off like it hardly affected you. And then you could head back to your apartment and binge ice cream and be all wistful and embarrassing for one evening. You could allow yourself that before you had to come back and be doubly professional, smile and congratulate whichever analyst or support staffer or fellow hero had caught his interest.

You could be happy for him. You’d miss the chocolates though.

Drawing yourself together, you looked down at him, pulling out a small but genuine smile. Shouto was your friend, and he was going to nail it with whoever the box was meant for--you could give him your support. But then Shouto was unfolding himself out of the chair, standing up so he could look down into your face, taking a step closer to you.

You tried to ignore the flutter in your stomach at his sudden proximity, the hint of his clean cologne and the lick of warmth coming off of his left side.

“They’re, uh, they’re yours?” you managed, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “You are in such big trouble for coming in here and peddling conspiracy theories instead of owning up to it. You at least owe me a coffee for being such a brat.”

Shouto watched you quietly, saying nothing.

“But we can hash that out later,” you said, waving what you hoped was a casual hand at him. “You need to move quickly. You should try to catch whoever you meant these for before they leave--daytime shift is over in a couple minutes.”

Shouto’s brows knitted, a small frown pulling at his mouth. “You still think they’re not for you,” he said.

It took a minute for you to register the words he’d spoken. The comment struck you dumb when you did, a thrill of disbelief going through you. Was he trying to be tactful now? Now, of all times?

“Shouto, seriously, you can make it up to me later. This is not the time to fuck around, the day’s almost over,” you said.

His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to you, close enough that you could feel him exhale. You took a step back in surprise, your hip bumping your desk.

“You promised me,” he said in his deep voice, “that if no one came looking for them by the end of the day, you would take them.”

You stared up at him, your mind churning wildly with all kinds of insane thoughts, wild insinuations that brought heat to your face. He absolutely could not mean what you thought he meant.

There was literally no way.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say,” you admitted. “But if you’re telling me I can take them just because you promised them, I don’t want them. I think you should give them to who you meant them for.”

That wry little smile played about his mouth again, and Shouto took another step closer. The back of your thighs dug into your desk and you wobbled, putting a hand down to keep your balance.

“To think I trust you with my career,” Shouto intoned, ducking his head to look into your face. You felt the heat of his left arm at your side as he placed it gently on your desk, caging you in. “Let me be plain, then. I did give them to who they were meant for.”

Your cheeks went hot, both with his proximity and the implied insult. But the rejoinder died on your tongue as the implication of his last few words sank in.

He had meant them for you? Shouto Todoroki, number four hero, your coworker of several years and your most patient, attentive, and mind-numbingly handsome friend, had gone to Grégoire Chardin, for Valentine’s Day chocolate, thinking--of all people--of you?

For a moment, it felt like the earth was sliding out from under your feet, but then you realized it was just you, tipping backwards on your desk. Your elbow banged into the side of the chocolate box, and you accidentally sent a small pile of papers fluttering over the side of your desk. You cringed, embarrassed, but then Shouto was over you, both arms braced on either side of your head.

“You don’t need to accept them if you don’t want,” he said quietly, watching your face. The intensity of his focus made your head swim, and you tried to focus on what he was saying, rather than the shape of his mouth as he spoke, the heat from his skin. “But I wanted you to know. I like you.”

You gaped at him, the words feeling like they were embedding themselves in your brain.

“You...like me?” you echoed in disbelief.

Shouto grinned, the expression so disarmingly charming that even your nose went hot. “Yes. Very much.”

A swell of emotions welled up inside you, like the unstoppable tide of a coastal flood, and you were gripped with the sudden desire to lean up and kiss him, to press your mouth to his and see if he meant it, if any of what he’d just said to you could possibly be real. Suddenly, that was the only thought in your entire brain.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” you heard yourself utter stupidly.

You hesitated for just a second, realizing that maybe you should pinch yourself first to see if this was actually happening, but then Shouto was already there, covering your mouth with his.

His kiss was hot and soft and utterly perfect, and very quickly there were no thoughts in your brain at all, nothing but the feel of him over you, one muscled thigh pressing insistently between yours, his long fingers tangling gently in the hair behind your ear. You clutched him to you tightly, an embarrassing little sound escaping you, and Shouto groaned, pressing more of his weight down on you, licking firmly into your mouth.

You were half-delirious with the feeling of him by the time he let you up for air, and you could feel yourself grinning like an absolute fool.

“I had a secret admirer,” you said. “You were being serious.”

Shouto smirked, leaning in to press a hot kiss to your throat. Your thighs clenched involuntarily. “Yes, I had been secretly admiring you for a while.”

For some reason, the words embarrassed you, and you tucked your face into his broad shoulder. “I...this is so embarrassing. I’ve been...admiring you, too.”

You heard Shouto huff a soft laugh, and then his calloused fingers were gripping your chin, angling your face back towards him so he could seize your mouth again. You went slack and pliant underneath him, enjoying the press of his mouth on yours, your toes curling when he did something particularly talented with his tongue.

“I did tell you,” Shouto said after a while, pulling back, one of his hands gripping your thigh.

“Tell me what?” you asked absently, wondering how you could get his mouth on yours again.

His eyes caught yours, the blue of his left glittering at you conspiratorially. “That I could be subtle.”

You laughed, feeling stupid--but more than that, flushed and completely pleased. You didn’t know if subtle was exactly the right word, but you weren’t going to argue specifics at the moment. “I guess you can be. Though you might have been a little bit more overt before now.”

“Then if you don’t mind,” Shouto said after a while, something like amusement in his voice, “I’d like to take you home and admire you quite overtly now.”

You were answering before he could even finish. “Yes, oh my god, yes.”

Shouto laughed again, smoothing a large palm down your side.

And then he did. And not even chocolates from Grégoire Chardin could compare.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto #bnha #bnha fanfic #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #shouto todoroki x reader

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lazarettta · 3 years

Text

I’m Not A Witch

Characters ( Cordelia Goode, Misty Day, and Reader)

Word Count 3k

Warnings (Minor drug use 💨)

You don’t have a bad background, in fact your life is pretty cushy but not without its problems namely...you being able to do things with your mind but you have no control. Thankfully, Cordelia and Misty scoop you up before you head down a path of self-destruction. Platonic af but there could be something if you squint I think 🤔

New Orleans was a world different from New York. A world different. You were born and raised in New York—it was your whole life, and you never really thought about a life outside of the city that never slept. Why would you want to leave the city that everyone wanted to be apart of? Well that's what you thought for twenty-three years.

You lived a comfortable life your entire existence, you didn't have to struggle nor were you ever afraid of your future. Your parents always made sure that you were well taken care of, nothing but the best for you and you knew how fortunate you were especially being a foster kid. You were born to Mr and Mrs Hawthorne, a wealthy couple who couldn't have a baby of their own so they went with the next best thing that money could afford—surrogacy.

It had taken your parents months to find the perfect candidate as Mr. Hawthorne, your father, would use his own semen (yikes dad). But that was all that you knew, you had no idea the identity of the woman they hired to carry you for nine months other than she was the nicest young woman your mother has ever met.

It wasn't a topic that could've been avoided as you got older and noticed that your complexion was a few shades more than theirs. But thankfully your parents were always open and honest with you, even at a young age. Of course you had a nanny growing up, both of your parents were lawyers—their time was always stretched far too thin, but you weren't a neglected child nor were you ungrateful and they loved you so much for it.

Which was why you never told them about your newfound skill when you hit your sweet sixteen—everyone thought the candle that nearly melted your entire birthday cake was a fluke incident but you knew that it wasn't. You had felt the heat of the fire as you watched your father set the tip of the match against the wick of the candle. For a brief moment you wondered what would've happened to your cake if it was on fire, you thought it would look pretty badass. You hadn't exactly expected it to actually happen! But it did and thankfully no one was injured just thoroughly freaked out.

Your parents laughed it off, quite nervously, but you never said anything about it to them and they never really brought it up again anyway. Unbeknownst to them, of course they were always at work and the penthouse housekeeper wasn't required twenty-four seven, you were able to fool around with your newfound hobby with relative peace in your room. Well until you nearly set the place on fire twice in the same month, after that you just went to the roof and googled meditation practices on google.

You only ever couldn't control the fire unless you were an emotional wreck. For two years, you kept that secret to yourself and if you didn't have friends before you sure as shit didn't then. No one really liked you anyway, your parents were richer than most of everyone else's and your parents actually gave a damn about you and not just about how you were going to make them look in the future.

They tried to bully you about your height but you weren't a punk, so that was short lived. Students envied you but that was okay. They didn't have anything to offer you, that's what your mom always told you anyway. Besides there was nothing wrong with being short, it just meant you had more to offer. Of course.

When you turned eighteen, you discovered something else about yourself...and you weren't exactly sure what you wanted to call it but you could always tell if someone was lying to you if you listened hard enough.

You weren't sure how it worked but you never took any real notice to it until your ex girlfriend, and your only girlfriend, lied to you and you felt a bit of a...you wouldn't say it was a jolt but your insides felt the same type of tingle when your foot fell asleep or something.

That's how you figured out your first love (high school, right?) was cheating on you...you hadn't dated anyone after that. How could you when all people did was lie?

And the minute they learned that you were a Hawthorne...it was done. You saved yourself the heartache and just focused on the future. You managed to graduate college a year early and you didn't go to jail for arson, yet.

The older you got and the more you learned about how shitty people could be, meditation and yoga stopped working so well for you and you ended up joining a gym. No martial arts or anything like that, you didn't have the time for it, but you hired a trainer and five days a week that’s what kept you grounded.

Presently...

You weren't currently working, well not anymore. Less than a month ago you were a nurse at Mercy hospital as a CRNA. It was a late night already and an unruly patient was brought in for a gunshot wound. Somehow he managed to slip out of his bonds and before anyone could stop him, the bastard had his hands around your throat and you'd...you just fucking panicked and he ending up burning to death from the inside.

No one knew how it happened they couldn't even prove that you had even done anything, but you were fired on the spot anyway...and your parents had to shovel out a good amount of money and blackmail to keep your name from the papers.

You hadn't searched for a job after that, what was the point? Your name may not have been dragged through the papers but you sure as hell weren't gonna be working at any hospital anytime soon. At least...not in Manhattan.

But after what happened...what you did to that man, the cruelty of it? Why would you? You'd been high strung after that and you picked up a habit you ditched after you left college.

It just helped you regulate your emotions better and to think, plus you just liked the way it made you feel. It also helped with the nightmares that would plague you every night, and the scene was always the same. He was always on top of you screaming to a pain too gruesome for words.

Your parents tried therapy but you were stubborn besides your medicine was better than theirs anyway.

Your father didn't know about your newfound hobby but your mom did, and she wasn't going to tell him either. She was just thankful that it wasn't crack or cocaine—she could deal with her daughter turning into a weed connoisseur. But she would not support an unproductive one.

That was exactly why she was on her way back into the city to your penthouse with two guests in tow. Doing her best not to cry in front of these two women who have proven to her that they could not only help you but take care of you in a way that she couldn't.

But she knew when your birthday cake went up in flames...she had been watching you the entire time, and in that moment...every warning and tale that your birth mother told her came to light. But she made a promise to love you like you were her own, because you were, and she'd love every freaky little tic that came with you.

As a mother it was hard for your mom to accept that this wasn’t something that she could do for you. But she was woman enough not to stand in the way of her daughter's success...whatever it was that you chose to do.

You were sitting out on your balcony wearing your black robe with nothing else on except a pair of panties and your Prince tank top that you should've gotten rid of years ago but it was still one of your favorite—holes and all. You'd been blissfully in your own little world for a few hours now with your iPad sitting in your lap with some Stevie Nicks playing in the background over the speakers coming from inside your penthouse.

It was just the right volume that it wasn't too loud but the city noises didn't drown it out either. You'd just polished off your fourth bowl, something grape...whatever, you were just enjoying your time. You went back to drawing, head bopping softly and you were so lost in your own little world you didn't realize that you were alone in your penthouse. There were three different sets of high heels that you missed though you just about jumped out of your skin when your mother came into view via your peripherals.

“Oh!” you smiled bright and wide, eyes a tad bit low, “Hey mom, what are you...um...who are they?” you sat up quickly, unaware that your robe fell open with the movement and your mom nearly facepalmed. You set your tablet aside, doing a double take at the blonde with the curly hair that was lowkey dancing to Fleetwood playing in the background. You looked at your mom, your smile morphing into a confused frown, “Mom?”

“Sweetheart,” your mom soothed back a long strand of dark hair and cleared her throat softly which worried you even more because your mom was never one to be nervous, ever, “This is Cordelia Goode and Misty Day.”

Subconsciously you reached into your robes pocket and pulled out a bright orange stress ball you got from the bodega for a whopping five bucks. (You had to have been high as fuck not to argue that price down but whatever.) You squeezed it softly, licking your dry lips, “Um...hi? Did I do something to you guys too? If I did I'm so sorry, I—”

“No, baby, no,” your mother sat next to you, quickly fixing your robe and your messy hair and Cordelia's brown eyes shot to Misty, who had immediately stopped dancing, “Just...are you hungry? Orange juice maybe?”

“Mrs. Hawthorne?” you looked up at the blonde woman came up behind your mother with a soft smile, “If I may, in my experience it is always better to just rip it off just like a band-aid.”

“Rip what off?” you pulled away from your mom, scooting away and hated seeing that hurt look on her face but there was something going on, you were not that paranoid.

“Honey, this is just a little intervention and—”

Laughing, you scooted away from your mom again, “What? Mom, it’s just pot—”

Your mom waved away your comment with a roll of her eyes, “Honey, I don’t care about the grass—”

“Then what…”

“Zip!”

You quickly shut your mouth when your mom said that and have you that look, it was one you knew quite well growing up. It baffled you how it was still working on you.

Your mom sighed, “It's just for a little while and I'll make sure that this place is well cared for.”

“Wait what?! You're sending me away??”

“(Y/n).” the blonde, Cordelia, pulled your attention from your mom who was crying, Cordelia sat on the edge of your coffee table carefully while Misty continued to hover in the background curiously, but prepared in case you got jumpy, “We just want to help you, okay? We're not here to kidnap you or harm you in any way.”

“I can't be helped,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes even as the tears spilled over, “I—I don't know what you think you know, Miss Goode but...”

“I know quite a bit, (Y/n),” Cordelia held out her hand and suddenly your stash box flew past your head making you flinch but Cordelia caught it just fine and you stared at her wide eyed, “You and I? We aren't so different and at Miss Robichaux's academy for exceptional young ladies...we teach young witches such as yourself how to survive in the modern world.”

“Witches? You think I'm a witch? No way, mom c'mon...the...the stash box trick was cool and all, but witches? Mom! Mom please, you're not buying this are you?” but even as you questioned it, you knew that they were telling the truth and that's what scared you the most. “How do you know they're not trying to use this for your money?”

“We're not, I promise! We don't need your family's money, (Y/n). All we want is to help you.”

“Listen to her, honey, this is for your benefit, okay? And...these women are very nice people, so don't give them trouble, not that you would, right?”

You looked over your mothers shoulder at Misty, the woman offering you a smile and a playful wink.

You exhaled heavily, your eyes sliding back to your mom, “...and you're not getting rid of me right? Because of...what I can do? Or what I've done?”

“No! Absolutely not, it was an accident! If anything it was the faulty bonds they put that monster in! Honestly,” your mother huffed, “your father and I still have half a mind about suing that hospital…”

“But not without having to drag my name through the mud.” You mumbled, sighing heavily.

“I love you, (Y/n), so damn much. Yes, we would’ve gotten millions but you’re worth much more to your father and I, don't you forget that,” Your mom reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing gently before standing and quickly gathering her Prada bag, “and...don't worry about your father with all of this. I'll break this to him myself but baby...promise me that you will try?”

You bit your bottom lip, nodding slowly and holding her hand tighter almost painfully so before surging up and hugging your bother tight, and even though she was in high heels your slight frame made it easy for her to catch most of your weight. She hugged you back just as fiercely, kissing your forehead twice before letting you go.

“And here—for emergencies and whatever you might need, honey.” your mom pushed her black card into your trembling hands, the weight of it denser than you expected it to be and it made you laugh, of course your mom would shove money at you. It was her love language, you stopped questioning it a very long time ago but you never took advantage of it. “I love you so so much.”

Cordelia watched the entire exchange silently with an ever curious eye, even daring to risk raising an eyebrow when she saw your mom push that unmarked card into your hands before skirting off. Your mom reminded her a bit of her own mother...money was Fiona’s love language as well.

But your mom was much more pleasant, her love for you blossomed like a rose rather than a thorn bush.

You exhaled shakily, hands fidgeting in front of you, “I...what now?”

“Now we get down to business,” Misty smiled at you, stepping into the space your mom once occupied and took your hands in both of her own, “Your mama is resourceful, she tracked us down and everything, but it wasn't like it was all that hard since Delia and I were lookin' for you too.”

“You...you were?” you looked over your shoulder at Cordelia still sitting on your coffee table, “Why?”

“We heard about what happened to the man at the hospital and even though you weren't named, it wasn't that hard to track you down and we happened to cross paths with your mother.”

“Figures...” you nodded, sniffling again and you quickly pulled your hands from Misty when a breeze hit your skin—reminding you how indecent you were among two strangers.

You fixed your robe again and quickly sat down and Misty followed you down, bouncing slightly almost a little too close—your high was completely worn off at this point, “Earlier you said that you were helping wit...people like me live in the modern world? What?”

“Yes, we help witches such as yourself avoid situations like the one you currently experienced.”

You raised an eyebrow at her wording and she smiled at you when you met her eyes. You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest—appearing unbothered even if you were still sniffling, damn. Your mood swings were going to give you whiplash one of these days.

“You don’t really expect me to go around calling myself a witch do you?”

Cordelia’s eyes narrowed a fraction, “What I expect, (Y/n), is for you to actually make an attempt. There will be rules and the sooner you drop the attitude, the easier this will be for all of us—you especially.”

You opened your mouth to argue back but then you quickly shut your mouth, your mom's words bouncing around in your head to stop causing trouble. Along with the promise you made to her.

Misty was sitting still next to you, and though you couldn’t see it—her eyes were darting back and forth between you and Cordelia with a bit of a grin trying to break free.

“Right, and um where is this school of yours again? If I even agree to this at all?”

Cordelia gave you a look that you couldn't really decipher, “Miss Robichaux's academy is in California.”

Your eyes flew back to hers immediately, “I don't wanna go around calling you a liar Miss Goode, I only just met you...but you and I both know that's not true.”

“Ah, so it is true...you do have some form divination.”

She led you right into a trap and you couldn’t even be annoyed by that, Cordelia was proving to be a lot more than she appeared. “Divination? What is that? Is there anything my mom didn't tell you?”

“Well, she didn't tell us ya favorite food.” Misty supplied unhelpfully, attempting to break the building tension with poor humor. And you couldn't hold back your smile, deciding that you liked her a lot.

“You're a walking lie detector, dear. That's quite handy in today's world.”

Misty chuckled before one of her arms came around your shoulders, “Oh yes, and Madison is just gonna love you!”

“Don't worry, you’ll fit right in.” Cordelia chuckled, still sitting directly across from you and there was a bit of a twinkle in her brown eyes, she knew you were going to be trouble and that she would have to keep a close eye on you. But if there was one thing that Cordelia enjoyed, it was a challenge.

I dunno what I’m doing for real lol it’s 1am and I’m in my garage on a tablet 😅😅I thought this was fun

#ahs coven #cordelia goode #misty day #cordelia goode x reader #cordelia goode x misty day #sarah paulson #ahs coven imagine #american horror story #lily rabe #ahs cordelia #ahs misty

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rymndsmth · 3 years

Text

querencia (jang han seo)

🎤 hello and gather around fellow himbo lovers, here is a small fic about our beloved and his life after That guy kicks the bucket. also idk how i managed to turn this into a love story? anyways lmfao, hope y’all enjoy!

Everything felt so different.

Truthfully, Han Seo never imagined what his life could be like, would be like, without the proverbial ever tightening noose around his neck. One that had been unexpectedly and disappointingly placed on him as a child by the one person that was supposed to remove such things. He was now free of that person, and the fear that stemmed from veering off the path set by them, but wasn’t entirely too certain that he was free of that feeling.

His muscles couldn’t shake it. The sudden chill to the bone, the anticipation of retaliation from an act that hadn’t yet occurred. Such an act that could never occur anymore given that his brother was dead. He knew this, but his mind had never been good at accepting possibilities that were positive.

This much was evident in the case of his relationship with Vincenzo. There was no reason why the stoic yet baby faced Mafia member would want to keep him around, at least not any that he could see. So, Han Seo spent the first few weeks asking the question both silently and aloud, will you kill me? Vincenzo had the motive, it’s not exactly like his hands were clean in his previous dealings with Babel, and he most certainly had the means.

It wasn’t until Han Seo was told that because he was trying to make amends, he wouldn’t end up in the Jang family crypt well before his time that he started to feel at ease. Still, for months after that conversation, he still had the nagging feeling that some invisible fist was lurking around every bend.

Regardless of that, Han Seo decided he would not waste his liberation however short lived it might have been. He made up his mind that he was going to do all the things that he was either too scared or outright forbidden to do before. The first thing on his list was to clean up his business. Luckily for him, the Guillotine file made it easy to weed out the snakes in the grass and allow him to steer Babel in the direction that the core of the business was about.

The hardest part was going to be restoring the public’s faith in the organization. Cha Young told him as much, and advised him not to agonize over it as there will be new corruption that will grab their attention (and hers). He intended to be the Chairman that such a company deserved, and therefore continued to study no matter how nonsensical and outdated the information seemed.

The second order of business was moving out of the place that felt more like a prison than a home to one that he liked. The realtor immediately recommended a few luxury places, but he turned them down to their surprise. Maybe it was due to the fact that he had seen what the quest for material wealth had done to his family (or more realistically because he wanted to be closer to newfound hyung and his girlfriend).

Either way, the house he settled on had its luxuries, but in a more affordable and quaint neighborhood. Han Seo even went as far as to attempt painting on his own, which went as well as expected for someone that didn’t even know the difference between a brush and a roller.

Being able to do what he wanted proved to be chaotic at times. There was no one to stop him from going on last minute trips to Jeju just for oranges and a quick dip into the ocean. Or to take away all the sweet and savory snacks that he found at these things called convenience stores.

He would stay up all night sometimes, not to binge watch all the shows he missed out on, but just to sit in silence. He didn’t know that the quiet could be so nice. That it was a space of tranquility and relaxation rather than one filled with anxiety. Of course, Han Seo more often than not regretted the choice not to sleep and ended up at the cafe a few blocks from his place.

While obviously no one had better coffee than the one at Babel, he found himself going to the cozy spot with increasing frequency because of her. The first time he saw her, she was deciding on which apple to choose from the basket beside the register. He then noticed that her canvas bag was filled with art supplies, and decided that it was a brilliant idea to draw a conclusion.

I think the one to the right would make a great subject on paper, he grinned.

She stared at him in a way that made him contemplate whether to not she was related to Vincenzo hyung before replying flatly:

I’m looking for the tartest one to go with my tea.

He was left a bumbling mess of flustered sounds and rapidly blinks, not getting the opportunity to insert some retort that undoubtably would’ve put him deeper into the realm of idiot.

The following morning he went again. No cup of coffee, not even the ridiculously overpriced espresso at Babel, would give him that jolt of electricity he felt under her gaze. And sure enough, she was there. This time her apple sat upon a folded napkin right beside her tea, and in front of them both was her sketchpad. On the page? A picture of the fruit. He couldn’t control the noise of exasperation that left him as he passed her table. On his way out he tossed over his shoulder with a grin so wide it hurt:

Nice drawing.

Their interactions continued in that same vein. Short, filled with just the right amount of bite. The balance of who had the best and last say constantly shifting, becoming somewhat of a competition.

You’re outside today, is that weed your subject?

As if there weren’t enough clowns in this neighborhood already.

You buy a lot of lattes for an artist that’s supposed to be starving.

Ironic coming from the gentrifier walking around a working class neighborhood in thousand dollar shoes.

He had look up what that g word meant after their last exchange.

There was something else he never got to do in his past. Sure, Han Seo had the occasional date or two, but commitment? That was out of the question. It wouldn’t have served his brother well if there was anyone around that would motivate him to step out from his hold. The realization that he never had a serious relationship hadn’t hit him until he started to have inconvenient thoughts during board meetings about stuff like taking a long afternoon stroll, and holding hands with her.

Han Seo could barely focus on the stack of jargon dense reading before him. He sent Vincenzo a text saying that he was coming over with soju, not waiting for a reply before making the short journey to Geumga. Cha Young’s face fell when she answered the door, muttering that she thought he was her delivery, but lit up once she saw he brought along alcohol. After poking around the rice he begged for them to share and sighing loudly for half an hour, Vincenzo ushered him out. He implored him to get a hobby so that these late night visits wouldn’t become a habit.

He was confused by that. Weren’t studying and running a company hobbies? On his walk back home he spotted a flyer that someone was offering private classes for beginners painting. The nightmare of a time he had trying to get the walls in his kitchen evenly colored popped up in his brain, instantly making him tear off one of the numbers. He didn’t exactly know how learning to paint homes was going to be a practical hobby, but hell, he would have something to show Vincenzo later.

While he was on one of his impromptu trips to the seaside, Han Seo had his assistant set up the class for him to take when he returned. As a gift for the instructor, he thought it would be nice to bring them an extra bag of oranges. If the session sucked, or if he hated it, at the very least there was going to be something to brighten the mood.

The day he got back, he even went as far as to tidy up the place on his own and put some fresh flowers around so the air was lightly scented. He practically waited at the door until the alarm sounded to let him know that his instructor arrived.

Is this a joke? She huffed.

No, I didn’t even know you were the teacher! His protest was adamant. I was on a trip and even brought back Jeju- He paused. Han Seo knew he wasn’t the brightest, but bringing up the oranges seemed like it would upset her given their previous history.

You brought back what? Her brow raised.

Mmm, good energy! Don’t you feel the vibes from the ocean? He spread his arms wide.

Han Seo waved her inside hurriedly, trying desperately to get past the awkward exchange. Of all people, he never would’ve thought it would be the neighborhood’s cute sass machine. A small noise of happiness couldn’t be stopped from escaping him as she accepted the invitation. Her eyes scanned the place without restraint, nose wrinkling when she took a look at the kitchen.

Where are your supplies? A slender finger ran across the surface of his counter.

Supplies? He thought that was included in the price for the lessons.

She sighed, placing a sketchbook, brushes, and small pots of paint onto the table. It was now very apparent to him that the advertisement did not mean what he thought it did. Thank goodness he also didn’t decide to open his mouth about that beforehand, it probably would’ve made her smack him with her bag.

Here, the materials were slid over when he sat. Paint something.

His facial expression surely mirrored what he was thinking. Han Seo had no recollection of ever trying to do this, not even during the course of his way overpriced private school education. She urged him on with a nod, only relaxing into her chair when he flipped open the book and picked up a fine brush.

There was nothing in particular he wanted to paint. Hell, he didn’t even know if he wanted to paint at all. This was simply something random that came up when he needed it.

To avoid being chastised, he dipped his brush into the light blue color and started swiping randomly across the blank page. He swapped the brush and added some dark green, then pink, and finished if off with small dots of white. At the end it looked like something a toddler would’ve considered a masterpiece. She eyed it with surprising interest.

You clearly didn’t know what you wanted to achieve with this, or why you were doing it at all.

Han Seo was about to interject with a prideful defense before she continued.

That’s good. It’s better to work with an unbiased mind. Her eyes met his. Your technique is shit though.

He laughed, like truly laughed. It was a full bellied, unashamedly loud, attack of sonic waves. She seemed to find it amusing, a hint of a smile dancing across her lips.

Alright, let’s start with how to actually hold a paintbrush.

There was no telling when their interactions had gone from less than playful banter to warm and friendly (still with a side of joking). Han Seo couldn’t put his finger on it. Did it happen during the second lesson where he mistakenly put paint on her hands, and didn’t settle for no when he said he would wash them off for her?

Or was it the time he was running late for work, but the barista already had his order prepared because she told them that he was on the way? Perhaps it was the time she had to reschedule their Saturday morning for the evening instead, and all he could think about was trying to replicate the color of her alcohol flushed cheeks onto the page before him.

Han Seo had never done the whole confession thing before, so he wasn’t sure about how it worked. An unfamiliar kind of anxiety crept up his spine as he poured glasses of wine and organized a fruit plate. Soft music played in the background accompanied by the crackle of the expensive candles he bought specifically for the occasion. Her mouth parted slightly as she took everything in once she arrived for what was supposed to be an ordinary session involving watercolors.

Wow, got a hot date later or something? Her legs seemed to automatically take her to the table.

Actually, He brought the glasses over to where she sat. It’s for you.

Oh…She gasped. A few seconds passed that felt more like minutes before she picked one up and held it high. Cheers then!

Something about it made him feel like he made a mistake. Did he misread their change in demeanor towards one another? Was she truly just being kinder to him because she considered him to only be a friend? Han Seo tried to not let the embarrassment he felt seep into the room, keeping a smile locked and loaded for when she made a witty remark about stuff like him painting in the most inappropriate white button down.

Don’t you have something to say to me? She quipped, neatly putting her things away after he finished.

Me? I- no…I... He clenched his fists. Why couldn’t he come out and say it?! This was as good as a chance as he was ever going to get. If he let this opportunity slip, he wasn’t sure if there would be one again. He had to act, he had to-

What sounded like a small growl came from her as she raked her hand through her hair. She pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, her nose just shy of rubbing against his.

Jang Han Seo, when are you gonna stop driving me insane? She murmured, labored breaths dancing across his cupid’s bow.

If only she knew how true and reciprocated that question was to him too. From the moment he couldn’t fight against thoughts about her entering his mind, to the smile she wore when he stepped across his threshold, and the way she said his goddamned name, it was all enough to make him want to combust. To burst out of his skin, transforming into something or someone else entirely. A person that fully accepted that there were no more restraints on their lives, that they was no more fear and no more betrayal. Someone that was completely in control, and free to take what was theirs. And so he did.

It was painful, almost, the first time he kissed her. The second time even more so. By the third time, coupled with the question of her tongue prodding at his bottom lip, Han Seo had shedded the last of his previous being. He cupped her face, thumbs toying with her curled sideburns as he consumed her. Quiet whimpers made way for desperate cries, shivers were replaced by the searing heat of skin on skin.

The high he’d chased fruitlessly so many times throughout his life was finally achieved with his arms wrapped tightly around her, their bodies pressed together as she shuddered and sighed his name. He was in disbelief that what he had experienced was real, so he chased it again and again, receiving the same result each time his sweat slicked forehead bowed to meet hers.

Han Seo would learn that it could be obtained outside of that space they filled with the tangible evidence of their desire. It was also in buying melon flavored ice pops to eat in the park together on sunny days. The look on Vincenzo and Cha Young’s face when he timidly made the introduction. Her expression when she took her first bite of Hee Soo’s tteokbokki. When Mr. Nam and her had an hour long debate on which shade of red made the most realistic fake blood color. The flashing Best Chairman Ever coming from her phone when Babel secured their biggest deal yet without any dirty deals behind the scenes.

That feeling, one that outshone the other by such a long shot that it was nearly eradicated, had been there all along in the life he’d made. She just helped him see it.

#*throws this and runs to take my dog for a walk*#jang han seo #vincenzo #fics.n

43 notes · View notes

iamanartichoke · 3 years

Note

Congrats on follower milestone! I greatly enjoy your presence on my dash with your thoughts and witty tags and all :) For the Loki writing prompt, here's a sort of idea or mood or emotion, very vague, but maybe you can make something of it, and if not, totally cool! Prompt: Mobius taking care of Loki.

@humbae Thanks so much for your kind words as well as the prompt! I kinda just took the "taking care of" idea and had Mobius do the bare minimum, bc it's angstier that way, but I hope you like it anyway.

Summary: Takes place immediately after the end of episode 1; Loki has a realization and Mobius kinda maybe cares. Word Count: 1460 Author’s notes: Please forgive the quality, I started this earlier today and wanted to post it before watching the finale, so I finished the last bit of it in a less-than-alert state, merp.

“What’s this?” Loki asks. He can’t keep the edge of suspicion out of his voice.

“It’s tea,” Mobius says, as if it’s obvious. He sets the red mug down in front of Loki. “What we normally do is drink it.”

The suspicion doesn’t leave him. Loki eyes the mug, wondering if he’d even be able to tell if Mobius had done something nefarious to it - but, there would be little point in Mobius going to the trouble of intervening in Loki’s “trial” and recruiting him to the TVA only to turn around and poison him so, despite himself, Loki picks up the mug and takes a cautious sip.

“Hope you like chamomile,” Mobius adds as he takes the seat across from Loki. “It’s all I could find.”

“It’s passable,” Loki says, after a longer sip. When was the last time he’d had anything to drink? He can’t remember; the blur of New York shifts too sharply into the shock of the TVA and his brain feels too muddled to grasp onto any specifics. There’s been a consistent twisting in his stomach for days; he doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s eaten, either.

Mobius is just watching him and Loki hunches his shoulders, a bit defensively. “What,” he says, setting down the mug.

Mobius shrugs. “You’re not the first Loki variant to come through here,” he responds. Before, when he’d been questioning Loki, everything about his posture had been straight and precise; now that the interrogation is over, Mobius has adopted a much more casual stance, leaning against the back of his chair with his legs slightly outstretched. “There’ve been a lot.”

“How many is a lot?” Loki’s mind is still spinning from the revelation that the rogue variant they’re hunting is another version of himself, but the idea of even more being out there just makes him feel slightly ill. There would be a crisis here, were Loki in a clearer headspace - something about how it could be possible for more than one version of himself to exist, and if those versions existed, what proof does he have that he, himself, in this moment, also exists? How does he know he is the real Loki? Is there a real Loki?

Apparently, he is in a clear enough headspace for a minor crisis. He wraps his hands around the mug, waiting for Mobius to answer.

“I don’t know,” is all Mobius says. “I’ve lost count, to be perfectly honest with you. You’re like a bad penny, you know - you just keep turning up. You’re a stubborn bastard, I’ll give you that.”

“Thank you.” Loki’s tone is icy. “So if there are so many other variants, why not prune me? What do you think I can do for you that they couldn’t?”

Mobius looks thoughtful for a moment before he shrugs. “Call it a hunch, I guess.”

Wonderful. Loki’s entire existence rests on this bureaucrat of a man’s hunch. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t find that particularly reassuring,” he counters. “How do I know you won’t simply prune me either once we find this other variant, or once I stop being useful to you?”

“What, whichever comes first?” Mobius’s lips tilt slightly upward. “I suppose you don’t.”

Loki slumps a bit in his chair. He’s still holding onto the mug and, for lack of anything else to do, brings it back to his lips. Chamomile, Mobius had called it. It tastes like honey, with just the slightest tinge of apples, and it makes Loki think of the fruit in Idunn’s orchard, how they melted on his tongue like sugar. He remembers dewy summer evenings, laying in the grass with Thor, each of them with a golden apple’s sticky sweetness coating their lips and teeth.

The back of his throat tightens and he focuses on the tea, blinking hard against the sudden sting of tears. Crying in front of Mobius is not something he wants to make a habit of.

Still - “In the desert, when your hunters set off those reset chargers …”

“They pruned the alternate timeline you created when you took off with the tesseract, yeah.” Mobius adjusts his position, straightening up and leaning forward, elbows on the table. “You - that is, the you that’s supposed to exist - never escaped. Your brother took you back to Asgard.”

“And the sacred timeline continues as it should.” The twisting in Loki’s stomach worsens, and it has nothing to do with hunger. “Which means I can never return to Asgard, because he’s already there.”

Mobius’s forehead creases a bit as he nods. He looks almost sympathetic. “You don’t have a place there, no,” he agrees.

A heavy silence falls over them. Loki doesn’t need Mobius to spell it out any further. Loki, the Loki he is right now, will never see Thor again. Nor his mother, or even Odin … but mostly, not Thor. His brother is the worst kind of gone, because he’s not dead, nor lost. He exists on the sacred timeline, forever separated from Loki, and none the wiser to Loki’s absence. He’ll never know that Loki is gone, because the correct Loki is still right where he should be - rotting in Asgard’s dungeons, perhaps, but home all the same.

Rage wells up inside of him, swift and cutting. He pushes away from the table and jumps to his feet so abruptly that even Mobius startles, but before he can do anything, Loki has hurled the red mug against the wall and it shatters, tea and glass shards clattering to the floor. “It isn’t fair,” he snarls; he pushes his hands through his hair, yanking hard at the strands yet the sting of it barely even registers. "That's not fair."

“Loki -”

Loki barely hears him. He drops his hands and clenches his fists; the rage is pressing against his throat, desperate for escape. He wants to scream. He wants to hurl magic in every direction. He truly wants to burn this place to the ground - the TVA, the timekeepers, and every person within it who is complicit in taking away entire realities with hardly a thought spared to the variants left behind.

He’s breathing hard. The trouble is, all of that anger has nowhere to go. Loki cannot bring himself to explode the way he wants to - with neither his magic nor the ability to set fire to the timekeepers’ hearts here and now, the only other option he’s got is to throw things, and he’s hurled enough chairs for today.

Closing his eyes, Loki turns in a circle, grabbing the back of his chair. Instead of throwing it, he leans forward, pressing all of his weight against it because he isn’t sure he can hold himself up. The effort it takes to keep from screaming is leaving him light-headed. Not Thor. Please, please don’t take Thor from me.

“Loki,” Mobius says again. Loki draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, and then opens his eyes and looks up. Mobius is hovering over him, but somehow he’s less dominating than he’d been before. He seems almost concerned - either that, or just plain tired. “Look, I get it. I get that you’re upset, but -”

“How?” Loki demands. His voice is hardly more than a growl. “The timekeepers made you. You’ve never lost anyone. You’ve never known anything besides this … this nightmare.” Frustrated, he pushes away from the chair and gestures broadly at the room around them. “Don’t tell me you get it.”

Mobius sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re right,” he agrees, “I suppose I don’t get it. But I can’t change what you’ve lost, either. All I can do is -”

“I know,” Loki cuts him off, and now he is the one who feels just plain tired. Just as swiftly as the rage had crashed over him, it was now receding again, leaving Loki feeling drained and so, so exhausted. “All you can do is offer me opportunity.” Not salvation. Not anything useful.

Instead of replying, Mobius just puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Why don’t we start fresh tomorrow,” he suggests. “Okay? ‘Cause I can also offer you your benefits package, if you’re interested. Involves a hot meal and a place to sleep.” His lips quirk a little. “No offense, but you look like you could use both, like, yesterday.”

Loki eyes the other man. Mobius’s features blur a bit, and he realizes it’s because his eyes have welled up. He rubs them and then sighs and nods, giving in because what else is he to do? This is what he has been reduced to - powerless, with nowhere else to go, his entire existence contingent upon getting in - and staying in - Mobius’s good graces.

He’ll start with a hot meal.

#charlotte writes #follower celebration prompt series #loki series spoilers #loki spoilers #loki tv series spoilers #mobius dick #loki + mobius (platonic)#validatemepls #NOW i am going to go watch the finale #wish me luck

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fxcking-anon · 4 years

Note

hi! request, spencer xfem!reader? reader works at the bau but spencer isn’t there (mutual crush or beginning of relationship) so she swings by his apartment to see he has a stomach flue so she helps and takes care of him? fluff?

Chicken Soup

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

TW: None :)

Word Count: 1,925

A/N: I’m so so very sorry for how long this took. I ruptured my appendix right after I got this request then started classes again and all of a sudden it was October! But it’s done now and we are on the road to being on top of our shit again! Woo! (I may or may not have posted this during math class too oops)

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Spencer had given you a key to his apartment a few months ago. After Penelope was shot, you really struggled being alone in your apartment. So, you found yourself knocking on Spencer’s door after a long case. More often than not, you stayed the night. Over time, you’d brought a few things to keep there for when you did sleep over. While Spencer was no Derek Morgan, protector-of-all, kicking-doors-in-and-taking-names, he knew how to distract you from the darkness you both saw on a daily basis. And on the worst nights, he held you after your nightmares.

You had tried to return the key once you could finally be alone again. Spencer refused, insisting you were welcome to come and go as you pleased. So you did, often bearing gifts as you walked through the door. Sometimes coffee, a home cooked meal, or maybe a movie.

The two of you had always been close. You had a habit of befriending the misfits and bringing them out of their shells. It also helped that people seemed to find you easy to talk to. You can’t name how many times an acquaintance has spilled their soul to you just because you “seem really approachable”.

And yet, after months of spending most of your days off together and you having a key to his apartment, it took nearly the entire BAU team, excluding Hotch, holding an intervention of sorts to force you two to address the fact that you clearly liked each other and what you were currently doing, was dating.

That led to an awkward evening back at his apartment, trying to talk things through. You knew Spencer didn’t exactly have a lot of experience with relationships and honestly, you didn’t have a lot of experience with healthy ones. After an excruciating half hour of awkward silence and “well, what do you think?” back and forth, Spencer just took your face in his hands and kissed you.

You’d been officially together since then. Over the past few weeks, the two of you had established a little routine at work. He usually beat you there on nights you didn’t stay with him. He’d grab you both coffee and leave yours at your desk with a little drawing on a sticky note. The little creatures he drew were odd looking and sometimes a bit scary, but you still found yourself storing the sticky notes away in one of the drawers in your desk.

Today, you were running late after an accident on the freeway put you much further behind schedule than you would’ve liked. As you stepped out of the elevator on the sixth floor, you scanned the room for his mop of curly hair, coming up empty.

“Spence isn’t with you?” JJ asked, looking concerned as she hoisted the case files she was carrying higher into her arms.

“No, I stayed home last night because I had to finish some laundry I was putting off. Is he not here?” you tried to ignore the surge of panic that began to flow through you. While it was highly unlikely anything had happened to him, he’d been held captive before. In your line of work, it wasn’t completely off the table. You and JJ locked eyes, slight worry laced in both of your eyes.

“Hotch hasn’t heard from him, I just figured you had,” she said.

“No, I’ll call him now.”

You beelined for the empty conference room before calling your boyfriend. “Y/N?” Spencer croaked, picking up on the fourth ring.

You quickly realized he was sick. After hanging up and reassuring Spencer you’d be there as fast as you could, ignoring his protests that you need to be at work, you found yourself in Hotch’s office.

“Look, we don’t have a case and if we get one, I can be back here, ready to go in twenty minutes flat. It’s just, he doesn’t take care of himself as it is and he’s likely downplaying how sick he really is-” you started off, rambling off excuses.

“Y/L/N,” Hotch said, cutting you off. “It’s fine. Just take your paperwork with you. I’ll have Garcia call you if we get a case, okay?”

“Thank you so much, Sir,” you said, heading back to your desk to grab your things. You didn’t need to take the day off to go take care of your sick boyfriend. However, your boyfriend was rarely sick. In the time that you’ve known him, you’d never seen him sick. Ever. You attributed it to his heightened awareness of the spread of germs and his commitment to handwashing.

----------

On your way back to Spencer’s apartment, you made a quick pit stop at the local grocery store, picking up a few ingredients for your normal go to comfort foods.

You set the bags down when you reached his apartment door, fishing your key out of your bag. You opened the door to find a full sink and no sign of Spencer. You set the groceries on the counter before peeking into his bedroom.

Spencer was dead asleep, curled into the fetal position under his comforter and an additional three throw blankets. His hair was damp and matted on his forehead. There was a tense look on his sleeping face, brows furrowed and frowning. You stepped into the room, moving to situate yourself next to him on the bed. Gently, you brushed a few strands of hair from his forehead. “Y/N?” Spencer mumbled out, not yet opening his eyes. You leaned down to place a soft peck on his forehead, causing him to open his eyes. “I told you not to come,” he said sleepily, trying his best to sound stern.

“As if I wouldn’t. How are you feeling, baby?” you asked, voice still hushed.

“I have a fever. It’s probably the flu. Which means you’re going to get sick too,” he started, propping himself up on his elbows and pulling himself out of your gentle grasp.

You rolled your eyes before climbing all the way onto the bed and guiding him to rest back on your chest. “If I can handle kicking ass on a daily basis, I can handle a measly little cold. Now shut up and let me take care of you.”

Spencer huffed under his breath before settling his head on your chest, right over your heart. You could feel him relax as he listened to the steady pace of your heartbeat, drifting off to a more peaceful sleep. His eyebrows relaxed as you stroked his hair.

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You weren’t sure how long you were asleep when you woke up, checking Spencer’s bedside clock to see it had only been about two hours. Instinctively, you checked your phone, making sure you hadn’t missed any calls from Hotch. By some miracle, you had no new notifications. Maybe just this once, the universe would give you a day to take care of your sick boyfriend without having to race off to play hero.

Spencer was fast asleep, his breathing even and slow. You smiled to yourself before slipping out of his bed and resting his hand back against the pillows. You could lay there all day as he slept, but you knew you needed to start cooking now so he’d have something to eat when he finally emerged from his slumber.

Your mother had always made homemade soup when you were sick. It was cheesy as hell, but it was what you knew. So you got to work cutting up the vegetables you brought from the store as you popped the chicken in the over. You hummed to yourself as you cooked, dancing around aimlessly and singing into the butcher knife in your hand.

“Should I be concerned that you use knives as microphones?” Spencer asked, shuffling from his room, wrapped in a blanket. You froze, striking an Elvis pose with your knife as you smiled at him. His voice was less groggy now and he seemed to be a little more awake.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” you imitated Elvis, giggling a bit as you returned to chopping vegetables. “And listen, a girl has to make do with whatever makeshift mic she can find,” you teased, “Are you hungry?”

Spencer scrunched his face just enough for you to sense he still didn’t have an appetite. Regardless, he needed to eat. “I don’t need to be a genius to tell you how important it is that you get nutrients into your body-”

“Yeah, yeah” he grumbled, making his way to a cabinet behind you. He grabbed a sleeve of saltines from the middle shelf before hoisting himself onto the counter next to where you were slicing. “What are you making? It smells good.”

“Chicken soup,”

He hummed in acknowledgement, placing a cracker in his mouth. You smiled to yourself as the two of you sat in silence, you cutting up some celery and him munching on a cracker. You didn’t often get much domestic time together. With your work schedules, you didn’t have a lot of free time to begin with. Mostly, you’d do something quiet and low energy. It was hard to remember the last time you got to just be in each other’s presence while you did normal people things.

“What are you smiling around?” Spencer asked, looking at you inquisitively.

You looked up at him, breaking into a bigger smile. “It’s nice, getting to just be with you on a weekday, making lunch. I’d rather you weren’t sick, of course, but we haven’t had a day off in forever.”

He grinned back at you, taking a moment to brush a strand of hair that escaped your bun behind your ear. “I love you,” he said plainly, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

You’d both said I love you before, but you still felt the same butterflies as the first time he said it. You could’ve stayed like that for the rest of time, reveling in his gaze. However, the oven beeped, letting you know the chicken was done.

“I have to get that,” you whispered out, hating to remove your face from his light touch.

You pulled the chicken from the oven before shooing Spencer out of the kitchen and back into bed, convincing him to get some more rest as you finished the soup.

----------

As you lounged on the sofa with Spencer’s head in your lap later that evening, it dawned on you that Hotch never texted. You actually got a real day off. You stroked Spencer’s hair softly, twirling some of his little curls between your fingers. “What’s that song?” Spencer asked, shifting to look up at you. You furrowed your eyebrows at him, clearly confused. “You’ve been humming something, I don’t recognize it,” he said.

You stopped for a moment, realizing it was the same song your mom used to sing you when you were sick. “I’m not actually sure what it’s called,” you admitted, “My mom used to sing it to me when I was sick. I don’t remember the words anymore, just the melody.”

Spencer nodded in agreement, still staring up at you.

“What?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing, I just love you, that’s all.”

“I love you more.”

He leaned up to give you a quick kiss, his lips far less chapped after you spent the day pumping him full of liquids and hot soup. He laid back on your lap, tuning back into the silly cartoon on the television screen. Your hands found their way back into his hair again, sighing contently.

#criminal minds #mgg #spencer reid #reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #matthewgraygubler

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dinthehottotty · 4 years

Text

Catch Me If You Can

Summary: Din finds new meaning to old words.

Warnings: Straight, unadulterated, violently disgusting fluff. It's gross.

A/N: translations at the bottom. No editting.

Those five stupid words got him everytime. They always stirred a childish rivalry between the two of you and he hated it. He was well and grown, those insignificant words should have no effect on him.

But they did.

From the time you were both foundlings it burned him. Not because you were faster than him, because he managed to grab you everytime, but the fact that it always worked on him. He idly wondered if that's why he was so drawn to bounty hunting. Had you trained him to chase?

Often times, when he's flying through the endless streaking that is hyperspace he thinks about you. Hyperspace is to you as visiting the armorer is to his parents. The whirring of hyperspace makes him dream of you saying that like some sick nightmare.

He remembers the first time it's said to him, a couple weeks after he was rescued. He'd seen you, both of you young enough that you hadn't sworn the creed. He remembers you watching him with excited eyes and sneaking over to him when all he wanted was to cry again over the loss of his parents.

"It's easier not to think about it," you'd told him, "and when you do, think about the good things." It had surprised him. He'd never spoken a word, he quickly discovered you were a foundling yourself, rescued only a short time prior. You'd eased him a bit, accepting his quiet nature with your chatty one. He thinks often of your cheeky smile from youth. It's hard to imagine what it looks like now, all he sees when you laugh is just the endless times as children he saw your grin. How you stayed so upbeat he didn't know.

But when he'd dried his tears you begged him to play and he had. "Catch me if you can!" Was shouted and so began his rage because you flashed a devious look over your shoulder as you ran.

You dared him to try.

Then it continued.

Catch me if you can, as you were trained to fight and he'd chase you across the training fields. In the middle of brawls, you'd call it out and he'd immediately turn to chase. It was purely instinctual. How you found him that one time on some outer rim planet, magnitizing trouble his direction, he decided you were bad luck. You'd weezed it as you both sprinted from an unidentifiable creature that was ready to tear you both limb from limb. He'd punched the back of your helmet for it when you were both in private (and you found it hilarious as he shook his knuckles free from pain).

It turned into a joke you'd say. Because he might be faster than you but he always have to push himself to keep up with you. It was competitive but effortless on your part and that brought out the childlike indignation he buried down. You pushed all the buttons in the perfect sequence to rile him up. He hated it. He dreaded it.

You'd appear in the furthest reaches and the most annoying manner, sneaking up on him to whisper it like it was the funniest thing. Swooping in to steal his bounties at the most inconvenient times. He never understood it. You'd catch them just before him and dump them at his feet like a lothcat dropping a womp rat on its owners doorstep. Smug and proud.

You'd jibe him with those five words whenever you could. Some of the most difficult, dangerous bounties that could yield a mighty reward and you'd just... hand them over like it was nothing.

It frustrated him to no end. But there was nothing in the world that felt better than sacking you to the ground, he swears. He loved to win against you, even if it felt like you let him. He always second guesses himself when it happens because you laugh! Like it's all in the fun.

You snare him everytime with that line and he knows he's lost. You were a fierce warrior and honestly he was glad you didn't bounty hunt often. If you did he wouldn't have even half the credits.

You swore the creed before he did. Earned your signet before him. Won a blaster before he did. It was endless chasing and even when you lost he could never understand just why you seemed to enjoy yourself so much. He could never tell if you were a rival or a friend but deep down he always hoped it was just an annoying friend.

He felt like it was a waste of your talents for you to transfer to the covert under medicine instead of mercenary work. To be honest, though he had seen you work, fingers flying effortlessly. They were steady, even when covered in blood.

He tried to tell himself that he was just too exhausted from the last bounty to not clean up his newest wound. A few shallow stabs that he'd acquired in the scuffle of a twi'lek that refused to give in. Din had closed it with an emergency cauterizer but it was mess and awkward, especially the one on his hip.

The excuses kept rolling in his head of what he'd tell you on why he didn't just clean it up himself before he realized he couldn't stop thinking about your modulated laugh or the lightness of your gloved touch compared to his. (He was fully aware of how hard you could hit and was always amazed by the delicacy of your gentle touches.)

It was after he left the Cantina, delivering bounties, collecting rewards, internally punching Kreef, that he finally just admitted he missed you. He missed the only person he might call his friend.

Din is aware that this will be the third time in the last two months that he's sought you out in this manner. That it's becoming a habit instead.

So he tries not to limp to badly to the convert. When he reaches the medical room he feels disappointed that your armor doesn't catch his eye at first. You'd probably been requested on a mission, somewhere important.

That is until he spots you half hidden behind a curtain, hunched over another mandalorian and focused intensely on whatever was under the bandage you were staring at.

He'd seen you do that. You were evaluating. You'd stand still as a droid, thinking about whatever wild random thoughts came out of your head. Another thing that marveled him. You were so creative, always looking for a different way to do things, just for the fun of it. It frustratingly worked in your favor but he thinks it's got more to do with stubbornness than good logistics.

He shuffles that way, and if you notice, you don't acknowledge him as he sinks awkwardly into one of the chairs. He keeps his weight off his hip.

"There is an avaliable baar'ur on the otherside, vod." You murmur without looking up. You'd noticed him, however not noticed it was him.

"I'll wait," he rumbles and your head jerks up in response. He likes it more than he cares to admit because your straightening and evaluating him instead of the man on the table who is no doubt glaring at him. Din thinks it's one of the many that float around and boast for your attention.

"Did you get stabbed again?" You demand.

"Not deep." Your laugh flutters about and then your turning back to your current patient who relaxes as your finally return your attention on him.

"If you want an excuse to see me just ask, you don't have to hurt yourself to do it. Just stop by, bring me some shig." You say and begin to pick up tools. When you remove the bandage Din sees a healing wound. You were checking up on him.

"I'll remember that." He can feel your grin through your helmet.

By the time he was settled on the table for examination, you were already hovering over him. He shifted onto his good side, rolling toward you as he jerked his tunic up. He had to unclip his belt to lower his pants enough for the wound on his hip to show.

You were forced to ignore the glorious dark trail of hair beginning to peak out from the top of them.

He very nearly sighed in relief as your hands carefully braced over either wound and prodded gently. It makes his heart race. "Maker, Din," he could hear you hiss minutely. "Do I have to board your damn trash ship in order to keep you from doing this shit to yourself? I'm giving you bacta."

"Don't need it. And my ship is not trash." He grunts, making you twist your helmet toward his.

"Or'dinii," you grunt lowly. Maybe he was a bit of a moron. "I'm taking your cauterizer away." Finally, you draw away and begin to pull out supplies to clean and dress his wound.

"So I'll just bleed out next time?"

"It'd be a mercy." Din smiles under his helmet as you begin gently cleaning his gashes. You knew by this point that he also refused the local anesthetics by now. He couldnt feel your hands the last time.

Din relaxes against the table, calmed by your presence. "Do you want to stop by for dinner tonight?" You prompt him.

"I have bounties to hunt."

"Tell you what, have dinner with me tonight and I'll help you catch your next few."

"I don't need your help."

"Sure. Sure. I mean, you're totally up to catching me right now." Din feels the spike of emotion in his chest and groans in annoyance.

"I have caught you everytime, wounded or not," he growls. "Were not children anymore." He doesn't expect you to lean down to his helmet. It startles his heart into a sprint as you rub your thumb affectionately over his hip bone. What game was this? All he can see is his helmet reflecting in yours.

"If you haven't realized that I enjoy you chasing me at this point, I may have to spell it out for you, Din." Your threat has a mocking to it that pisses him off more, but he's tense under your thumb stretching to the inside of his pelvic bone. It's taunting, teasing.

"What's the point?"

"Maybe you'll have to try again and find out."

And you rose back to work silently on his wound, letting him mull over your words and over think the tension.

Finally, he's patched up properly and sits up on the table. "What time are you done here?" He asks.

"Twenty minutes ago."

"Why didn't you say anything."

"Doesn't matter, does it?" You make quick work of cleaning up your supplies. "So dinner?" You demand. Din grins under his helmet.

"Fine." He relents, climbing to his feet.

"Good. Oh, and Din," you lean close, backing him into the edge of the stone table your hand presses into his chest plate. "Catch me if you can." Before you take off like there's blaster fire.

You let him catch you this time, right in the entrance to your quarters. He tackles you through the curtain and you roll across the floor, laughing all the way. Clearly, you're enjoying as much as you did playing tag or hide and seek as kids. Despite the bite of pain in his wounds he wrestles your arms to the ground on top of you.

"You like this?" He demands, half amused.

"Yeah, you were the best part of my life when we were growing up, it brings me back, you know?" He tenses when you casually admit that. And the silence hangs heavy, only heavy breathing and the tap of beskar chests heaving against each other.

Then he headbutts the helmet to yours. "I... I think about your smile a lot... from when we were kids." You shift slowly under him, legs framing his hips.

"It's strange isn't it? That we've known each other so long and we don't look anything like we did the last time we saw one another." Your voices lowered.

"We... we could see each other again," he finds himself suggesting. You gasp quietly underneath him.

"Like... like leaving the covert?"

"If you... if you wanted. But..." he hesitates, trying to remember how annoying you were supposed to be. "What if we got married?" He feels more nervous than he ever remembers feeling.

"Okay," you whimper, sounding as breathless as you feel.

"Okay?" He finds himself repeating. Your helmet nods frantically against his.

"Yes, okay!" And he's letting you go of your arms when you sound like your ready to sob. He kind of likes the sound of the beskar armor sliding against more beskar, but suddenly he's exhausted and all he wants is to sink into your warm embrace unhindered. Only rumbling bellies reminding the both of you to detangle.

...

His jump to hyperspace was welcomed this time. His brain swimming around you, his Riduur. His love. His best friend. He could embrace the thoughts of you in hyperspace.

Navarro darts out of view and he settles back in his seat, a pleasant sort of soreness filling his body from his eager activities you'd both participated in. He just wished he could have seen your face after the ceremony, but there wasn't enough time.

"Hey, Din," he hears you call from the doorway of the cockpit. But it sounds different, lighter. You weren't wearing your helmet. A thrill of excitement filled him for a split second. He soaked up a moment before he slowly pilots his chair about.

You weren't just not wearing your helmet, you weren't wearing anything. It stalled his brain to see the shy but mischievous smile as you casually lean against the doorframe. He knows the tightened nipples are due to the cool air of his ship and he takes in the face he's been imagining for nearly three decades.

You smile up at him, mocking him. "Catch me if you can," you murmur softly, but there's no motion to run. Din smiles behind his helmet.

There's no rage this time. Only thrill and awe at the face he's imagined a billion times and how he still couldn't have gotten it right. He reaches for his own helmet lifting it off his head to see his spouse for the first time since they were kids.

....

Baar'ur - Medic

Vod - Brother, sister, comrade

Shig - a hot, tea like beverage

Or'dinii - Moron or fool

Taglist:

@lxdyred

#din x you #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din #fluff #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal

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entityskillcount-archive · 3 years

Note

Thoughts on everyone in the realms?

"Short Answer; I made a chart. Not a well drawn chart, mind you, but a chart. Sometimes you don't wanna put effort into drawing 50 something faces"

"Long answer, uh....well lemme go down the list"

Claudette: My Starflower~!! She's so sweet and kind and amazing in trials and every time I see her I swoon a little- I love her so much~ Dwight: He's cute- And he's a good leader, despite his nervous personality, he knows how to bring a group together. Final guy potential. Ash: ....Don't...Tell him I said this? But uh....Evil Dead was one of my biggest comfort series, the thing that got me through losing both my parents....the thing that helped me transition, pick my name, and fueled my FX hobby. And I'm still attached, even realizing he's a real person and all- But...it's weird to just, be upfront with something like that, so I'm just...burying it as best as I can. David: He's a little rough around the edges but he’s good to have in a trial, plus when you can get past the walls, he’s nice to talk to. Kate: Her music by the campfire is calming and she’s such a sweetheart. If we were in a better situation I’d love to learn Guitar from her, but, it’s hard when you’re a moment away from a trial at any given time. Amalthea (@askthewidowstars OC): She judged my entire vibe but jokes on her I’m the one who snagged a cutie for life- Meg: If I had a dollar for every time she left me for dead I would have enough money to paint the entire campfire in solid gold. The only time we’ve ever properly talked was about SAW traps and 90% of it was her admitting she could beat every single trap because she was ‘built different’ Jeff: He’s a sweetheart and really nice to be around. Sometimes when we’re by the campfire in our downtimes I’ll let him draw on my arm. it kinda makes me want a tattoo, honestly. If we ever get out of here, I might get one. Steve: Bros!! We kinda make up team ‘Altruistic Himbo’, Plus the ‘Babysitter/Brother’ Vibes mesh really well. I kinda wanna re-style his hair though, mostly because it looks fluffy, and nice to play with. Quentin: Bros!! We’re gonna make matching T-Shirts about committing Arson on Freddy in particular. He’s fun to hang around in our downtime, and I hope there’s a chance he can get some actual rest, even in here. He deserves it. Adam: If Dwight wasn’t the leader I feel like he’d take over the Reigns. I feel like he’s the calm type that doesn’t handle energetic types well though. Which, y’know, makes things hard. Nea: Anytime I see her she’s either sneaking around the map and watching everyone get killed, or doing something stupid to get herself killed. I’d get grey hair if We were actually friends. Feng: Gamer bros- I got to find out we actually played a lotta the same stuff before we were taken by the Entity. We get a chance to nerd out in between trials- Laurie: Best Final Girl hands down. I kinda hope she can teach me Decisive Strike one day- I feel like its also just a little awkward since again, still a fan of Myers Nancy: She doesn’t agree that Demo’s a good boy, which makes sense, but we but heads over it. Also I’m pretty sure she wants me dead for touching the bones around the map one too many times. They’re just too tempting.... Jake: He’s pretty quiet, but he’s helpful in trials. I heard he’s been to a convention a few times, but I don’t think he’s actually into it as much as I thought...Which kinda sucks. I’d love more cosplay buddies y’know? Yui: Kinda makes me want a motorbike. We don’t talk but she seems really cool. A little too cool to me around if that makes sense. Yun-Jin: She benefits off of throwing everyone else under the bus. And 90% of the time she will throw everyone under the bus. Even if she needs actual help to escape the trial. Cheryl: Cheryylll!! She’s really cool and honestly would add her to the ‘Can kill god if she was not nerfed’ Squad. Especially since y’know, she has- I bet if we got enough of the kids together we could just beat the Entity’s ass. I know she could. Tapp: Always been a fan of Tapp before I was taken, although I feel like he’d wanna arrest me if we weren’t in the Entity’s Realm. I might be a little too excited for my own good about Kramer’s work. I don’t think he’d believe the fact its a movie either. Ace: He’s kinda like the Uncle of the group around the campfire, but, coming into trials, He’s still for saving his own skin- You can also only stand dad jokes for so long. Especially in an eternity like this. Leon: He’s cool!!! I got so excited first realizing He and Jill were here, and I wanna get a chance to talk to him about everything that went down, but Haven’t got the chance. He’s nice inside of Trials though, usually doesn’t leave anyone behind. Not a fan of getting blinded though. Jill: She knows how to lead the trials well, and I look up to her a lot. She’s always been such a badass!! Bill: If Bill gets his hands on a weapon the entire Realm would be fucked. Badass as hell and Kinda scary. Another one on the list of ‘Entity needed to Nerf’ Felix: You’d think a Childless Father and a Fatherless son would be able to bond a bit more, but, I think we each kinda get the same vibe of homesickness from one another. He’s kind though, and it’s neat to see his work whenever we’re by the campfire. Elodie: She’s better at helping out than most of the others, but she’s still in a survival of the fittest mindset. I loved hearing about her studies from before she was taken though. I feel like if we had more time we could dig deeper into this whole world and what its about. But we don’t get that- Zarina: We just don’t really click as much, honestly. I’d love to get to know her better but I think she’s more into digging into the killers and what she can find out about this place. Which y’know, could be better done with a team. Sage (@askthewidowstars OC): HUSBAND!!! My husband. I love him to the Moon and back. He’s amazing and I miss him even when we’re five feet apart- ...I need a hug now- Amanda: Best girl hands down!! We vibed a lot in between Trials talking about her traps and old designs, she was impressed by my knowledge, and we hang out in Gideon sometimes! Ghostface: He’s pretty cute- Also fun to be around, even if he’s kind of a dick when he’s actually at work, it’s better when you’re outside of a Trial. It’s also neat to see he’s not just two idiots in a halloween costume and his own person, as much as I love the Scream Series, too- Leatherface: Bubba!!! Honestly I’d handle being chainsawed. Fuckin Love Bubba- Huntress: I wanna learn how to throw hatchets but I know I never will. She’s kinda scary, but also I feel like if she could adopt some of the others in the Realms, she totally would. Oni: The only times I’ve ever really seen him is just before my skull gets bashed in. All I really have associated to him is the splitting headache. Twins: I’m gonna punt Victor into the sun. I haven’t been good around kids beforehand and this tiny gremlin motherfucker just makes it worse. Pinhead: I was so excited to see him!! He’s one of the few that talks more often than not in a trial, and he’s always had this air of elegance about him which makes it so much cooler! I’d be tempted to grab the box to solve it, but, at the same time Dwight’s already been hunted. I just...want to see how it works, really. Maybe if I ask nicely? Nah, probably not. Pyramid Head: He’s so fucking COOL!!! He’s always just been really fucking cool and I still get stars in my eyes. I wanna re-create his weapon one day. Joey: Joey’s one of the chill killers to be around, probably my favorite amongst the legion. Also Cosplay gang?? Hello? Susie: She’s cute!! I like her vibes whenever there’s not violence involved. I wonder if she’d ever get into costume making, she has the artistic eye for it. I also wonder if she’d ever dye other people’s hair...I’d kinda want green tips one day- Frank: Still wanna throw a palette at him. He’s one of the more serious of the Legion, and usually the one you’d find with a Mori. Not as Serious as Julie but only because he has the cocky god complex to go with it. Julie: She’s definitely the most serious out of the Legion. There’s no real rest whenever we’re in a trial against her. Scary as hell and less of a bastard than the other three. Hillbilly: I know he deserved a lot better than this, especially after hearing more about him. I...Haven’t gotten to see much than the end of his chainsaw though. Blight: This dude’s singlehandedly bringing back my fear of needles and I thought I lost that with HRT- Also like, dude spits up orange fuckin everywhere. Michael: My Mans!! I always get a little excited knowing we’re up against him. It’s habit- It’s kinda weird to see him easily affected by like, palettes or flashlights though. Spirit: She seems like she could be nice when there’s some downtime. I’m also one of the few that can understand her well enough, which probably makes things easier. I found out she’s basically my age when I survived a trial by myself. I’d hope to hang out more sometime. Nemesis: God he’s so fucking tall. Kinda surprised it was Nemesis out of everyone that could’ve been brought, and also, kinda terrified? Still am kinda terrified. I’m surprised he hasn’t just torn up an entire map yet. His zombie minions are also annoying. Wraith: All this motherfucker does is roll up to pull me off Gens and Exist as a problem. I don’t see much of him outside of a Trial. Trapper: Motherfucker Incarnate. If the Entity lets us throw hands I’m fighting him first. Freddy: ....Gross. I liked the Nightmare on Elm Street series a lot, but...Freddy as a person? Ew. Especially this iteration. Demogorgon: Demopuppy!! He’s a good boy and he deserves to get treats. Even if the Treats are flesh....I wonder if he likes candy though. Trickster: Pretty!! He also Gives me DIO vibes because of the Jacket and the Knife throwing...Imagine if a killer could stop time...that’d be terrifying. Deathslinger: I wanna sit down and look at his gun more but I also feel like if I ask I’d just get shot on sight. Intimidating as hell but also cool. Mary: ....Still on the very complicated ‘Ex Girlfriend that murdered me’ State. It’s hard to avoid her though. Especially since she wants to get back together since we’re stuck here. Nurse: She does not help my fear of Hospitals, honestly. While she’s easy to go up against, it’s still eugh. Plague: I really, really hate her power. The Sickness and the Vomit is just- Eughhhhh- It just hits every bad sensory issue at once. Clown: ...I get killers are Killers and aren’t supposed to be good people but also like....Disgusting. Please Remove from the Realm. He’s just- ...Ew. Doctor: NOPE. NO. NEVER. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

#asks #anonymous #God this was so much to write out

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sir-subpar · 4 years

Text

His Translator Part 13

Burt woke up with a yawn, rubbing his eyes. He attempted to get up but realized that there was something weighing him down a bit. Burt opened his eyes, blinking the sleep away. Now it all made sense. Henry was sleeping right next to him. His arm was wrapped around Burt, and their legs were tangled together. How could Burt forget that he had fallen asleep on his boss's shoulder the previous night?

Burt wasn't sure what to do. So he just… didn't do anything. It was easier to just stay. Wrapped up in Henry's warmth. Even in his sleep Henry was cuddly. Burt rested his head on his pillow. He probably wasn't gonna get back to sleep anytime soon, so he just decided to enjoy this moment as much as he could. It wasn't like Henry was bothered by this, if he was he would've left while Burt was sleeping. Besides, this wasn't the first time they had fallen asleep together, but it was the first they slept so… close together. Burt felt so comfortable like this, yet so nervous. He knew why. He was confident that he had feelings for Henry. He knew he did. He just… wasn't sure what to do with them. Would it be better to just remain friends? Or should he take a chance with a relationship? Would Henry want a relationship? Burt let out a quiet sigh. He could worry about that later, right now he just wanted to enjoy this.

Burt buried his face into Henry’s chest, listening to the sounds of his breathing and his heartbeat. His breathing was steady, and deep. Just a simple in and out pattern, but it was so relaxed. This wasn’t like last time when Henry was tense and fearful. He was still, sleeping in tranquility. Burt listened to Henry's heartbeat. It was rhythmic. Burt smiled a bit and let out a content sigh. Suddenly, Henry shifted.

"Mmmmngh." Henry hummed. Slowly waking up.

Well, the cuddling was nice while it lasted, but Burt knew he and Henry had things to do. They had jobs and needed to get up anyway. Henry's eyes fluttered open, immediately locking on Burt's own eyes. "Hey Henry." Burt greeted gently, doing his best to not be nervous or get embarrassed. This was just a nice moment between the two of them. No need to be embarrassed.

Henry smiled, then his eyes wandered. He realized the unintentional cuddling that had happened. Honestly, he thought it was nice. Holding Burt in his arms felt… nice. Henry dismissed his desire to cuddle Burt more. They had to go to work. Henry gently unwrapped himself from Burt, figuring that he would like to not be unconsciously held down anymore. When the two separated from the embrace, Henry signed a "good morning" to Burt, then got up to get ready for the day in his own room. Henry waved at Burt and flashed a smile before leaving.

Burt too, got ready for the day. Doing all those mundane morning routine things. He held the little topaz tophat Henry had given him the previous day. He would treasure it. Burt set the beautiful little gem on his drawing desk, then, he left. It was time for work.

…

Burt sat with Sven at lunch that day. Henry was busy and Sven was on break for once (Henry and Reginald had banned him from doing any work until he ate lunch). Sven was grumbling about how he didn’t have time for breaks while eating his lunch. “It is inefficient for me to do this,” Sven murmured. “Pretty sure it’s less efficient to have you face plant at your desk from lack of energy than it is to just take a break once in a while” Burt replied in his usual blunt tone. Sven stayed quiet for a moment. “I don’t like how right you are.” Sven said, avoiding eye contact. “Just try not to keel over from stress, Sven.” Burt half joked, teasing his workaholic friend. It was nice to hang out with Sven again, they hadn’t done so in a while. “Other than being a grump, how are you?” Burt asked, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Fine I guess. The paperwork is tedious, but it is my job to get it done.” Sven sighed. “Would you rather go on a heist or something? I’m sure Henry would let you if you asked him about it.” Burt suggested. He knew Henry loved teaming up with people on missions, it could be good for Sven to get out more. “Not everyone is all buddy-buddy with the boss like you are Burt” “So?” Burt asked. "He doesn't bite, just talk to him."

Sven seemed hesitant, not sure what to say. "Trust me Sven, it'll be fine." Sven smiled a little at Burt's reassurance, he kind of needed to hear it that day. "I'll think about it… Speaking of the boss, I've been hearing some… rumors about you and him lately." Burt rolled his eyes at the blonde. "Since when were you so interested in random rumors and gossip?" Burt asked with a slight hint of annoyance in his tone, it just seemed silly to listen to random gossip. "I wasn't until they were about you" Sven replied curly. Burt only hummed dismissively in response. "Will you just listen!?" Sven asked impatiently.

Burt sighed. "Alright fine. What are these rumors you're so obsessed about?" he asked, deciding to humor his friend. “There is this rumor that you and the boss are… together?” Sven got a little quieter towards the end of his sentence, seemingly growing more awkward. Burt’s cheeks turned a little pink. He wasn’t ashamed of the fact that he was attracted to his boss, but it was weird to know that people were talking about the possibility of him being in a relationship with Henry. “Are.. these rumors true?” Sven asked, he didn’t want to make Burt uncomfortable, but he was curious. He had never seen Burt really be attracted to anyone. However, he had noticed changes in Burt’s behavior; he saw how Burt seemed to work harder whenever Henry asked him to do something in contrast to how he usually would half-ass whatever was asked of him. He noticed how Burt spent a lot of time practically following the boss when he wasn’t working. He noticed that Burt stopped referring to Henry as “boss” and instead referred to him by name. And he noticed the change of color on Burt’s face…

Burt avoided making eye contact with Sven, but still answered the question. “No.. Henry and I aren’t dating. We just hang out sometimes.” Burt replied shyly. Sven tilted his head in curiosity. Did Burt sound disappointed? He seemed a bit sad all of the sudden. “Burt. Are you alright?” Sven asked, feeling a little concerned. “Yeah? Why?” Burt replied, a little unsure.

“You look sad,” “I’m not sad. I’m just… I don’t really know what to do right now" Burt gave up on the excuses. There was no point. “Don’t know what to do? About what?” Sven asked. "The boss and I… we aren't together, but I… guess I want us to be?" There it was. He finally said it out loud… and it wasn't even to Henry. "Oh… wait, really?" Sven asked, surprised. Since when had Burt started feeling romantic towards anything?? He really missed out on a lot when they didn't talk. "Yeah. I like him." Burt admitted, in his slightly embarrassed but mostly blunt tone. "Does the chief know about this? Like, at all??" Sven questioned, how did he miss this? He really missed a lot when he was working. "I mean, probably not? I've never said anything about it but.. there are moments where I wonder if he feels the same way or if he's just being friendly. I'm honestly not sure." Burt shrugged. Henry's behavior was a mystery sometimes. "I've thought about asking him, but I guess I'm just not sure how I want to." Burt avoided eye contact with Sven. He felt so silly talking about this. It wasn't the worst situation to be in, but it was a bit tricky.

"Huh." Was all Sven could manage. He didn't necessarily have a problem with this. He was more surprised by the fact that Burt liked someone at all. Not to mention Henry of all people. It's not that Sven disliked Henry or anything, but it seemed odd that he was the object of Burt's affection. What was the draw there? Sure, Henry's nice and all, but that couldn't just be it. Regardless of the reason though, he couldn't argue the fact that Henry made Burt happy, and Sven wanted him to be happy. But how could he help? He wasn't some sort of matchmaker. The two had sat there in silence for a minute when Sven got an idea.

"What do you like about the chief?" Sven asked. Maybe if he could help Burt put how he felt into words, he could tell the boss the same thing. "I uh… I dunno..er.." Burt seemed to grow shyer by the minute. He was never really that open of a person when it came to feelings except when he was around Henry. Wait.

"I uh.. I like how he makes me feel...safe? Like I can just be who I am and he'll just be who he is and it's comfortable between us." Sven smiled a bit. That was a good start! "What else?"

Burt fidgeted with the microphone on his headset, a small nervous habit of his. "I like.. How he visits me when I work, and how he'll bring me snacks or meals. And he'll just hang out for a bit." Burt started smiling as he continued to think about Henry. "I like it when he comforts me, and I like being there to comfort him. I like how he trusts me enough to be vulnerable around me." Burt felt a bittersweet sensation when he recalled Henry's nightmare after spending so much time in recovery. How broken Henry looked, and how much better he felt when Burt was there for him. He remembered how Henry was there to celebrate his birthday when no one else did. "I like his dedication." Henry was always so determined to help the clan even when he could barely stand. "I like how affectionate he is. Even if it took some getting used to." Henry's hugs were always so warm and welcoming. "I like how when a situation gets awkward, he'll do whatever he can to make people feel comfortable again." Burt almost cringed at the memory of when Henry showed him his scars and put his hand on his scarred chest, but he also felt a little amused at how Henry did the same thing to him so that they would be even. "I like a lot about him." Burt smiled, his cheeks were definitely pink but he didn't care this time. "He just makes me happy to be around him."

"That's what you should tell him!" Sven nearly yelled in excitement. "Huh?" Burt jumped a bit then tilted his head to the side, it wasn't often that Sven yelled like that. "You should tell the chief everything you just told me. There's no better confession than an earnest one like that." Sven reached across the table and held Burt's hand supportively. "If that would make you happy, why not do it?" Sven gave his friend an encouraging smile. Burt stared at Sven for a moment before nodding.

"Thanks Sven…." Burt smiled, gripping Sven's hand gently, before pulling away. Burt stood up, the two of them nodded to each other in acknowledgment. Burt took a deep breath. He felt nervous, but encouraged at the same time. He could do this.

"I will."

#henry stickmin #burtmin #burt curtis #burtstick #henry stickmin x burt curtis #his translator #fanfic #sven svensson

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theredraccoon · 3 years

Text

A Desperate Proposal - Ch 2

The soft snick of the heavy office door closing was overly loud in the quiet room and Simon raised his head, blinking rapidly. Like breathing, blinking was still a habit that Simon had yet to shake in his five years as a vampire, but whatever, he had time. Oodles of time, apparently; a fact that still threw him on a regular basis. He blinked again, actually registering the quiet— when had his music stopped? Wasn’t his playlist something like five hours long? Had he really been working that long? What time was it?

This time it was the creak of the chair in front of his desk that got his attention. Simon finally snapped back to the real world and took in the sight of his Sire, sitting prim and proper as usual. Raphael’s face was a mix of resignation, amusement, and irritation; in other words, it was his “Simon Face.”

“Good afternoon, Simon. How are the books looking today?” Raphael’s voice was smooth and dry.

Simon automatically straightened and his hands started to shuffle the papers around on his desk, moving his laptop back, rearranging pens, voice getting brighter and louder as he talked. “Oh! It’s going well. The numbers for last month look good, we've made some necessary adjustments. Forcing you to let me buy Quickbooks is paying off, I’ve been able to sort through the mess from, err, before, so much faster and I think that if make a few strategic changes we’ll be able to set up the new vampires with like, an income that will let them not be whiny assholes about what they’re missing from their former lives and I think… that you are not actually here to talk about accounting, are you.”

Simon thought he could detect at least a hint of “impressed” in the lines of Raphael’s face now, but the irritation was also stronger. Simon shifted in the ornate chair and bit his cheek as he kept his mouth shut and let the silence grow.

Finally, Raphael spoke. “No, Simon, I’m not here to talk about accounting. I’m here to relay the latest news from the Downworld Cabinet. Decisions have finally been made and they affect you. Directly affect you, in fact.” Raphael tugged at his cuffs, the crisp white shirt peeking out from the dark blue of his suit jacket. Simon’s eyebrows rose; he wasn’t used to any signs of nervousness from his Sire. His curiosity grew, along with some burgeoning apprehension.

Rapael continued, his voice firming as he went along. “The Cabinet has had a series of emergency meetings with the Clave. After much negotiation we have what we hope is the start of a solution to the... problem we are facing. There will be a series of marriages, between the Downworld and the Shadowhunters of New York. These alliances, if they prove effective, will then take place across the world as we attempt to figure out what is happening and how to counter it. If, and only if, our help is essential to defeating whatever is causing the Shadowhunters to drop like flies, we - the Downworld - will be able to renegotiate the Accords in a manner that is fair and equitable to us and not the Clave. So. We are obviously very invested in making these marriages work and be productive.”

Simon was blinking rapidly again. He felt his brain kickstart into a different gear as he struggled to comprehend what Raphael was saying and the implications of what he was hearing. Marriages? The Clave willing to renegotiate the Accords? Really? Those stubborn assholes? He knew the situation was serious, but really? Marriages? Who was getting married? Wait, why did Raphael say that he, Simon, was going to be directly affected?

His mouth popped open and Simon heard himself say, in a strange tone he’d never heard himself use before, “Who am I marrying, Sire?” Then Simon froze in his chair, his body startled by the leap his brain had made. He watched Raphael twitch slightly.

“The Second in Command of the New York Institute, Jace Lightwood. Alexander Lightwood’s brother.”

The words fell like dead weights in the middle of the room. Simon’s muscles felt locked in place, while his thoughts started to race forward like a bullet train.

The events of the past few months flicked through Simon’s head like a movie on steroids. Simon noticing expenses for the Hotel Dumort increasing suddenly for no discernable reason. The realization that Downworlders and foreign vampires were quietly flooding into New York at rates that surprised even the older vampires in the Clan, causing them to spend more and more money to hide their presence in the city. Raphael taking his concerns to Magnus. Magnus talking to Alec about the increased number of Downworlders in the New York Institute’s territory.

And then the horrifying knowledge that Shadowhunters were dying, dying everywhere, and it was forcing Downworlders into the city as they sought the protection of the Nephilim that remained, the protection that they would have fiercely denied ever needing in the past. Finally, endless hushed meetings between the various contingents of the Downworld as they struggled to make sense of what was happening. Simon, as Raphael’s reluctant Second, had attended several before his annoyance at the Seelie representative and his general impatience at the slow pace had led to Raphael kicking him out.

And now here they were, and Simon was beginning to realize that hiding his head in the accounting nightmare that was the New York Clan for the last month had probably been a mistake.

“I’m sorry, what? I’m marrying who? Why him? Why me? Who else is getting married? When are these marriages happening? What about the fact that I’m a vampire? The Seelies agreed to this? The werewolves? Is that what you’re saying? Really? I’m getting married? But my mom won’t be there. Or my sister. I never thought I’d get married without my mom there. What am I going to wear? Are the marriages taking place at the same time? Is this really the only way? Is Jace the hot blond one? The one who always looks constipated? I’m getting married?”

Raphael’s hands were suddenly on his face, cold brands on his cheeks, and Simon realized that at some point during his semi-hysterical rant he’d gotten up and was standing in front of his Sire. His body was vibrating.

“Simon. Child. I am here. I know that this is a shock and I am sorry for it. But yes, this is the only way. The Nephilim have been hiding their true situation, or they actually didn’t realize it until now, it’s unclear. Regardless, their numbers are now so low that the Downworld is legitimately in danger. We need them and for the first time in forever, they are admitting that they need us. Alliance through marriage has worked for Mundanes for millenia, we might as well try it. This is happening.”

“But why me?” Simon’s voice was a whine that he couldn’t control. Simon stayed still even as Raphael let go of his face and moved back to the chair in front of Simon’s desk. Watched Raphael settle back down, adjusting his suit for the second time. Finally, he spoke.

“Simon, I’m not sure if you have ever fully realized your power, or your responsibilities, as my Second. When I Turned you, you automatically had greater status than most as my Child, but when you presented as a Daylighter… Simon, the only reason that the New York Clan is mine is because I am your Sire. If I were not here, the other vampires would follow you. That is how powerful the draw of a Daylighter is. Especially because we have no idea why they exist, why you are one. If this plan is to work, each representative has to be of high importance, someone that proves that we are committed and have power to offer.”

Simon’s mouth opened. And closed. And opened and then closed again. He felt like a fish out of water, trying to grasp the full weight of what Raphael was saying. He’d known that the other vampires treated him differently but he’d thought it was just because he was young. And a bit of a spaz. And a nerd spouting pop culture references to creatures that were around when the only entertainment was going to see P.T. Barnum and his fish-monkeys. This was different. Slightly scary.

A brief wince crossed Raphael’s face and Simon’s focus sharpened. “What else, Raphael? What aren’t you telling me?”

“The Shadowhunters— Alec— put Jace’s name into the negotiations first, as a sign that they were willing to offer their best and brightest, and someone near and dear to the Institute. But we still weren’t sure how desperate they were and if the Clave was actually committed to changing some of their… prejudices. So we offered you. And they agreed. They are serious. Alec Lightwood is the one that discovered the depth of the problem in the first place. He seems level headed and not as willing to put up with the Clave’s bullshit."

The hits kept coming, apparently. “Does Jace even like guys? Do I have to get married to a straight guy? I thought this wasn’t supposed to be a complete sham?”

“Alec has assured me that his brother is bisexual and I believe him. But Shadowhunters are notoriously homophobic and it might be... difficult for a while. You remember the scandal when news of Magnus dating Alec broke. I think the Nephilim were more upset that Magnus was a man than he was a Downworlder. Or maybe it was equal, who knows. Regardless, no, you will not be marrying someone who isn’t interested in men. These marriages are meant to be alliances, they need a chance to work. ”

Simon drifted back to his own chair and sat down. “Well, at least there’s that. Although he could just be an asshole. The few times I’ve seen him lurking around Pandemonium he always looks angry. Maybe he just has Resting Bitch Face. Hopefully.” He met Raphael’s eyes. “This is really happening? It’s the only way? I feel like a broken record, but I need to know. I kinda gave up on marriage when I became a vampire, I’m not sure how to feel about this.”

Raphael leaned forward and kept Simon’s gaze. “Yes, Simon, this needs to happen. We don’t know what’s killing the Shadowhunters and it’s affecting all of us worse than we could have imagined. We need to figure out what’s happening and stop it, hopefully without too many more casualties. And we can use these marriages to make a better life for ourselves afterwards. If there is an afterwards.” His voice faded away and there was silence again.

“Shit. I guess I’m marrying a Shadowhunter.” Simon let his head rest against the heavy wooden chair and closed his eyes.

“Yes. Simon. Thank you. We’ll talk more soon.”

Simon heard Raphael get up and walk towards the door, enhanced hearing picking up every footfall and swish of cloth, knowing that it was deliberate, that Raphael was a master of silent movement, that his Sire wanted Simon to know that he was leaving, that he was retreating to give Simon space to absorb the bombshells dropped into his life.

The door shut soundlessly this time, just a whiff of displaced air. Simon swallowed hard.

#chapter 2 #shminibang #jimon #a desperate proposal #suck at tumblr

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winryofresembool · 3 years

Text

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 30

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: At Waystation, pt 3/?

A/N: Chapter 30 already! This chapter was not an easy one to edit as I was insecure about a lot of things, but hey, it's out now and that's what matters, right? I am so aware things are progressing a bit slowly right now but I feel it's kind of 'necessary' to have a bit of down time before things start going down. (Not that I'm capable of writing actual drama.) Well, at least we'll find out a bit more about Leo's past in this chapter.

Without a further ado, please enjoy and let me know what you think (those comments really help me!!!)

Words: exactly 3000 apparently :O

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

...

After breakfast Leo asked Calypso if she would like him to give her a tour around Waystation. She agreed, but Leo couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow at his family members when Georgina asked if she could go with the flatmates and Leo’s mothers told her that they needed Georgie’s help in some Christmas chores.

“What?” Josephine asked innocently when she noticed Leo staring.

“I dunno, tía Jo. It just kinda seems like you don’t want Georgie to hang out with us,” he stated bluntly.

“That’s not accurate at all, Leo,” she denied. “I’d gladly let Georgina go with you but we really do need her help around here. Christmas isn’t coming if we all just slack off, right, Emmie?”

“I agree, dear. I haven’t even…” Emmie’s hesitance only deepened Leo’s suspicions. “...hmmm, taken care of our mistletoes yet.”

“Mistletoes?” Leo crossed his arms over his chest, briefly daring to wonder what would happen if he and Calypso were under one of those plants at the same time. He shook his head to dispel such an idea.

“Didn’t we agree that we don’t need stuff like that? You don’t even like Christmas!”

“I may agree that this holiday is way too commercial these days, but since Emmie has some mistletoes growing in her greenhouse anyway, I don’t see why we wouldn’t use them,” Jo commented. “It’s nice that Georgie gets to experience some of the old traditions even if we grownups don’t care about them.”

“Whatever,” Leo rolled his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t win that battle.

“Um, if you need extra hands,” Calypso joined the conversation, addressing Jo and Emmie, “I don’t have to go with Leo. I’d love to help too.”

Leo felt a twinge of disappointment because of Calypso’s suggestion. His insecure side yelled that maybe he had misread Calypso’s intentions all along.

“Oh, no, no!” Emmie denied immediately. “You are our guest; we want you to take it easy and enjoy your stay here. I bet Leo’s tour is a lot more fun than us peeling way too many potatoes and carrots for the casserole.”

“I wouldn’t mind peeling potatoes,” Calypso mumbled but Leo’s mothers pretended they didn’t even hear that. The flatmates simply had to accept that they wouldn’t have a chaperone - except maybe Festus - on their tour.

Once the two of them were outside, Leo’s thoughts went back to the time when he had first arrived at Waystation. Back then, he had been only 15, having just escaped from his latest foster home, which had been located far away in New Mexico. His foster family there had hidden their opinion on him very badly, giving him sly remarks about his looks and telling him to speak clearer English even though Leo’s English had always been fine, thanks to his real mother allowing him to learn both Spanish and English as a small kid. They had also made him do the hard work such as carrying heavy loads while the other foster kid of the family got the easy tasks. And when he had come home from school with bad grades, the foster parents had commented: “why do we even bother with you?”

At some point Leo had simply had enough, and by selling some of the few belongings he had he had managed to gather just enough money for one plane ticket and so he flew to Indianapolis without telling anything to his foster family.

After living on the streets and successfully dodging the authorities for a couple of weeks, the police finally found him and contacted the local social workers. Thankfully, after Leo put all his convincing skills to use, they agreed to not send him back to New Mexico, instead finding him a new foster family nearby. Leo hadn’t had high expectations because he had been in at least 6 different foster homes since his mother’s death and none of them had been a good match for him. Some had been abusive, some racist, some ignorant, some had had kids who were bullies, some had had alcohol issues… What had been common for them all was that none of them had treated him the way they should have.

That was why Leo had picked some bad habits too; he wanted to drown his feelings somehow and he ended up stealing small amounts of money from his foster family so he could buy alcohol from his older homeless ‘friends’. He had hated how it made him feel afterwards, but it had been the only way he had known how to deal with his issues. At some point he had even had suicidal thoughts because the guilt and trauma from his childhood got so bad he woke up covered in sweat after the same old fire filled nightmare almost every night. And going from foster home to foster home and feeling like none of those people cared what he really did with his life definitely didn’t help him regain his feeling of self worth. He had no future, no plans, no real friends or family and nowhere to go.

Luckily, during his worst phase in his last foster home someone from his homeless group mentioned having a relative in Indiana and that he was hoping to move there at some point in hopes of getting a new start for his life. That idea sparked something in Leo’s mind and when he started planning his big escape, Indianapolis was the first place that he thought of.

When he finally met Jo and Emmie, he was surprised. Seeing them spending time with their then 5-year-old adoptive daughter, he could tell that these women genuinely cared about the little girl and did everything for her wellbeing. Not only that, Jo was a mechanic just like Leo’s real mother and they had also other things in common. With some patience and showing that they cared, simply by making sure that Leo ate, rested and had something to do with his time other than dwelling on his sad past, they eventually won him over. And when Leo discovered thanks to Jo’s help that he himself had the skills to become a mechanic someday as well, he finally had a goal to reach and studying wasn’t quite as big a struggle for him anymore.

Soon, however, Leo became afraid that Jo and Emmie wouldn’t want to keep him around because he still had some bad days when he literally had to be dragged from his bed. He was also worried that maybe the women had heard what he had done in his past and were silently judging him. Instead, they surprised him by telling him that they wanted to officially adopt him much like Georgina because he was a part of their family now. As an added bonus they assigned him for therapy sessions, which really helped and the days when he didn’t want to do anything became less and less. Leo knew he was still a work in progress but this family had helped him so much and he had found his purpose, his home, at Waystation.

Calypso had naturally noticed Leo’s silence so eventually she asked:

“Are you OK? You’re being unusually quiet.”

“Oh, yeah, just dandy!” Leo exclaimed, trying to act more like his usual self. “I was just thinking about the times when I first moved in here.”

“Really? Do you want to tell me more about that?” Calypso asked curiously.

“I guess it won’t hurt.” Leo shrugged. “I don’t remember if I’ve told you that I was in a lot of foster homes before I got here. Well, my last foster parents were really shitty people and I was this close to… I dunno, doing something desperate. So I decided to just leave and ended up here in Indianapolis. I, um, was homeless for a bit but when the social workers got me into their hands they found me a new family, Jo and Emmie. At first they were supposed to only foster me for a time being but they ended up adopting me instead. I… haven’t told this to anyone, but they probably saved my life by doing that. The Leo from that time was far from the Super-Sized McSizzle that I am now,” he attempted to joke, but Calypso ignored that. Instead, she said:

“I’m sorry you had to go through that… but I’m glad you opened up about it to me.” Leo’s heart did an extra jump when he saw Calypso smiling at him supportingly. He would never get used to that. “And I’m glad Jo and Emmie adopted you.”

“Yeah, me too… When I first saw the place I was like, ‘wow, I wish I could stay here’. Obviously the people here are awesome - they are my family - but that wasn’t the only thing the 15-year-old me cared about. The cars and other machines Jo was fixing? So cool. I had only seen something like that at my childhood home and the nostalgia hit me like ‘boom’ right away.”

“I should have known it was the machines that convinced you to stay here,” Calypso teased, but Leo knew her already too well to get provoked by that.

“Nah. I mean, they’re neat and all, but Jo and Emmie did the actual convincing.”

“Okay, I believe you. So, was Jo’s garage what made you want to become a mechanical engineer?” Calypso asked.

“I guess the spark was always there but it took me a while to convince myself that I should try to pursue that goal. But when I started going to school again regularly – long story, don’t ask – I noticed that the sciences were easy for me, I was also decent enough at drawing – which of course helps with the blueprints and stuff – and Jo let me try fixing some of the simpler machines she had and turned out I wasn’t half bad. It was Jo and Emmie who kept pushing me to apply for the uni, though, because they believed in me more than I did. I’m thankful that they did it but… sometimes I still doubt...” Leo hadn’t talked about his insecurities even to his adoptive mothers so he felt that the fact that he was able to open up about it to Calypso was a big deal.

“I’ve seen you fix countless items,” Calypso said slowly. “I’ve noticed that you’re always… so different when you’re fiddling with your machines. More relaxed. Calmer. Surer of what you do. And your eyes sparkle and you hum some old school rock song while you work and I can just tell that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

Leo had to avert his eyes from her because he was afraid he would do something stupid like cry if he looked at her too long in that moment. No matter how encouraging his family, friends and the therapist were… it was still hard to get used to the compliments. And if he was honest to himself, he probably valued Calypso’s opinion more than anyone else’s at that point.

“Wow… umm… I don’t know how to answer that…” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“A simple thank you would probably do,” Calypso replied. “But know that I mean what I say. Now, how about you show me that famous garage?”

Leo did as he was told. He introduced Calypso to all the tools and machinery they used to fix whatever item the customer happened to bring in. He had a feeling that Calypso probably didn’t have any idea what he was talking about half the time because he tended to get very technical with the terms when he got excited, but she still seemed content listening to him. At least she wasn’t telling him to stop, which was definitely a plus.

To Leo’s surprise, Calypso went to the table where he and Jo used to draw their blueprints and asked him if she could see how he did it because she hadn’t seen his blueprints before. He complied, taking a pencil and a piece of blank paper from the stack and looking at Calypso questioningly.

“What do you want me to draw, then? I may have some experience on this but even I need some ideas first…”

“You can draw whatever you like. How about Festus?” Calypso requested.

“Festus?” Leo tapped the pencil against his chin for a moment, considering Calypso’s request. “Hmm, as you wish, Sunshine.”

He started making fast, swift motions on the paper and it didn’t take him very long to finish the sketch. Sure, the lines were a bit rough, but Calypso told him she was very impressed by how accurately he remembered even the little details, such as a dark spot on Festus’ back, how the tail curved when he was happy, and how he was missing a tiny piece of the tip of his left ear.

Leo felt a bit embarrassed by the praise. “It just comes with me hanging out with him so much. Nothing more to it, really.” He looked at the sketch for a moment. “Hold on, I feel like this is missing something. Can you look towards that window for a moment?”

“What, why?” Calypso asked, but turned anyway.

“Just adding something real quick,” Leo replied and started sketching again. He wondered if it was the lighting of the room but he thought Calypso’s cheeks seemed a bit darker than usual and she kept looking at the floor shyly. When he realized that he’d probably feel the same way if she was drawing him, he himself got flustered and decided to try to finish the drawing as quickly as possible. Within minutes he had drawn her next to Festus, playing with him, wearing the same holiday sweater and jeans she currently was.

“Can I see?” Calypso asked.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Leo gave the picture to her. “It’s not detailed or anything but I tried.”

Calypso kept staring at it for a moment. “Leo… this looks great! I mean, I don’t think I am that pretty but I am quite amazed that you managed to do this that fast!”

Leo wanted to say that there was no way the picture did her justice but he knew that would be a never ending debate so instead he told her: “It’s the experience, Sunshine. When you draw hundreds of blueprints you learn to be fast.”

Calypso turned her attention to the drawing again. “Can I get it?” she asked after a while.

“Why?”

“Because Festus looks cute, you weirdo. That’s a good enough reason, right?”

“Fine, you can have it. I’m not sure where I’d put it anyway.” Leo shrugged. He wasn’t sure why Calypso possibly hanging the picture on her wall made him feel a bit weird. In a good way, though.

Once the two of them left the garage, Leo pointed at a smaller building next to the ‘main’ one. A couple of pointy ears were peeking from the upstairs windows. “That’s where our foster animals live. I think the kid me wished on some level that I could have a pet but my mom could never afford one… but Jo and Emmie have been fostering rescue cats and dogs even before I got here. One of them was Festus’ mum; she was pregnant when she arrived here. When she had her puppies, I noticed that one of them was a bit of an outsider and we instantly formed a bond. Jo and Emmie allowed him to stay here even though he sure would have had adopters.”

“That was really sweet of them,” Calypso commented. “Can we see who’s in there right now?”

“Sure but we should probably let Emmie know about it because she’s pretty strict about who can go in. She may ask us to wear ‘bunny suits’; some of the animals may be sick and we don’t wanna spread the bugs around.”

“No problem, let’s go see her then.”

When Emmie heard what Leo and Calypso were about to do, she promised to stop her Christmas chores for a while so she could show them (mainly Calypso) around in the rescue house. Currently she was fostering two young puppies who had been found on the streets without their mother, a mother cat with her 4 kittens who were getting close to their adoption age, and an older cat with some kidney issues who seemed to however adore the little kittens.

Leo was watching Calypso’s reactions closely as Emmie was introducing her to the kittens. Soon one of the braver kittens climbed on the girl’s lap, giving her a tiny ‘meow’ and then started nuzzling against her sleeve.

“Aww, look Leo! He loves me,” Calypso exclaimed, smiling widely as the kitten started purring loudly on her lap while she pet him. ‘He’s not the only one,’ Leo thought in his mind. Aloud he asked: “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I guess because I’ve never really handled cats so I didn’t know how they’d react to me…” Calypso noted more seriously. But then the happiness returned to her face. “You know, this one reminds me of you! He also has long, black hair like you and fierce eyes.”

“Fierce?” Leo raised his eyebrow. “That’s what you think of me?”

Calypso seemed to want to explain but with Emmie in the room she didn’t go to details. “Um, maybe? Hey, look! Another one is coming!”

This time a small ginger kitten was approaching her and Calypso extended her arm so the kitten could sniff her. The group kept making small talk about the cats in the room and continued snuggling them, but Leo’s eyes were on Calypso the whole time. He could see how happy she was about such a simple thing as kittens and it made him feel lighter, warmer again, even though he had just remembered some very bad times a few moments earlier. Maybe all of it had been meant to happen, he wondered briefly. After all, it led him here, to his family… and Calypso.

#caleo #leo valdez #calypso #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #trials of apollo #my fics #caleo uni au

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julilihatfun · 4 years

Note

Prompty prompt: Geralt is really struggling in a battle and Jaskier can't just stand by and watch anymore, so he goes up there and kinda saves Geralt, giving him the chance to finally kill the monster...BUT Jaskier is hurt in the process which he doesn't want to admit, being the hero for the first time. He hides it until he just passes out and Geralt takes care of him, mad at himself for letting the bard get hurt, but also thankful. Sorry it's not very original, but hope you like it!

Prompt request: Jaskier hits his head and is concussed and ends up moody, disoriented, and uncoordinated, maybe a bit nauseous, but Geralt never saw him hit his head and has to find out through a careful insoection when he realizes his travelling companion is acting strangely.

Hey guys - sorry for disappearing for a while :( Everything is just really overwhelming at the moment and well :((( but I hope you enjoy this and I really hope, that you are safe and well!!! (I combined two prompts for this, because it kind of seemed fitting)

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Jaskier watched Geralt fight – at first, in awe (as always, because honestly: how can one fight so ferociously while looking that graceful), but then in concern, because the Witcher seemed to be in trouble. And that was something that Jaskier had never seen before.

The giant creature loomed over Geralts head – all bloodthirsty and monster-like – while Geralt frantically scrambled away from it and towards the heavy iron sword that had been smacked away from him a few moments earlier.

“Geralt!”, Jaskier screamed and he sounded hysterical and panicked, but he did not care at all. This was a literal nightmare come to life.

“Stay down!”, Geralt roared, not even looking at the bard, because he was too busy dodging attack after attack.

And it did not look like the beast was getting tired. Which, in turn, meant, that staying down was not an option if he wanted Geralt to actually survive this shit.

He did not even have to think about it then – just jumped up and out of his hiding place with a loud, screechy screaming noise, that kind of betrayed his fear, and stumbled towards the fight.

He seemed to be much less interesting than Geralt (highly offensive, if you asked him – he did not wear those ridiculously colourful outfits to be ignored like this), because the huge thing did not even take one eye away from Geralts prone form.

Geralt screamed at him to ‘get the fuck back’, while Jaskier searched the forest ground for something, anything, that he could use as a weapon. He had to be fast, because Geralt seemed to come no closer to gaining back control over the fight.

“Aha!”, he cheered, when he finally found something that could work.

And throwing a stone at the creature really did seem to finally do the trick, because it suddenly turned on Jaskier in an alarming speed.

“Oi!”, Jaskier bellowed, tripping over his own feet in an effort to get away faster. “Stop.”

He was not fast enough, of course, because he felt the thing yank his feet out from under him, making him fall hard. His head was catapulted forward in a sickening motion and bounced off of the moist ground, which definitely hurt a lot.

Jaskier turned around, seeing stars dance around his vision, just in time to see Geralt (who apparently was much faster than Jaskier) bring his sword down on the beast’s neck, effectively separating its ugly head from its massive body.

Jaskier barely had enough time to roll away when the thing started falling towards him and felt the ground shake beneath him, when the monsters mutilated form came down right next to him.

He stared at the beast for a long moment in silent wonder, then his gaze swept to Geralt, who was already staring at him.

“I take partial credit for this one.”, he said then, shakily, moving to pull himself up on a nearby tree.

Geralt huffed, still eying him grimly. He growled out a clipped: “That was incredibly dumb.”, which made the bard gasp in mock-hurt.

“Geralt how dare you? I practically saved your life back there! – quite heroically, if I dare say so myself.”, Jaskier snapped back jokingly. And he knew that he would have handled the situation better had he known even the most basic fighting techniques, but he did not have any skills and stuff somehow still worked out, so he felt pretty proud of himself.

Geralt closed his eyes in frustration and heaved out a heavy sigh, before surprising Jaskier with a grumbled: “I did not say that you did not save my life.” Geralt threw him a stern look. “But that does not make it any less stupid.”

Jaskier practically glowed with glee and pride. “I can already envision the glorious ballad! Brave Jaskier, the humble bard, fearlessly throwing himself into the raging battle of-“

“Jaskier.”

“Yeah?”

“You threw a stone.” Jaskier actually saw the bastards mouth twitching in the effort to hide a grin. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Hey! I threw that stone very bravely!”

Geralt actually huffed out a small laugh then, but when he took in the bards disgruntled clothes, smeared with dirt and grime, his face grew serious again. “You went down pretty hard. You hurt anywhere?”

Jaskier scoffed. “Warriors don’t get hurt.”

“You broke a toe dancing last month.”, Geralt noted dryly. “Well, come to think of it, I guess you did not get hurt as you’d already be whining about it if you did.”

“Hey, that toe-thing hurt.”, Jaskier pouted. “I normally am very pain resistant.”

“Sure are.”

And they left it at that. Although Jaskier knew how immensely grateful Geralt really was, when he offered him a spot on Roach (which Jaskier, obviously, happily accepted).

Riding, for some weird reason, made Jaskier kind of dizzy, so he could barely force down three bites of his stew, before he surrendered and pushed his plate towards Geralt.

“Can you get horse sick?”, he asked dreamily and immediately felt Geralts boring stare on him. He looked up. “What?”

“You’re sick?”, Geralt inquired suspiciously, having been wary ever since Jaskier fell oddly silent as soon as they had mounted Roach.

“I never said that.”, Jaskier exclaimed defensively. “It’s probably the adrenaline wearing off.”

“Hm.”

“Nothing a good pint of ale won’t be able to fix, right? And a good night’s sleep – we should really think about sleeping in real beds more often. You know, to get proper rest and socialize instead of wasting away in the forest.”, Jaskier rambled on, desperate to change the subject in order to not have Geralt on his case all week because of a bit on an upset stomach.

“Hm.”

“Spoilsport.”

They separated for the night shortly after; Geralt immediately retreating to their shared room and Jaskier spending some time wooing the small audience with carefully composed songs and mirror-practiced charms. Though, Jaskier did call it a night unusually early too, having promised himself that healing sleep will free him from all ailments that came with kind-of fighting alongside Geralt.

And well, he was wrong.

He woke up to a splitting headache.

“Yikes.”, he groaned as he sat up, bringing up both hands to massage his temples.

“Had a drop too much?”

And as Jaskier thought about it, he came to the conclusion, that he actually had no idea how much he drank the evening prior – not the normal blank he drew, when the evening blurred together in a mass of pints and shots and girls and… no, this was a complete memory lapse.

To him, it was annoying more than scary, really.

“Screw you, Geralt.”, Jaskier snapped, because Geralt sounded way too smug for his liking. Also, no matter how hard he tried, he could not draw up a single memory.

“Touchy, aren’t you?”, Geralt asked with an obvious smirk.

Jaskier snorted. “Are we leaving?”, he asked then, when his gaze fell on Geralts packed bags; took in the Witcher’s general impatient demeanour.

“Yeah.”, Geralt confirmed his fears. “Took you long enough to wake.”

He looked at Jaskier for a moment, as if searching for something. “Breakfast is on me.”

Geralt’s way of showing gratitude. Jaskier knew, that he should be immensely happy, but he just felt… kind of weird and muddle-headed. Also, still very nauseous.

“I feel so loved.”, he cheered weakly, mostly out of habit. He could probably stomach some food anyways – most times, it even helped him get over a hangover.

When Jaskier had packed up and they stepped out of the inn and into a small tavern, the smell of freshly cooked eggs and beans wafting their way, Jaskier changed his mind.

“Know what:-“, he choked out, dizzily. “I guess I’m not hungry after all. I’ll just… stay with Roach. Outside.”

“Hm.”, Geralt grunted dangerously. “You barely ate yesterday evening.”

“I’m watching my figure.”

“Jaskier…”

Geralt watched the bards face take on a greyish-green hue and he grabbed Jaskiers upper arm roughly, dragging him outside, and nearly pushed him into a bush off the beaten path, away from prying eyes.

“Do what you have to do.”, Geralt said, and it almost sounded compassionate.

“I’m fine.”, Jaskier gulped, despite all logic and appearance. “Jus’ hungover or somethin’.”

“Hmm.”

“Seriously.”, Jaskier mumbled, still breathing heavily in an attempt to fight off the nausea.

“Right.”, Geralt sighed, watching Jaskiers face slowly morph into a more healthy-looking colour. “If you think so.”

“You going back in?”

“No.”, Geralt said, eying Jaskier warily. “Let’s just leave. We can eat later.”

“Alright.”, the bard sighed. His head still hurt and he suddenly felt exhausted. “Let’s, then.”

They walked towards Roach in silence and – unusually enough – it was Geralt who finally broke it, when he strapped his bag onto her back. “You wanna ride with me?”

Just the thought made Jaskier feel terribly ill again. “Hard pass.” He knew that walking would be tough on him too, but there was something distinct to the jostling motion on the horse’s saddle that made it particularly unattractive to him that day.

Geralt eyed him suspiciously. He did not often offer, but when he did, Jaskier never refused.

“You’re acting strange.”, he noted. “Well, more so than usual.”

“Ouch.”, Jaskier said, already a few steps ahead of the Witcher. “I’m great, and you know it.”

So they walked – or well, Jaskier walked. And he kept walking, even when he kept getting dizzier and more disoriented and his head started pounding in earnest.

It was when stars started dancing around his vision, that he knew that he was in real trouble. “Geralt-“, he breathed, hearing his own voice tremble and crack.

And he saw Geralt stop abruptly and turn out of the corner of his eye, before his vision went entirely black.

When Jaskier woke up, the first thing he noticed was his still-pounding head. Then, something weird, wet on his still-pounding head. “Th’fuck.”, he mumbled in disgust, slowly moving to sit up.

“Stay down.”, a low voice growled.

“G’ralt?”

“Don’t want you doing more damage than you already did.”

“Ow.” Jaskier sat up despite Geralts warning because honestly, that’s just the kind of person he was, and one of Geralts old shirts, all wet and bunched up, fell into his lap with a splat. “Huh.”

He heard Geralt sigh. “Stubborn bastard.” Then, Geralts face was only inches away from his own.

“Uh, Geralt.”

“Look at me.” Geralt stared more intently into his eyes.

“You’re scaring me.”, Jaskier mumbled weakly. Focusing on Geralt was exhausting and the sun’s brightness was only making him feel worse.

Geralt straightened up again. “You hit your head yesterday.”

“Is that supposed to be a question?”

“Not if we both know the answer.”

“Right.” Jaskier continued squinting at Geralt. “I might have hit it.”

Geralt let out a big sigh. “Thank you for telling me right away instead of fainting in the middle of our journey.”

Jaskier furrowed his eyebrows (which made his head pound more fiercely, but well: worth it). “Are you… being sarcastic right now?”

“You were out for hours, Jaskier.”, Geralt snarled, clearly signalling that he was not to be joked with right now. “Wouldn’t wake.”

“I…”, Jaskier began, before letting his head fall into his hands. “Can we do this when my head does not feel like it’s splitting in two?”

He felt a warm hand on his back, lowering him back down, before it vanished for a second and returned with Geralts wet shirt, draping it over his face. Jaskier sighed in pleasure. The ground beside his sleeping mat rustled and he felt Geralt lowering himself down next to him.

There was awkward silence where Jaskier would normally chatter away. But he was to achy and tired to do so then.

“I should have noticed earlier.”, he heard Geralt grumble after a while, mostly to himself, as it seemed. He frowned.

“Stop, your self-pity is making my head hurt.”

“Your concussion is making your head hurt.”

Jaskier sighed, trying to snuggle closer to Geralt in search of comfort. A big hand settled on his shoulder. “Maybe that, yeah.”, he agreed, putting his own hand over Geralts.

The Witcher breathed out a gentle laugh. “Rest, Jaskier.”

#the witcher #Jaskier #Geralt #whump #jaskier whump #hurt/comfort #hurt jaskier #prompts #wow what a time #feeling very worried about the elderly people i work with #literally wake up at night crying about this #oh well #let's hope it gets better soon #and stay home #:(

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anthropwashere · 4 years

Text

Phic Phight: it’s all downhill from here (honey don’t be scared)

Prompt from @aggressivelyclueless: Halfa Valerie AU: Valerie becomes half-ghost. Apart from that being a total nightmare, this also leads her to discover Danny's secret as well. How is she going to handle it?

@currentlylurking @phicphight

Word count: 7,825

Mr. Heppenheimer, the latest in a long line of chemistry teachers that have come through Casper High since actual, real life ghosts have begun treating Amity Park like their own personal Las Vegas retreat away from the rigors of whatever normal life is like for ghosts in the Ghost Zone, gives Danny a lingering stink eye. Clearly the last teacher, Mrs. Jamshidi (who barely lasted a month, and submitted her two-week notice while recovering in the hospital after an admittedly memorable encounter with Ember), had left notes behind for her successor. Danny doubted a single word of it was in his favor.

"This practical's worth a quarter of your grade this semester," Mr. Heppenheimer says in his usual droll way. "You're not going to make me regret handing you glassware, are you, Mister Fenton?"

Danny, still a bit sore and off-kilter after another Jack Fenton-approved growth spurt, grins down at him. "No, sir."

Mr. Heppenheimer hums doubtfully. Clearly Mrs. Jamshidi had left extensive notes. "Don't make me regret this."

"Short of a ghost attack, I doubt you will," Danny answers truthfully. He really has gotten a much better control on his powers since the last time any science teacher let him near anything fragile, well over a year ago now. Mrs. Gorman hated him from the start for reasons he never figured out, anyway. He's looking forward to a fresh start.

Of course, worryingly enough Danny’s been sensing a pretty powerful ghost lurking around Casper High for over a week now. Along with the usual big green beasties that like to come sniffing around crowds of humans, which he’s had to dip out to handle three times now. No one’s noticed his on-going ghost sense, though it helps that he’s long-since gotten into the habit of keeping one hand cupped lazily over his mouth—just in case. That’ll be harder to pass off here in a practical lab, but there ought to be a lot of things bubbling and steaming soon. He just has to be careful until he’s got some cover.

Mr. Heppenheimer hums again, more dismissive than doubtful, and lets him approach the counter. His partner in this practical is Star, which is—randomized, definitely. Whatever, also definitely. He and Star have as much in common as him and an actual star, which is to say—nothing. He doesn't even generate heat anymore, not really. He's got a modified Maddie Fenton-approved belt buckle that lets him fake it, but it's not remotely the same thing, and not a

ll that convincing at close quarters anyway. Star, at least, knows him well enough that she's been bringing a mint green cardigan to class ever since they were assigned project partners.

Danny, well-aware he’s only good in the eyes of his peers for a laugh and anti-ghost tech, smiles thinly at Star and gestures at her to take the lead. She sniffs pointedly and does just so, which is fine with him. She's well on her way to valedictorian, whereas he's just trying to graduate. If deferring to whatever she wants gets him a passing grade, sure! He'll do whatever she says and accept whatever belittling comment she tacks on along with it. No skin off his back, right?

About twenty minutes into class there's a magnificent crash of glass that puts Danny 110% on edge; it's only Sam appearing at his left with a reassuring hand on his arm that keeps him from blasting a hole through the wall out of pure reflex. Which, maybe, possibly, likely says something about his state of mind after three straight years of fighting the kind of monsters that don't have any place outside of his very worst nightmares, but—whatever. Point is, thanks to Sam, he doesn't trash the lab or draw any unwanted attention to himself, both of which are good things! Another point in his favor: it’s finally somebody else’s turn to destroy a whole tray of beakers.

"Miss—Gray!" Mr. Heppenheimer shouts after a brief glance at the clipboard Danny hasn't seen him put down in the two weeks since he took the job. "What's the meaning of this?!"

"S-sorry!" Valerie stammers, her eyes firmly on the mess at her feet. Her project partner, Wes, is scowling at Danny. Likely because he believes the mess is entirely his fault. Wes can believe whatever he likes; just because he's the only one not fully in on The Big Secret who figured out The Big Secret out doesn't make him automatically right 100% of the time. Case in point: now. Danny's only touched his notebook, where he's got three pages of dutifully written notes on what Star's tasked him to write as she did all the metaphorical heavy lifting. He could swear on a stack of Bibles that this latest chemistry accident doesn't have a thing to do with him. It’s kind of refreshing, honestly.

Mr. Heppenheimer hums again. It seems to be his default over all the loud swearing he'd obviously prefer to be doing. "Clean it up. And do be careful, Miss Gray. I'd prefer to avoid sending anyone to the nurse's office today if I can help it."

"I—yeah. Yes, sorry." Valerie dashes off to the closet where all the safety-slash-cleaning gear is stashed to fetch cat litter, broom, and dustpan. Star scoffs on Danny's right, while Sam, hand still firmly squeezing Danny's bicep, has a worryingly thoughtful scowl on.

"Valerie has been such a mess since her dad lost his job," Star remarks in the usual scathingly cruel A-lister tone.

"He got his job back." Danny points out as he tries to shrug Sam off without making a big deal of it.

"So?" Star's tone has shifted from scathing to incredulous, which means she somehow didn't know something Danny's known since the tail end of their freshman year. It's admittedly bizarre to find himself able to lord some classmate gossip over an A-lister, but—with a glance at Sam to confirm it is, in fact, cool to lord this gossip over an A-lister—he gives Star a slow, sly grin as he gestures her closer. She leans in without an ounce of self-restraint or disgust, which means Danny's moved higher up the food chain since the last time he bothered to pay any attention.

"Valerie's dad used to be some bigwig in Axion Labs," he says, one eye on Sam and the other on Tucker, both of whom in turn are watching the teacher and the rest of the class. Just in case. "After Vlad—uh. Vladco, I mean—took over the company, Mister Gray got his position back despite Phantom screwing him over, and it's been smooth sailing for him ever since."

The sound of Valerie sweeping up broken glass gets discordantly loud, somehow. Danny doesn't have to look at her to know she's glaring daggers at him. He sets his shoulders and sticks the angle of his nose twenty degrees snootier, mostly to spite whatever murderous and/or weepy glower Valerie might be trying to laser into his soul. Which, whatever. He knows the shape of his own soul by now. He knows it's Phantom, plus or minus some degree of fiery white hair and green-tinged skin.

A bit of the old guilt niggles in the back of his head though. Accident or not, it was Phantom who cost Mr. Gray his job in the first place and Vlad who gave it back. And Vlad only did it at all once he realized his favorite little ghost fighting minion would be a better thorn in Phantom’s side if she didn’t have to work a part-time job at the Nasty Burger. Which—well. Danny’s glad she doesn’t have to deal with that anymore, for all that it does make her a better thorn in his side.

But—guilt. Dumb guilt, but on his plate all the same. He manages to edge the conversation to some other Gossip with a capital G that even Star's not aware of. Oh the things a guy can hear when he can literally turn invisible. It's kind of fun, honestly, to fill her in. The rest of the hour is spent hissing old-as-shit hearsay that still manages to make Star's eyes light up like she's watching Paulina’s favorite cabin burn down again. They do, somehow, manage to get their project pushed along to step three, which will pick up with the rest of all the normal and unobtrusive partnered projects tomorrow. He's not sure which of them is to thank for that, but he is more than a little pleased with how neatly he wrote their notes. It's the most like a regular student he's felt in months. It's honestly pretty great!

"We have a problem," Tucker hisses no less than five seconds and no more than ten after the bell rings. It's that perfect middle ground time of everyone shoving all their shit into their bags so they can bolt out the classroom door as fast as normal-humanly possible, so it's also that perfect middle ground time of nobody paying the three of them the least bit of attention.

"You noticed too?" Sam asks with her usual omniscient scowl. Danny truly and whole-heartedly wishes she'd stop with that, but he's yet to find an opportunity where he can say that to her face without coming across as a total shitheel, including now, so he grits his teeth and raises a pointedly baffled eyebrow at the both of them.

"Noticed what?" He asks with a patience he hasn't actually felt since junior high.

"Valerie's—" Tucker does a casual look around to see if anyone's close enough to eavesdrop, intentionally or no, which means this is a Phantom Thing. And if this is something Phantom and Valerie related? Yeah, no, he's in too good a mood for whatever latest gadget or trick Vlad might be cooking up via Valerie.

He holds up a hand with a sigh he automatically pretends is a yawn to cover up the blue wisp that escapes with it. "Can this wait? Better yet, can we just—not? At least for today? I'm really not up for counter-scheming."

"No need for that," Tucker assures way too quickly. The nervous laugh he follows it up with really doesn't help.

"Right," Danny says wryly, but motions to let them talk. Sam and Tucker share one of those weird non-verbal psychic looks where they have a whole conversation in the span of two seconds that goes right over Danny's head. He wishes they’d stop doing that, but if he called them out on it they’d deny it loudly, and it’d be a whole thing, and—ugh.

"Valerie's acting weird," Tucker says once they've finished. "As in, 'we definitely need to intervene' weird."

"Possessed?"

"No. But this might be worse."

"But this isn't the first time she made a mess in class,” Sam says.

Danny slips his one (1) notebook and one (1) pencil into his bag. He's learned the hard way to pack light and get real good at shorthand, as well as keep all his textbooks down in the Fenton dungeon where they're least likely to get torched in a ghost fight. Again. "Isn't it?"

"Nope," Tucker says as they make their way to the door. Danny's sure to give Mr. Heppenheimer some ever-so-slightly iridescent stink eye of his own to make him flinch, and then doubt himself for flinching. One good turn, and all that. "Seventh actually. Third a teacher noticed, but she's been weirding out a lot of the other students."

Danny grunts, more interested in shouldering other people out of the way to make it easier for Sam and Tucker to squeeze out into the hall. Hey, may as well get some mileage out of being one of the tallest guys in school, right?

Sam touches his elbow to make sure she's got his attention while they make their way to their next classes. She's got sign language, Tucker's got photography, and Danny's got a free hour to nap in the auditorium ceiling. "She's constantly dropping things, she's always shivering, every lie I've heard her tell a faculty member has been total nonsense, she hasn't gone after a single ghost in almost two weeks—"

"Well, that would explain why there's been an uptick in my fifth period snake-wrangling," Danny remarks dryly, then grins nastily at some girl giving him a serious case of side-eye. She squeaks—actually squeaks!—and ducks behind some broad-shouldered guy in an eye-wateringly neon football jersey.

Tucker wacks his other elbow, scowling up at him. "Dude, this is serious."

"I haven't heard a reason to care yet."

He doesn't have to look to see they're doing another round of psychic Concerned About Our Bestie back-and-forth. Sam's the one who trips him—damn her preference for steel-toed boots—but it's Tucker who shoves him into a nook between two battered banks of lockers. "Danny," they both snap.

He blinks down at them expectantly, staying quiet. Hey, they're the one's worried about the badass ghost fighting black belt who would love nothing more than an opportunity to strap Phantom down to an operating table and go wild with a cattle prod. He's just trying to graduate. Preferably with all his teeth.

"Valerie is acting just like you did freshman year," Sam hisses. "Right after the you-know-what."

Danny barks laughter. "Yeah, right."

Sam and Tucker remain stone-cold serious. Worse, they look worried.

They wouldn't suggest something so crazy without a lot of thought put into it.

Fuck.

It's another two days before Danny gets a good—"good"—opportunity to talk to Valerie one-on-one. During that time he sees first-hand no less than 37 incidents of irrefutable acts of half-ghost-hood. How nobody else—including that ass, Wes!—has caught on yet is nothing short of a miracle. Valerie cut ties with every other person in their graduating class after some disastrous party embarrassment Danny never cared enough to find out the details of secondhand. She's kept her head down and her teeth bared at anybody who’s tried to meet her halfway, and it seems everyone's accepted the fact that Valerie Gray is the second worst delinquent in the entire school.

(The first is him, naturally.)

He corners her three minutes before the bell to end lunch will ring. He's got calculus next—an unexpected good turn in his life that still makes him giggle every time he actually has time to do his homework—and she's got English. They can't afford to skip either class, but hey, you only half-die once, right?

She scowls up at him, twitching her head out of a habit she's not yet broken. She only shaved her head a month ago. He's still reeling over how good she looks, and also how much it makes her look like the awesome older Valerie from the horrible future where he and Vlad ghost-melded and murdered a dismayingly large number of humans. If that future is still somehow lingering out there in the tangled fabric of spacetime like a bad hangnail, he’s pretty sure that Valerie died, fullstop.

He’d like it if he could do something to help this Valerie not die, fullstop.

She scowls up at him harder. "What do you want?"

He allows himself another couple seconds to just—bask. Yes, she's hot as hell, and if they were both normal humans she could easily break him over her knee like a fistful of kindling. He's not yet gotten an inch of the Fenton width. He's basically all elbows, and it's now all but impossible to find shoes in his size. It's great, really, just super.

Mostly though, he holds his breath and lets his ghost sense settle in a chilly, wriggly knot in his lungs. How the hell did he not realize she was the cause before now?

He smiles down at her. It becomes immediately apparent that this is the worst possible thing he could have chosen to do. He stops smiling. Somehow that's worse.

"We need to talk," he says, and immediately wants to hit himself. Has daytime television not taught him anything? That's the worst thing he could have said!

"I don't think so," she says, and tries to edge past him. He catches her elbow—

—and she's got him smashed up against a classroom door before he can even blink.

"Uh," they say at the same time. He feels one of her hands go ice cube cold against his skin. Since it's him and not a normal person, it's far more likely her hand just dropped to some negative three-digit temperature. If he were human, he'd be at risk for frostbite. As he's not, it's more like a refreshing breeze. He swears he even gets a whiff of the Ghost Zone off of her; like a hard shock of static on his tongue in a midnight snowfall. It's... nice. Is that what he smell-feels like?

Hmm. Distracting himself. Best to stop doing that.

She realizes after too long a beat of awkward silence that one of her arms has gone full-ghostly, and springs back with a half-hysterical yelp. He turns around to look at her again, rolling his shoulder out of a long habit of pretending that Dash trying to rough him up actually feels like anything. She looks—

Well. Kind of like some kind of frazzled toy dog that's had to deal with way too many idiot humans manhandling her, and like she's pissed that all the finger-biting she's tried has only gotten her a bunch of braindead cooing. Danny finds himself sympathizing, and also like maybe he needs to vent to somebody else aside from Cujo on their 3 a.m. Thursday walkies. He considers several facial expressions he could make at her, dismisses all of them, and settles on upping the grimacing and shoulder-rolling. It sort of works? She looks guilty, which is honestly one of the better reactions she could be leveling at him right now.

"We really do need to talk, actually," he says, feigning an apologetic tone while pretending very hard he hasn’t noticed her left arm suddenly stops at the elbow.

"Pretty sure we don't," she retorts.

He makes a show of rolling his eyes, and then a show of looking pointedly at her invisible arm. She looks down at herself, does a double-take, yelps again, and hides both of her arms behind her back as she makes several stammering attempts at a believable excuse. Danny winces, torn between sympathy and secondhand embarrassment. Sam was right; this is exactly how he stumbled his way through the first six months of figuring out his powers. At least he had the benefit of a couple of friends and eventually Jazz too to help cover his tracks. Valerie's on her own. She's going to get found out at this rate, and accidentally or not she will drag him and Vlad down with her.

"It's okay," he says calmly.

"Everything's fine I don't know what you're talking about!"

He looks at her, unimpressed, until she looks appropriately embarrassed. "Let's try this again," he says, and puts both hands up to stall when she goes to retort. "Please?"

She purses her lips, huffing through her nose, but nods. Good enough.

"You're not okay," he tells her. "You're freaking out because something crazy happened to you, and you don't have anybody to turn to for answers without risking everything. You think you're a monster, or that you're dead, or you're dying, or some shitty combination of all of the above. You're scared because you can't control what's happening, and you're scared because you know you're gonna get caught at this rate, and you're scared because you know exactly what the GIW does to the ecto-entities it manages to get its hands on, because you're the reason half the ghosts that frequent Amity Park have done time in a GIW containment cell. Right?"

Valerie stares.

She keeps staring.

Eventually her mouth starts making some feeble attempt at protest.

A while after that she musters up the stamina to stammer out, "W-whahaaat are you talking about? I think you've got—ha! The wrong idea! Yeah! I bet you're thinking I'm, uh. Um. Possessed! Yes! I'm definitely possessed! You caught me, oh fuck, I'm definitely just another one of Walker's goons—nobody important though! No nefarious schemes going on either, honest! I just, uh, wanted to take a human… out for a spin? Yes, that’s what I’m doing. You definitely don't need to say anything to your parents—"

"Valerie," he says.

Her mouth snaps shut so hard her teeth click. She looks terrified, furious, and miserable all at once. She looks like she knows she's cornered, caught red-handed, and like she fully expects Danny to rat her out. Does she really think so little of him?

He winces inwardly. Of course she does. She's kept him at arm's length since freshman year because he never owned up the truth to her. She's been protecting him from himself all this time by staying away. She only knows the front he puts on for everybody else.

The bell rings. In a matter of seconds this hallway is going to be packed with students, and this is not a conversation to risk anyone overhearing. He looks around. Their options are to either continue this wedged in a janitor's closet (she'd probably shoot him), ghost her up to the roof (she'd definitely shoot him) or duck into a classroom. Luck's on his side for once. He'd cornered her just outside the wreckage of the wood shop; it's not going to be fit to teach in until after they graduate, and even the other, regular delinquents know better than to hang out anywhere with that much Fenton ectobiological hazard caution tape.

He nods toward the door. "Please?"

She looks like she'd much rather go toe-to-tail with Desiree, but the sound of a crowd surging their way decides for her. She bolts for the door, Danny at her heels, and they're in and hidden out of sight before anyone could see them go. He watches through a small hole in a stretch of opaque plastic sheeting, patiently waiting for the rest of the school to disperse into their various classrooms. There're too many holes in the wood shop's walls to risk talking even with all the noise out there.

Eventually the hall outside quiets. The late bell rings. It's about as safe as it'll ever get to have this talk.

"I can explain," she begins, her voice quiet and shaken.

"You don't have to," he says, and turns on the scary eyes as he faces her.

Three years of fighting nightmare monsters hasn't done Valerie the right kind of favors either. A metal cube materializes over her shoulder and flares brightly as it powers up a shot. She in turn steps smoothly into a defensive stance, light humming up and down her as she... doesn't pull her ghost-fighting suit out of the spectral hammerspace it sloughs off to whenever she doesn't need it. He blinks. He looks at the cube properly once it becomes clear she isn't going to shoot him. The light coming off it isn't pink anymore, but the same ghost-green as his own powers.

"Explain," she growls.

Probably not a good time for jokes. He keeps his serious face on, scary eyes and all. "I was in an accident freshman year. My parents couldn't get their ghost portal to work. They got lax about not letting Jazz and I down there unsupervised. I took Sam and Tucker down there one afternoon while they were out. One thing led to another, and I accidentally got their portal to work. While I was standing inside it."

She winces. Not like Jazz or Wes did when he stammered out the story to them just so they'd stop asking. Not in sympathy as they tried to imagine what that would have felt like and falling a thousand miles short (not that he ever said so). She gives him the same look he's seen in the mirror every time a bad dream of that day grabs him by the throat and shocks him awake. She knows.

"Don't shoot," he jokes weakly, and reaches for that cold spark that shares the same illogical, impossible space as his heart.

Another three cubes appear in a neat arc over her head when he changes, not that he blames her. She's just found out she dated her sworn enemy once upon a time. He's definitely surprised she doesn't shoot. She does go a bit deer in the headlights again, but more like a ghost deer that's just as likely to shoot lasers as it might bolt into traffic. "I," she tries. "You. You're. The whole goddamn time?!"

"Okay," he says. "Point of order. Cujo really wasn't my dog yet when I got your dad fired. That was an accident and I'm still very, very sorry about that."

Her eyes go ghost-red. "You wanna try that again?"

He sucks air in through his teeth, sighs out another blue wisp. She's doing it too. Has been the whole conversation actually, and plenty of other times before. He wonders if she's figured out what it means yet. He adds it to the list he's mentally compiling, keeps his hands up, and starts running his mouth as contritely as he can.

The sun's almost set by the time Danny's really, truly, fully convinced Valerie not to turn him into the half-ghost equivalent of Swiss cheese. He's so hungry he feels like he's nursing a gut wound, but he thinks it's the smart choice to not suggest talking all of this out over dinner. It's not like his allowance (and black hole of an appetite) would pay for more than clearing out the dollar menu at Jack-in-the-Box, and no way is he stupid enough to suggest Valerie pay. So he remains perched on one of the few remaining tables left in the wood shop, still in Phantom mode mostly to watch Valerie grind her teeth. She's sitting cross-legged on another table, cubes and scary eyes gone. She's reached the fun sort of balance between bone-tired exhaustion and impotent frustration with no good outlet that isn't the kind of violence that will draw a lot of unwanted attention. She sits there and stews awhile, turning over everything he's told her.

He pulls out his phone—tossing her a wry grin when she flinches—and lets her stew. He shoots out a "safe, taking longer than a thought it would" into the group chat he's got with Sam, Tucker, and Jazz. Tucker lets him know he's rooting for him, and also they handled the Box Ghost's usual afternoon showing with a game of checkers, and Wulf's in town avoiding Walker again. Sam reminds him to work on his book report if Valerie doesn't skin him alive first. He shoots back a neutral affirmative to them both, then pulls up Bubble Blaster to kill time until Valerie feels like talking—

"It was two weeks ago," she starts.

Danny resists the urge to sigh and pockets his phone again. Well, he mimes pocketing his phone. It sort of phases into that weird imaginary skin between his halves with a buzz of protest. When he changes back it'll be in his back right pocket, fully charged.

"Mister Masters," she pauses to make this really complicated grimace, like she'd sort of prefer calling Vlad something like Captain Fuckface but she's too polite to do it aloud. Danny makes a mental note to call Vlad exactly that the next time they run into each other. The fruitloop'll make a hilarious noise, he just knows it. "Mister Masters sent me info on another job. He told me some of his employees at Axion Labs had reported some ghost sightings, and my dad had mentioned seeing some weird stuff too, so. So I snuck out and went to go check it out. It didn't sound like anything bad, just. Y'know. Another ghost."

Two weeks ago her tone would have been one of complete, dismissive disgust. Two weeks ago she was still human though. Danny stays quiet, which is probably the smart thing to do.

"There was something on my radar when I got there. I thought it was gonna be you, honestly—" She glares, a flicker of red coloring her eyes. He shrugs and gives her a charming grin that's all, Who, me? She doesn't buy it for a second, not that he expected her too. Two weeks ago Vlad was being a real prick though, setting all sorts of nasty ghoulies he'd Frankenstein'd in his super gross secret lab loose in the downtown area. Danny's honestly not sure if he got any sleep for like, four straight days. There was a lot of doctored coffee involved, by which he means the kind of coffee a regular human couldn't drink without requiring a fairly immediate trip to the ER.

(Tucker Foley tested.)

"Most of the reports were from some department I've never heard my dad talk about, and it's all three levels underground. If Technus hadn't juiced my suit up again I don't think I could've gotten down there—"

That's an alarm bell Danny super doesn't like the sound of. "Again?"

She waves her hand dismissively that's all, So last year, honey, try and keep up. "Doesn't matter. Point is, I got down there, and it—well. It looked like the Fen—uh. Your parents' lab. Kind of identical, actually. In a kinda creepy way."

Yeah, that's Vlad all over. Kinda creepy and not all that original. Oh well. He raises his eyebrows pointedly.

"Uh. Well, my radar went crazy down there, but I still couldn't get a real bead on anything. So I went poking around and found the framework of this—well, portal. I didn't realize it was a portal though, since it didn't look like the one in your parents' lab. It was standing on its own in the middle of the room, covered in cables—"

"Ours is a mess too," he points out. "You can't tell unless it's off though. I'm not really sure where all those cables and weird hunks of tech go while it's on...."

She gives him a look like she's regretting not shooting him earlier. He does the smart thing by not pointing out that shooting him is still very much on the table, and that if history's anything to go by she's a huge fan of shooting him. He can't help but think that opinion might, just possibly, if he's very lucky, have changed in the last couple of hours. Fingers crossed? Those cube cannon things hurt like a bitch.

"I was looking around that thing because it was freaking my radar out when Plas—Mister Masters showed up."

He reels a bit. She must've expected it, because it's her turn to raise her eyebrows pointedly. "Wait," he says, holding his hands up in a time out T. "Wait a minute. You knew he's Plasmius? The whole goddamn time?!"

"No," she snaps. "Only after Danielle."

"That's nearly the whole goddamn time. What the hell, he's been lording you over me as a reason not to blab the truth for years. For fuck's sake, Valerie—"

"You wanna maybe shut up and let me finish, ghost kid?"

He scowls. She scowls back, plus scary eyes. He's pretty sure she's not doing it intentionally, so the effect's not as impressive as it could be. Red continues to be a great color for her though, not that he's dumb enough to say that.

"Plasmius showed up, blasted me into the portal, and hit the switch before I could do anything," she bites out, hunching in on herself like she's wishing the ground would swallow her whole—aaaand there she goes, sinking through the table. He clears his throat loudly, she realizes what's going on and ends up flailing around like an idiot for a few seconds until her body gets physical enough to stay put.

"Sam was right," he muses. "This is entertaining."

"Fuck you," she snaps without much venom. Mostly she sounds tired.

He sighs, hating himself a little for reasons he's not gonna explore right now. He's too hungry for introspection. "Did he evil-monologue why he did that to you?"

"A little. I was kinda out of it, after." She grimaces, gesturing at herself. "I didn't catch all of it. Something about being a distraction for you, though I didn't know that he meant you at the time."

"Oh goodie, this evil plot has layers, and ruining your life is apparently a fucking footnote." He scrubs his face with both hands and changes back into his plain Jane self. Valerie twitches badly, eyes flashing red and a fun eye-watering white shimmer shivering up her whole body. Huh. "Hey, have you tried changing back since that asshat zapped you?"

"Of course not," she hisses, looking at him like he just suggested she go streaking through the administration office. "I'm trying to keep a low profile while I figure out a way to fix what he did to me."

Ah, hell.

"I'm sorry," seems the smart thing to start with. He hops off the table, hands up where she can see them as he approaches her. He takes a risk at reaching for her hands. She surprises him again by continuing to not shoot him. "I'm really, really sorry. But there's no fixing this. You just get—better at being this." He squeezes a little when she starts shaking her head and pulling away, amping up the 'I'm sorry for your loss' face he's had to get way too good at. Superhero, he ain't. "I'm serious. Vlad's been like me—like us—since like, '85 or whenever he got zapped by a proto-portal, and he got really sick after."

Her eyes go big and laser pointer red again. "S-sick?"

"Ecto-acne. Ever hear of it?" She shakes her head. "You'll probably be okay, if Axion's portal is based on my parents' portal, or even Vlad's."

"He has a portal?"

"In Wisconsin," he confirms grimly. "He's been trying to build a second one ever since he moved here, but I kept messing with him. I didn't think to check the basements of any of his evil companies."

"Axion Labs isn't evil," she retorts instead of doing the sensible thing and blaming him outright for the shit she’s mired in for keeps.

He raises an eyebrow. "Sure. And Invis-o-Bill really is hellbent on establishing a ghost-human empire capital in Amity fucking Park."

She winces.

"Wait. You didn't actually believe that, did you?"

She winces harder.

"Ohhhh Valerie," he sighs, dropping her hands to melodramatically sag against another table. "I'm wounded. Honestly, truthfully, hurt that you'd think so highly of fucking Invis-o-Bill. Haven't you been paying attention to the shit the gossip mags shill about me? I'm either a ghost blob with delusions of grandeur in a skinsuit or the ostracized son of Pariah Dark and Desiree. You don't think my evil ghost parents have been around enough to teach me how to be a good evil emperor, do you?"

She's trying—and failing—not to laugh. "Shut up. How was I supposed to know what to believe, huh? None of the ghosts ever say shit about you."

"Yeah, 'cause they're cool with keeping my secret!"

She presses forward to jab a finger in his chest. She's still kind of flicker-y at the edges, like she hasn't quite decided she isn't going to go full ghost hunter on him, so it sort of feels like another hard burst of static. Goosebumps break out all down his skin; it's all he can do not to shiver. "What's with that, anyway? Most of 'em are so hellbent on destroying you for stopping them again and again, but none of them have ever come blabbing your big life-ruining secret to me or your parents!"

He shrugs. "Honestly? I don't think it's ever occurred to any of them. I'm pretty sure Skulker's the only one who knows like, for sure that Vlad's the same as me, and that's only 'cuz he likes to take jobs from Vlad now and then. The others?" Another, more expansive shrug as he slides sideways out of her range. So she makes him uneasy. What about it? She's only shot him point blank like, five hundred times if she's done it once. He'd really like to get out of this whole situation without any new burns to hide.

"Huh," she says. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. It's not—I dunno. I think it'd be like cheating for most of 'em to go blabbing to some humans or even Vlad. They wanna take me down, sure, but they wanna do it on their own steam. I'm definitely not complaining."

"Course you're not, because you are ludicrously overpowered compared to most of the ghosts out there itching for a little world domination."

He grins down at her, big and sloppy. "Hey, give it some time and you'll be OP as fuck too."

She reacts to that little nugget of wisdom just like he expected her to; retreating halfway across the room and shrinking in on herself like she's dearly wishing for a bit of time travel to undo what Vlad did to her on a selfish whim. Well. A conversation with Clockwork is an option still on the table. He'll give her a few more days of adjustment before suggesting a fun little jaunt into the Ghost Zone. He's honestly not sure if Clockwork and her are properly acquainted. That should be good for a laugh if nothing else.

"Hey," he says companionably. "I mean it. You're gonna be okay."

She scoffs. He pretends not to hear the dampness to it. "Oh, sure. So long as I do exactly what you say, right?"

"This isn't blackmail," he says, injecting as much calm as he can to his voice. "Honest. I mean, I won't lie and pretend I'm not hoping you listen to me. If you get found out it's both of our necks on the chopping block. Sure, I'll make sure Vlad takes the fall too, so that's some nice revenge wrapped with a bow, but it's not like we'd be around to really appreciate it, y'know?"

She makes another, slightly damper noise. He considers the risk of hugging her against the risk of walking away with all his parts where they ought to be, and he decides the smart thing is to stay put and pretend right along with her that she's definitely not crying.

"I want to help you, Valerie. I've been where you're at. I know how much it sucks. And I had Sam and Tucker helping me while I tried to figure it all out. You... you need somebody to help you. Trust me on this much at least, okay? This isn't something you can do alone."

Her various damp noises evolve into an outright sob. "Fuck."

Yeah. That about sums it up.

"Fuck," she hisses out again, pawing roughly at her face. "This. I didn't want—all this time and you never—I coulda killed you but you didn't—and now I'm—!"

Okay. Yeah. Superheroes don't leave anybody to cry so miserably on their own. He's hardy. Even if she shoots him he can hang out, make sure she's okay to get home on her own. And they both skipped their last two classes. He ought to go rummage around their teachers' desks and try to figure out what tonight's homework is. She's got every reason to burn her textbooks and scream fuck it at the moon (Danny's sophomore year was a personal low point), and it's just as likely Skulker will pull some new scheme to try and skin him tonight as any other school night, but it's the principle of the thing. They're both just trying to graduate at this point, and they're so close.

It might seem so incredibly, completely stupid, to care about graduating with all the other bullshit in their lives. Most days, it is stupid to care. But there are some days that stupid, pointless piece of paper is the only reason Danny chooses to get out of bed. He chooses to remember that he's still human enough for human consequences. He needs that diploma to get into college, and he needs to get into college so he can earn his bachelor's, and he needs to be stable enough to earn his pilot's license, and then somehow net 1,000 hours as pilot-in-command in a fucking jet, and on and on and on, because there's still this stupid, stupid, stupid little voice in his head that won't shut up about how cool it'd be to actually manage to become an astronaut despite—

—everything.

He wants to ask what Valerie wanted to be when she grew up, but that's... not now. That's a conversation for later, if he's lucky enough that she'll trust him with that little, foolish dream every kid clings to even when they're loudly proclaiming how stupid it is. Everybody grows up and realizes how stupid the dream jobs they wanted when they were kids was; it's the real dreamers that grit their teeth and keep working despite—

—everything.

He takes the risk, the leap of faith. He closes the distance between them and plays a pattern across her shoulder to warn her he's coming in for a hug. No cubes or guns or accidental ecto-rays materialize to blast him into next week, so he calls it a win and finishes the deed. She's all hunched shoulders and hard fingers knotted in his shirt, hot tears and probably some snot at war with how neutrally temperature-wise the rest of her feels. Everybody else—everybody human—feels hot as a sunburn if he gets too close. Ghosts are still too cold, though thanks to his handy-dandy ice powers none of them are ever cold enough to hurt like humans do.

Here and now, hugging Valerie and whispering soft, pointless bullshit into her frizzy hair is the closest to human he's felt in—

—in too long.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Don't be," he replies, instead of Me too.

"Thank you," she says.

"Nothin' to thank me for," he replies, instead of You should be blaming me for this.

"I'm scared," she says.

"It's going to be okay," he replies, and means it.

It's almost nine by the time he makes it to Sam's house, and he's so hungry he tunnel visions twice on the flight over. Lucky him, his friends and secret keepers know how bullshit his anatomy is, and there's a veritable buffet awaiting him when he gets there. Luckier him, his friends and secret keepers know better than to try and hold a Serious Conversation when he's like this, and leave him alone for the better part of 20 minutes before they both start loudly clearing their throats.

He slows his flawless imitation of a combine harvester long enough to muster a, "Hngh?"

Sam and Tucker waste precious moments he could be upping his calorie count with another psychic conversation that they're clearly both enjoying. He scowls, for all the good it'll do him.

"How'd it go?" Sam asks.

"Well," he says, setting his fork down to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Manners, schmmaners. "She didn't shoot me."

"Damn it," Tucker says loudly, and pulls out his phone.

"Seriously?" Danny asks.

"He owes Jazz twenty bucks," Same explains as Tucker begins a furiously-typed text. Danny suppresses the urge to shudder. Something about the haptic feedback on cell phones really sets him on edge. He genuinely doesn't know if it's a pet peeve or a ghost thing. Either way he always has to squash the insane urge to pitch Tucker's phone at the nearest brick wall, and right now that is an honest struggle.

"Seriously?" He repeats. "You bet against me?"

Tucker pauses long enough to level an incredulous glare at him. "Dude."

...yeah, okay. That's fair. Danny would've bet against himself too, if he'd known to.

"Rude," he says anyway, on principle.

Sam and Tucker both make a huge show of rolling their eyes, but at least Sam pushes another three slices of pizza in his direction. They even ordered in, so there's actual meat and cheese on it. He has the best friends a guy could ask for, even if Tucker is an ass nine times out of ten. Serves him right to lose 20 bucks, voting against him against his sister of all people.

"Details," Sam demands. "How's she doing, what happened, is she gonna stop trying to kill you, et cetera."

"Vlad happened," he manages through half a slice of pizza. Sam and Tucker both wince; Tucker hard enough he actually drops his phone.

"Fuck," Tucker hisses. "Why?"

"Dunno yet. And I dunno about you, but figuring out his latest scheme has definitely become number one on my honey do list."

They both nod. Tucker's the one to ask the important follow up. "And Valerie? How's she doing?"

He makes a seesaw motion with one hand. "Again, gotta stress the whole 'didn't shoot me' thing." He grins real sleazily while Tucker groans. "She's not great though. I foresee the next like, two months helping her out taking priority over all the usual ghost bullshit. Short of like, apocalyptic ghost attacks, of course."

"Fair," Sam and Tucker both say. Sam gives him a pointed capital L Look, going so far as to pull his plate a few inches away so he can better direct his instinctive growl at her. "She's not gonna rat, is she?"

"No," comes out more snarl-y than he means it to, but—pizza. Sam takes him at face value at least, and gives him his plate back, with an extra slice of meat lover's for good behavior. She's his favorite.

"We're gonna co-op," he adds, and pretends not to notice the Extraordinarily Concerned Psychic Look Sam and Tucker share over that bit of news. Whatever. They can stress over the idea of Valerie being included in their group. Him? He's gonna polish off the rest of this pizza, pull his one (1) notebook and one (1) pencil out of his bag, and he's going to get as much of a headstart on his homework before patrol as he can. If he actually manages to finish his two pages of grammar problems he's going to call it a great day. Anything else? Well, that's gravy so far as he's concerned.

He grins to himself a little, thinking of Valerie's new phone number burning a hole in his pocket. If anything toothsome decides to show up tonight he got the okay to text her. And honestly? For all that she's in the same bullshit hell as he, Vlad, and Elle are....

Well. It's probably shitty of him, but it's still nice to have an ally and friend in this half-ghost bullshit hell.

#danny phantom #my writing #valerie gray #gray ghost #phic phight 2020

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otp-armada · 4 years

Text

Right before I woke up this morning, for a moment, my mind dreamt of a scene of Clarke on the Ring. She makes it to the rocket on time. It's her and Bellamy standing at the observation window, watching Earth burn. It's the two of them looking to the future, their people's and their own, together. 4x13 ends with a flash-forward of six years, but one of Spacekru as a family. As we see the eight of them laughing together at a dinner table, the camera pans to a weighted, happy glance shared between Clarke and Bellamy, him lifting their joined hands to his lips, two matching, thin rings of gold metal on their fingers. And that's how the audience comes to know they have coupled up. Boom. Out.

My ears are ringing from the collective shrieking we would have done.

My waking hours are here, and I'd like to play this scenario out to my specifications.

The first half of 5x01 is Spacekru flashbacks, showing us how they bonded to become a family and how Bellarke got together.

In the long, quiet comfort of the Ring, our heroes give voice to their past traumas and heal old grievances.

Clarke tells Bellamy about her father, Bellamy shares stories about his mother. She tells him about her father's kindness and gentle nature, his limitless heart. Jake's teases about Clarke drawing on every plain surface she could find, a habit that began with her childhood. Passionate as she was for sketching, she was in the midst of early medical training. Her exposure to the Council and the Chancellor is what gave Clarke her political acumen. Clarke recounts the games they used to watch with the Jahas. Before long, she's explaining the rules of soccer to a confused but amused Bellamy. Bellamy tells her what little he remembers about his parents before his father died. Aurora's smile. Her sacrifices for her children. Her tenacity. Her love of mythic stories she passed onto him. The overwhelming sense of responsibility she instilled in him from too early an age. Bellamy talks about the challenges of a life spent hiding a little girl under the floorboards from the Ark. Bellamy shares the rewards of being the only pair of siblings to have existed in nearly a hundred years. Unbidden by the role of big brother in Clarke's company, he gives voice to the constraints placed on his life. The hardships of living in Factory Station, while Clarke shrinks in guilt over her bountiful upbringing in Alpha. They both recall the pain of watching their parents get floated. There, in front of their eyes one second, gone forever in the blink of an eye. Clarke discloses that, while privileged, she was a lonely child. Were it not for Wells, she would have had no friends. She talks about him, what Bellamy never got to know about Wells Jaha.

The atmosphere shifts, and their conversations progress to contemporary times.

They discuss their respective tendencies to want to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. It takes time, but Clarke finally divulges why she felt compelled to leave Camp Jaha. How bereft she felt. Her nightmares and loneliness in self-imposed exile. Wandering around the freezing cold of the woods. Bellamy can't rein in the pain as he reminds Clarke that she didn't bear it all on her own. She couldn't have, not when he was the one left behind to pick up the pieces Mount Weather shredded. He was the one seeing their faces every day. She asked him to come back with her, to their people, once before, and he did. But when he asked her to do the same, she left. They both know it's not apologies he's looking for. It's a promise, a reigniting of an old promise made between two lost souls needing the other when the world threatened to drown them. They readily give in.

Their conversation takes an unexpected turn when Clarke explains why she gave in to Bellamy's plan to go undercover in Mt. Weather. For her to be strong enough to save her people, she couldn't let love hold her back, make her weak. From the second Bellamy left her sight, she regretted it. They both recognize it as the confession she didn't intend to say. Shock settles in. With newfound confidence, it triggers an admission of Bellamy's own feelings. Cue canon Bellarke.

Once the air between them is clear, it was only fair that the effects of Mt. Weather be a topic Clarke and Bellamy discuss with the third member of the room that fateful day. It leads them to the complicated subject of Jasper, the three of them breaking down in tears over their fallen friend.

Six years of peacetime spent in Clarke's company shapes perspective on the girl herself. She's not Clarke Griffin, the fierce and stoic Skaikru leader, equipped with all the answers. She's not Wanheda, the great legend. She's just a girl, with vulnerabilities, insecurities, fears, and demons, just the same as any of them. She becomes a person to them. Real flesh and blood. A human being who does indeed break. And no one is more startled by this revelation than Raven. It's another contentious relationship of Clarke's requiring time to mend. Although sharing feelings doesn't come easily to Raven, the two eventually crack their sibling-like rivalry where Abby and Finn are concerned.

It's the presence of a fellow cockroach well-versed in the glamourous lifestyle of isolation that gets Murphy out of his self-destructive streak. In their own ways, they have both been the outsiders. They make an uncanny pair of confidantes, so says the rest of the kru. But somehow, it works. Trust doesn't come easy for Murphy, and he and Clarke have their fair share of issues. Close quarters force the two of them and Emori to work it out. For all that Clarke excels at contrition, deserved and undeserved, she's also never been one to beat around the bush, no matter Murphy's preference to lash out in his signature style of sharp sarcasm at moments of his choosing. As it is for Bellamy, Clarke's belief in Murphy as a good man is an overwhelming force, one he is not sure he's worthy of, but privately welcomed nevertheless. In time, there arrives a sense of respect and loyalty between them no one foresaw.

Clarke's penchant for extending her hand to the outsiders doesn't end with Murphy and Emori. Clarke was the first to bring Echo on board and, she is the first to treat their errant Azgeda former spy as family. Post-season 4 to the series' end, Echo's character development is at the forefront of her story arc, never filtered through a subpar pairing needed to fuel an insipid love triangle where her leg of it is marked for eventual demolition.

Since I am bound by limitless imagination, let us pretend this was a 2-hour season premiere.

The flashbacks take us through the six years to the present. Spacekru's happiness is juxtaposed, as we transition to below the ground, by the hellscape Wonkru is trapped in. The second half of 5x01 is Wonkru flashbacks, a la 5x02.

5x02 takes us back to Eligius IV, to the passing of Order 11 (is that what it was called?). A young pilot named Shaw chooses to defy his captain's orders, releasing their prisoners. They proceed to take over the ship, killing Shaw's crewmates and captain, Charmaine Diyoza assuming command. She corrals Paxton McCreary and his men to her side. With their mutiny a success, Diyoza tells Shaw to plot a course for Earth. All the while, we see Shaw wrestling with the bloody aftermath of his decisions. They reach Earth's orbit, ready to go home, unknowingly under the watch of 8 survivors in space.

The Eligius prisoners touch ground on the last arable patch of land on Earth and quickly find themselves ensnared in a series of traps by an unknown number of assailants. Their assailant turns out to be a solitary preteen. They capture her, interrogate her. She speaks a language they've never heard. I'm making it a point to emphasize those infernal shock collars do not exist in my little world.

5x03 plays out similarly onboard the Eligius mothership. Our kru arrives, not to borrow a cup of sugar, but to steal the hydrazine for their journey home. Clarke, Bellamy, and kru debates the morality of killing 300 strangers in their sleep before deciding to use them as leverage. Raven and Murphy stay behind. Six Spacekru members fall to Earth and are captured by Eligius. They are taken to Diyoza, where they find a little girl dressed in Grounder garb. Bellamy and Clarke use their trump card to free themselves, Madi, and use their resources to locate Wonkru, with an additional promise to share the land and their knowledge of life on Earth.

5x04 plays out the same, more or less, without the awkward tension of a Bellarke trying to reacclimate themselves to each other's presence again. Diyoza brings Madi, Bellamy, and Clarke to Polis, where Bellarke negotiates for Wonkru's release. They meet Blodreina and her cult of warriors. Fandom squeals seeing Octavia greet her sister-in-law. Wonkru (and Blodreina) comes to realize that they have found a surviving Nightblood. Diyoza betrays the accord, taking Abby and Kane to Shallow Valley and leaving Bellarke and Madi at odds with Octavia.

5x05 sees Bellarke continuing to act in concert as a team, eager to reunite with their lost people while keeping a protective eye on Madi. Tensions brew between them and Blodreina. Marper and Echo return and they all turn back to Polis.

Blodreina refuses to grant pardon to Echo. Spacekru fights on her behalf, while Echo is willfully recruited for Octavia's mission. Madi meets Gaia under Clarke's watchful eye. When Madi is introduced to the Flame, Clarke tries to persuade her not to be swayed by the Flamekeeper's influence. Because this is my fantasy and I can do what I wish, it turns out that Clarke and Bellamy are expecting their first child. Clarke, believing the Flame to be a curse for its bearer, wants to spare Madi a bloody fate. She wants to abolish this aspect of Grounder culture, fearing the chances her child may become the next natural-born Nightblood. She dreads the possibility of her child as the next participant in the Conclave or the next Commander.

Another sidenote I am interjecting. Here, toxic motherhood isn't a defining characteristic of Clarke's, to aid in her isolation and subsequent, continual emotional decline. In my world, she gets to be a protective mother, a loving wife, a compassionate friend, and a caring daughter, all rolled in one little blonde package. She gives love freely, as she does in canon, but receives it in kind. She doesn't sink to rock bottom, nor must she, to be the heroine she is. She draws on the good and the bad experiences she's had to teach others. She imparts her lessons to those in need. Love is a commodity her life isn’t devoid of.

Clarke and Bellamy argue over what to do about Blodreina. Neither wants her to be harmed, but Bellamy maintains that she is, above all, his sister. He needs to believe Octavia is still within reach. He cannot abandon her now that they're together again. Clarke petitions Bellamy to take their family to Shallow Valley before it's too late. They compromise, agreeing to remove Octavia from the board long enough for Indra to take Diyoza's proffered deal. Their plans fail, as per 5x08, and Octavia arrests Clarke, an execution set for after the baby’s birth. We retain the glorious Blake scene of 5x08. It breaks Bellamy's heart to hurt Octavia, but she forced his hand. He has to protect his wife and their baby.

Tensions come to a head between husband and wife, courtesy of 5x09. Bellamy, having exhausted all other options, decides Madi must ascend to Commander to accomplish their goals. It is the only way to protect them all and save the valley. I am once again interrupting my spiel to remark that Clarke knows, unequivocally, she is included on the shortlist of family Bellamy is most ardently trying to protect. Forget "included," she's at the top. Clarke, ever the protective mother, disagrees, citing endangerment to Madi from Octavia and her patriots. Clarke argues that, of Diyoza and Octavia, Diyoza is the lesser evil to their family. As long as they remain within Diyoza's rules, they have nothing to fear from her. Bellamy, seeing Clarke's deep-rooted fear, agrees.

They are delayed by Marper, who wish to stay within the bunker, living off the revitalized algae farm. Bellamy and Clarke don't want to leave them behind until Monty points out that they, for once, deserve the chance to choose their fate, as all of the people of Earth. Octavia recuperates in time to arrest Bellamy, sending him to the fighting pit. Clarke fights to defend him but is detained. Clarke wants to fight alongside him, but they both know she has to live to raise their baby. They are permitted a final goodbye, and they have an emotional last exchange, a.k.a. Kabby parallel. Like Kane before him, Indra is forced to separate another family.

Octavia assures Bellamy that the baby will be under her protection. By now, Bellamy has reached the end of his rope with his baby sister. He loves her, but he can't distinguish her from the monster she's become, and it's about to cost him a life with his family. Disgusted, Bellamy scoffs at her overtures. He reminds her that his child deserves to have its parents. Clarke's earlier words come back as he tells her that she is his family's worst enemy. It wasn't enough for Aurora to leave him responsible for raising his sister at six years old. For the first time, his life is right, and she's the one who's about to take it away. He reminds her what it was like to lose her mother at 17, to never know her father. She knows how devastating it feels. Yet, left up to her, his child would be an orphan. He finishes with a devastating blow: it'll be those he holds as his family who will take care of his wife and child.

Clarke breaks free of her restraints, making plans to cause disruption to the bunker and getting Bellamy out in the ensuing chaos. She is stopped by Monty, who wants to use the opportunity to give Wonkru a better choice. Clarke tells him she isn't gambling Bellamy's life. Monty breaks again, pointing out that the last time he helped her and Bellamy, they split blood, and their plans still failed. Clarke reluctantly relents out of guilt, knowing how Mount Weather continues to haunt Monty. She does, after all, trust him with her life.

Bellamy fights Indra in the pits until the proceedings are interrupted by an intervening Monty, brandishing a pure, white flower in a sea of blood and darkness. Just as he begins to sway Wonkru to his non-volatile solution to the impending war, Blodreina forces compliance by burning the algae farm.

As Wonkru mobilizes for war, the fractured Spacekru and Madi take the rover to the valley to find their friends. They destroy the worms in transit.

They save an incapacitated Abby, who later recounts the Dark Year. Bellamy can't stop the horror he feels at the ordeal his sister has lived through. He feels a pang of guilt he knows is irrational while wrestling with the knowledge that she is still responsible for her choices now.

They reunite with the rest of Spacekru and are surprised to learn McCreary has taken control of the camp. With Diyoza and Kane's assistance, the eye in the sky is reinstalled, giving Eligius the advantage. As much as they want to prevent this war, they cannot leave Wonkru to die in the gorge. The group breaks off. One team is sent to disable the eye in the sky. The other team uses Madi's knowledge of the valley's layout to head off to fight alongside Wonkru in the gorge.

By the time they arrive safely, only Octavia, Indra, and Gaia are left alive. Bellamy convinces Octavia to retreat instead of sacrificing herself. He tells her she has to live with what she's done instead of taking the easy way out. For the most part, I'm picturing the scenes play out as they did in canon. At base camp, Wonkru is in disarray. Too many bodies are left littered from this war, with Blodreina at fault. To stop the in-fighting, Madi attempts to assume control by invoking her natural right to lead as a Nightblood. Some dissent, claiming she is not yet Commander. With support from Gaia, Octavia, and Bellamy (who makes sure this is what she wants), they sway Wonkru to Madi's side. Freshly invigorated, Wonkru prepares for a second assault.

Back on the Eligius ship, Clarke, Raven, and Shaw release an imprisoned Diyoza. They allow themselves to be captured and taken to the ship's central control. While McCreary attempts to force Raven to pilot their ship, she and Clarke regain control. Meanwhile, Bellamy convinces Madi to let the prisoners live.

From here, may I present two alternatives:

Scenario 1: Clarke kills McCreary before he can launch the missile from the mothership. With Spacekru controlling the ship's weaponry and Wonkru overtaking the prisoners, Eligius capitulates. After much deliberation, a new accord is reached, allowing for all survivors to live in peace as a singular society. Spacekru gets their 80 acres. The last of the 10(2) become parents to the next generation. It takes time, but Bellamy and Octavia's relationship heals. Eventually, she earns back her place in his life as his sister. She becomes one of many to welcome Bellarke's little one to the world, ecstatic to be a loving aunt. Generations later, the Earth recovers.

Scenario #2: The missile is launched. Earth's survivors must escape to space to survive. Marper opts out of cryosleep and has a son. It takes Monty ten years to realize Earth may never recover from its last doomsday. He wakes Spacekru+ to determine options. Between him, Raven, and Shaw, the three configure a self-running algorithm to decode the Eligius III mission files. They wire the pods to awaken its occupants every decade to check the algorithm's progress. The McIntyre-Greens go into cryosleep with some gentle persuasion from Bellarke. They won't leave their people behind. Thirty years later, Earth remains dormant. The files reveal the existence of a planet that could support human life, lightyears away, in the binary star system in the Goldilocks zone. They plot a course.

No, it's not as thrilling as the original ending. But if our heroes are going to traipse across the universe, only to return to their home planet, then Marper will not be sacrificed for nada. They will live out their days, a little older, a little wiser, but surrounded by their friends. They will not say farewell to their son at his ripe old age of 26.

There isn't much I would change about season 6, not where its major storylines are concerned. Clarke meets Cillian for his insight on Abby and Kane's deteriorating conditions. I would alter Madi's arc to where she takes the Flame in Sanctum and uses the time while the grounders are in cryosleep to train under Gaia's tutelage. Madi becomes attached to Bellarke, and it leaves her susceptible to Sheidheda's influence when her newfound familial figures find themselves at risk from the Primes. She'd see Sheidheda as a necessary evil to save her people, not unlike Clarke submitting to Lxa's clout. I would have Sheidheda preying on Madi's fears that she'd be alone again as she was during Praimfaya if she doesn't respond with vigor.

Season 7 gets a similar, substantial overhaul I've been thinking about for months but haven't yet written down.

The end.

(When am I going to stop with these sidenotes? After this last point, I promise.) Jason ran too tight a ship to let his post-apocalypse masterpiece become overtaken by frivolous romance. Without this pitfall, what stopped him from coupling Bellarke up before the end? Nothing. He could have a Bellarke that remained symbolic of the show's themes and mythos. A show that thrives on chaos would never run out of conflict to stir the pot. Falling apart and weaving themselves back together has been the model of their relationship since season one. Why couldn't they do this and be a couple? Why couldn't they have the Memori Model? They could have, but Jason chose the path of the slowburn. There's no fault in this. There is a fault in choosing to rescind the previously established story when it comes time for the threads to finally tie together. And I will never forgive him for it.

#bellarke #the 100 #clarke griffin #bellamy blake #clarke x bellamy #bellamy x clarke #my post #sandy's musings #this is awful i know and i'm sorry #I just needed a happy fix-it and this happened #the 100 fix-it #alternate season 5

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

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winter prompt fill 5, indruck, nsfw?

5: your car slid into a snowbank and i’m the mechanic that comes to tow you

Two hours.

Two fucking hours, that’s how far this guy is from town. But because he’s three hours from the one to the west, it’s Duck’s company that got the call from AAA for a tow. On night three of what's forecasted as a week-long snowstorm. And because it’s that kind of job, the call came in at 4:45 pm. At least he’ll get overtime for this.

Being out of Kepler means the radio has real stations, half of them playing blocks of pop hits and the other half blaring Christmas carols. Duck doesn’t mind either, settles on listening to crooning about sleigh bells and winter wonderlands as he tries to keep the truck from sliding into snow piles.

He’s all prepared to be aggravated at whoever was clueless enough to get themselves stranded and stick him with the four hour round-trip, but the closer he gets to his destination the more he sympathizes. Because this is a rural two-lane highway and not a major through-road, the maintenance is spotty at best. Couple that with the still-falling snow and he’s just glad the guy was in the kind of accident where he could still make a call after it.

The last half-hour he’s down to thirty miles an hour, lets out a groan of relief when the dead taillights of a car reflect back at him. Once he positions the truck and hops out, he rolls his eyes; the sedan doesn’t have snow tires or chains on, something even a person with a Nevada license plate should have known to carry north.

Duck wonders if being unprepared is a habit when the driver steps out in far too light a coat for the weather, shuddering and stuttering out an “Th-thank g-goodness.”

“Guessin you’re Mr. Wilde?”

Pale hair falls over red glasses as the man nods. With his hood up, he looks owlish, guarded. He’s all limbs and edges, and Duck can’t help but think of a stray cat that needs a warm bed and some food.

“Go ahead and get up into the passenger seat. Heat ain’t runnin, but it’s sure as heck warmer than out here. I’ll get her hitched up and we can get going.”

Another nod, the man hunching forward as he scurries into the truck. This is the easy part, getting the damaged car hooked to the truck and freeing it from the snow. The hard part comes when they turn towards town, two hours of darkness and icy roads ahead of them.

“I’m so sorry you had to come all this way. I, ah, did not intend to crash, nor to do so this far from help.”

“Hey, it’s what we’re here for. Gonna be slow goin on the way back, since it’ll be real fuckin embarassin to call a tow truck for a tow truck.”

A snicker, “I picture them as growing exponentially larger, like nesting dolls. A tow truck towing a tow truck towing a tow truck towing a car would be the size of a semi.”

Duck chuckles, “Yeah, it’d be a sight. And a fuckin nightmare for anyone who got behind it.”

The cab is warming nicely, so his passenger pulls back his hood. In the darkness he can tell the pale hair is metallic silver, and there’s a hell of a bruise blooming on his forehead. Duck’s never seen anyone quite like him, and if their survival didn’t depend on his concentration, he’d spend the next hour studying him.

“Damn, got banged up in the crash huh.”

“Yes.” The man gingerly touches the bruise, sighs, “It’s my own fault for being careless.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, nearly spun out on the way to get you from the damn black ice.”

“I wish I could say that was the sole cause, but I was also asleep.”

Duck bites back the urge to scold him; he wants him to be comfortable around him and besides, even if Duck is having a crappy night, this guy is having an even worse one.

“Wouldn’t be the first person who thought they could make it one more town before stoppin for the night and was wrong.”

“True. It’s just that, ah, I’ve been driving three days straight without sleep.”

“Jesus Christ, you on the lamb or somethin?”

In his periphery, he swears the taller man flinches.

“No. Just having bad luck with a chaser of poor choices.”

“Gotcha.” Duck drums on the wheel, “so, uh, Mr. Wilde, what do you do when you ain’t stuck in the snow?”

“I draw. And Indrid is fine…” he peers awkwardly at Duck’s name tag, “Duck.”

“It’s a nickname.”

“Ah. Are you a mechanic as well as a driver?”

“Yep. Do it part-time when I’m not workin at the national forest. Friend of mine, Ned, runs the garage attached to the Cryptonomica.”

“I recall seeing that when I drove through. Quite the Jacks of all trades, you two,”

“Most of Kepler’s got more’n one job. It’s the kind of place that’s always losin fundin or people, just barely stayin afloat.”

“One sympathizes. Do you like your jobs?”

“Trained in forestry, so it’s always what I’ve wanted to do. The mechanic stuff,” Duck shrugs, “nice workin with my hands and beein able to help folks out. And I ain’t half bad at it.”

“I certainly appreciate your efforts. I--wait, hold on, I’m sorry but I need to…” he turns up the radio, playing what Duck assumed was Santa Baby from the melody.

“He is saying ‘buddy.’ What in the world? Why would you change it?”

“Can’t have the fella in the red velvet suit thinkin you’re gay.” Duck jokes.

“Heaven forbid.” Indrid smiles, and Duck likes the expression so much he decides to see if he can get him to do it again.

“You wanna hear a slightly inappropriate joke?”

“Absolutely.”

“How come Santa don’t have any kids?”

“How come?”

“Because he only comes once a year and it’s down a chimney.”

There’s a beat and then Indrid guffaws, covering his face with his hands as his whole body shakes with amusement, “that was horrible, do you have any more?”

Thank god he’s got a wealth of bad jokes tucked in his brain. When he exhausts those he and Indrid trade brainteasers, stopping now and then to talk about their lives. The taller man asks Duck about his jobs, about the woods, and the town, and offers a few anecdotes in exchange. Duck senses they’re about they’re set in a time in his life that’s further away than Indrid would like.

Indrid also readily shares the snacks from his small backpack. Duck eats what he can while still safely piloting the car. Then nearly takes them across the yellow line when Indrid unwraps a Starburst with his tongue, and prays the man will stay in Kepler long enough for Duck to take him to dinner.

-------------------------------------

Given he was expecting a painfully awkward trip at best, Duck’s friendliness is a welcome surprise. Now that they’ve been stuck in the car together for close to two hours, Indrid is confident saying this is most fun he’s had talking to someone in a long time, even before things went all to hell.

It helps that Duck is the picture you’d get if you googled “Indrid Cold’s type”; sturdy, handsome in an unassuming way, undoubtedly pleasant to cuddle, with muscles that Indrid is positive could hold him up against a wall for at least a few minutes. In another life, one that’s so far away he fears he imagined it, he’d wait until they were done with the business portion of this evening, then slip Duck a card with his name in silver letters and his hotel room number on the back. The man is so genuine in his kindness too, Indrid feeling safer in the dark with him than he’s felt in years.

Which makes him feel even worse about what he’s going to do.

“Not too far now.” Duck turns the windshield wipers up a notch, “thank fuck for that.”

Indrid curls forward, holding his stomach, “I, ah, I really hate to say this, but I’m afraid my gas station lunch is coming back up.”

“Shit, okay, lemme pull over.” Duck guides the truck onto the side of the road, “do what you gotta do.”

His hands are on his lap, keys still dangling from the ignition. Indrid lunges over, grabbing them and trying to shove Duck into the door in one go. The mechanic is too fast, yanking the keys to his chest.

“What the fuck man!?”

“I’m so sorry about this!”

“Then fuckin stop!” Duck kicks, misses, and Indrid knees him in the stomach as gently as he can.

“I can’t, I need the truck.”

“Are you fuckin car-jackin me right now?”

“It’s not personal.” He gets the keys away, only for the world to flip ninety degrees as Duck tackles him backwards.

“It sure feels like it is!”

Indrid hoped that his survival instincts would kick in hard enough to make up for the exhaustion and that coupled with the element of surprise would bring him success. Instead, his limbs have no power behind them, and all he can do is curse when the driver flips him onto his stomach, trapping his hands behind his back and pinning him with his body weight.

“Fuck.” It’s a pathetic noise for a pathetic man.

“Explain. Now.” Duck growls.

“I, I, you were right when asked if I was on the lamb.”

“....fuckin what?”

“It was a set up, and I finally, finally got free, and, and I will not go back, I can’t, but if I’m out a car I need a replacement and-”

“And you almost stole a truck that’s got a goddamn tracker in it.”

“Oh.” He presses his face to the seat in shame.

“Somethin tells me you ain’t a seasoned crook.”

“I’m not a criminal at all! I have no idea what I’m doing. I was just going to drive and drive until I hit the coast, I hadn’t even decided what to do after. I, I’m sorry, I waited until we got close to town so you wouldn’t be too far away to walk home safely. I, ah, I wasn’t prepared for having to do this to someone I like.”

Duck shifts above him, mutters, “what the fuck do I do now” to himself, and tightens his hold on Indrid’s wrists.

Indrid whimpers, realizing with horror that his body responded to the mechanics of the fight but not it’s context.

Duck freezes at the noise, and when Indrid hazards a peek the mechanic is staring down in disbelief.

“Are you fuckin hard from this?”

There’s no use in lying, he’s faced worse humiliation than this, “Some. Not on purpose. I, ah, I enjoy rough treatment.”

Duck’s face fills with bitter amusement, “And I like givin it. But not to fellas who nearly steal my truck. Fuckin figures the first guy to flirt with me is doin it for some other reason.”

“That’s not true, my plan involved no flirting.” Indrid huffs, “I was flirting because I think you’re handsome.”

More pressure on his back as Duck leans down to whisper in his ear, grinding against his ass, “Yeah? Were you hopin I’d fuck you in here? Or over the hood when we got back?”

“Maybe.” He manages a smirk.

“Hopin I’ll fuck you now?”

Indrid nods, but Duck doesn’t notice. The mechanic sits all the way back, releasing his hands, “too damn bad, because unlike you, I only take things with permission.”

“C-consider it granted.”

The hand finds his back again, but instead of shoving or grabbing it strokes up and down, “Indrid, I’m serious. I ain’t doin anythin if the only reason you’re offerin is because you think I’ll hurt you if you don’t.”

“I’m not. I want this, Duck, I want to be with you.” He’s going back to jail one way or another after this, unwilling to consider the thought of hurting Duck to get the keys. He’d rather go back with one happy memory and a few minutes of fun freshly stored in his mind.

There’s silence, Duck’s hand still as he thinks. Then it comes down hard on Indrid’s ass, “Okay sugar, happy to oblige you. Besides, seems to me you owe me an apology for that sorry excuse for a car theft.”

Indrid moans loudly when Duck hauls onto his elbows and knees, though it’s the pet name that hits deeper than any of the much-welcome pain. The waistband of his dollar store sweatpants hits his thighs, there’s a pop of something plastic, and then a slick finger is teasing between his asscheeks.

“Vaseline. Great for keepin your skin from cracking in the cold.”

The finger disappears and he whines, pushing his ass back and getting it slapped so hard he yelps.

“Nice try. But this ain’t for you, it’s for me. Don’t got a condom and only got a tiny bit of this left and it ain’t enough to fuck you full on.”

“It’s alright, I like the pain, you could use spit or-”

“Nope” another slap, “that turns into the bad kinda pain real quick. Now open your fuckin legs.”

Indrid does so, gasps happily when Duck slides his lubed-up cock between his thighs.

“Close ‘em and keep ‘em closed. Good, ohfuckyeah that’s good.” The thrusts are already fast, Ducks hands holding his hips in place, “fuck, tell you what sugar, you may be a shitty crook but you’re a damn good lay.”

“Yes.” Indrid moans, scrabbling for a hold on the upholstery.

“Shit, you do like it rough. Like it when I talk like that?” One hand comes down, petting Indrid’s head and brushing his hair away from where it’s stuck over his eyes.

“So much, Duck, please, please, more, I want more AHgod!” Tears slip past his glasses as Duck hits the right side of his ass over and over again. He’s been treated like a criminal mastermind, made miserable because of it, so being nothing more than an eager piece of ass is a welcome change.

“Then I oughta tell you this is what you get for tryin to get one over on me. Think you can throw my ass out in the cold? Gonna turn yours so red you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

He’s so hard it isn’t even funny, and beneath the wonderful cycle of pain-relief-pain-relief his mind chants safesafesafesafe.

“Fuck, Indrid, I’m so fuckin lucky you tried that stunt on me, can’t wait to cum all over that cute little ass, ohyeah, fuck, fuckyeah.” He pulls out, cum spurting onto Indrid’s ass and legs and Indrid hears his own voice saying “thank you” as he does.

As he’s contemplating what form of begging will earn him an orgasm, he’s flipped onto his back, one calloused hand pressing him down by the shoulder while the other jerks him off. He squeaks and squirms, one palm thwacking into the door as his right leg catches the steering wheel.

“Sensitive, sugar?”

“Yes.”

“Shoulda thought of that before you bent over for me.”

“TechnicallyAH, you, you’re the one who bent me over.”

Duck jerks him extra hard in reply, grinning. The sight of him is just the right balance of menacing and protective that Indrid only needs two more bucks of his hips before he’s cumming. The mechanic works him through it, squeezing him roughly just to hear him whimper (Indrid’s certain of it).

He sits back and starts putting his clothes in order as Indrid lays there, panting from exertion and the weight of reality on his chest.

“I don’t suppose you have something I can, ah, wipe off with before you take me to the station?” He asks softly.

“I’m not taking you to the police, Indrid.”

“What? Why?” He bolts up, his mind screaming that he shouldn’t ask too many questions lest it make Duck change his mind.

“I’m not sure what kinda guy fucks someone and then hands them over to the cops, but I’m damn sure I don’t wanna be one.”

“You’d do that without even knowing the full truth?”

“Wouldn’t mind if you told me.” Duck starts the car, adds “seatbelt” as he pulls back onto the road.

Indrid gets his pants up and buckles in, huddling in on himself, “As you probably guessed, my name isn’t Wilde. It’s Indrid Cold. Wilde was the man I stole that car from, who also had a very nice AAA plan it seems. I am, or was, an architect. Quite talented, if I do say so myself. And many other people said so, once upon a time. My firm got a contract with a certain large city to design and help build a bridge. I was head of design, and I was certain this would be the project that made my name. It did. Just not how I hoped.”

Duck slows down as they reach the edge of Kepler.

“Have you ever heard of the Silverlake Bridge?”

“Ain’t that the one that collapsed a few years agooh, oh shit was that your bridge?”

“Yes. Halfway through the project, I became concerned that certain elements of the design would not be as stable as they needed to be and might collapse without warning. The higher ups said it would require a larger budget to do the new, far safer design, but gave me the go ahead to finish my proposal of the securer model. They accepted that design, and I thought that was the end of it. Turns out, they funneled the money needed for the better bridge into their own pockets, both my bosses and the representatives from the city. Unbeknownst to me, they built the weaker bridge. When it collapsed I” he takes a deep breath, the memories surfacing in a tidal wave, “I was shocked, and prepared to accept responsibility, as I could not understand how the design failed. It was only when the investigation revealed how it failed that I understood my warnings had been ignored and I was being set up as a fall guy. Not only for the collapse, but for the missing funds, my bosses swearing up one side and down the other that they’d given the money to me to manage. They’d had this planned for months, and so had built our communication in such a way that I had no proof the money hadn’t come to me. Thus I was blamed, tried, and convicted, and in the minds of many I am responsible for the death of 67 people.”

The engine shuts off and he looks up to see them in an auto garage. Duck is turned to him, face so sad and sympathetic that Indrid could almost believe..

“You think I’m telling the truth.”

“I know you are. Not sure how, but even though I ain’t much of a liar myself, I can usually tell when someone is bullshittin me.”

“I don’t want to go back to prison.”

“You won’t.”

“Duck I, I can’t ask you to hide me, that could put you in danger of arrest.”

“There’s all of four cops in Kepler, and I’d bet my life no one here could pick you out of a line-up as a ‘disgraced architect Indrid Cold.’ And if we need a cover story, Ned’s got a knack for ‘em.”

“We?”

Duck cups his cheek and Indrid leans into it, “You and me. Indrid, I think fate is a load of bullshit, but I can’t shake the feelin me pickin you up tonight was meant to be. Lemme help you, please.”

Indrid sets his hand on Duck’s own, “Okay. Ah, where do I stay? I have fifty dollars left.”

“Could stay with me if you want. No strings attached.”

“Is that your way of letting me down gently?”

“My way of saying you don’t gotta fuck me to have a place to live. If you wanna fuck me just because, say the word and I’ll rail you into next week.”

“I’d like both those things so very much. Though right now all I want is to sleep.”

Duck leans forward, kissing him so chastely that the following lovebite is all the more thrilling.

“In that case, sugar, let’s get you home.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #winter fills #mechanic au #on the run

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