#i think this is more severe than i had precious times anyway but like. i will not buy tylenol again lmfao…..lesson learned!

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 28/34 - cigarette smoke

[Read on AO3]

The scent of cigarette smoke wakes her, burning her nostrils with its offensive odor.

It reminds her of the days before—when he’d come in the night, speaking in hushed tones with her husband and effectively plotting the end of her life and happiness. The downfall of the family she’d worked so hard to hold together.

It had been a long time since family meant more to her than heartache and regret. She’s not about to let him take it away again. Not when she might have just gotten it back.

“Get out of my house,” she says, her voice coming out strong and commanding despite the late hour.

“Teena,” he intones, as if surprised to find her in her own home. “How nice to see you.” 

She flicks the light on above him, depriving him of the precious darkness he likes to hide behind. He’s always been too theatrical for her taste. It used to intimidate her, even scare her. Not anymore.

She grips Bill’s old shotgun in her hands.

“Are you going to shoot me, Teena?” he says, squinting at her and chuckling a bit under his breath. It doesn’t look like she’ll need to, at this rate. He’s already run himself halfway into the ground without her help.

A pity.

She adjusts her hold on the weapon anyway. It’s loaded, of course. She isn’t a fool. 

“What do you want, Spender?” she asks impatiently. “There’s nothing more for you here.”

“Is there not?” he asks coolly, leaning toward the coffee table where he has set out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “I thought you might like to celebrate. I heard the good news, of course.”

The hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise. Of course he’d heard. He has eyes and ears everywhere. She’d given up long ago trying to keep things from him. It never ended well.

“You stay away from my son and his family,” she spits, raising the barrel of the gun toward him. He doesn’t so much as flinch.

“Don’t you mean our son, Teena?” he asks, smirking up at her. “I think that makes them my family too, if I’m not mistaken.”

She reels back in disgust. “You don’t know the meaning of the word,” she says accusingly. “And you are not his father.”

The smoking man chuckles heartily again, taking a long drag of his cigarette before speaking. “Oh, I assure you, I am. I’ve had Fox’s DNA tested on several occasions. The results are quite conclusive.”

“I don’t care what your results say,” she says, a fire burning in her eyes. “DNA doesn’t mean one thing when it comes to family.”

Spender purses his lips, but otherwise doesn’t respond. He knows there’s nothing he can say to that.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he says after a tense silence. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t be convinced. I don’t need to be his father to leave an impression on him, do I?” 

He gets to his feet, approaching her one step at a time, unbothered by the weapon she holds.

She holds her ground.

“I can be very persuasive, if you’ll recall,” he says, reaching up to touch a stray tuft of hair on her head.

Enough.

“You relinquished any hold you may have had on him the day you entrusted him to Agent Scully,” she spits, jabbing the mouth of the gun into his side and pushing him back a few inches. “Now, you can either heed my warning, or face the consequences.”

He tilts his head curiously, the ever-present smirk on his face unwavering.

“Is that so? And what might those be?”

He has no idea, does he, how much damage she could do. Decades of righteous anger stored up inside her, a front row seat to some of the most horrific and evil acts of mankind…

“Do you forget that I was there, Spender?” she asks, the corner of her mouth twitching. “I was there from the beginning. I’ve heard it all—seen everything. Can you really risk letting what I know get out?”

“You seem to think I can’t kill you where you stand,” he says, leveling her with a menacing stare, dropping his earlier unaffected demeanor. “If sleeping pills are your method of choice, that can easily be arranged.”

She scoffs at him.

“You won’t kill me,” she says confidently. “And I will not be intimidated by you.”

For all the times she stayed silent, for all the fear that once controlled her—this is her redemption.

C.G.B. Spender is a stain on humanity, and she will not allow him to meddle in her life any longer.

“There are two ways this can end,” she states, her voice low and serious. “Either you disappear, and never come near my family again—or I watch you bleed out all over my grandmother’s rug. Your choice.”

He lifts his cigarette to his lips. As he exhales, a cloud of smoke envelops her face, but she does not waver.

“I’ll go,” he says evenly. “No need to desecrate such a lovely antique.”

That’s the thing she had never noticed as a younger woman: that this man is nothing but a coward. Everything he does, every action he takes, is to save his own skin and nothing more. Only her son was bold enough to stand up to him. He had shown her the cracks in Spender’s armor.

“You’ll stay away from Fox and Dana,” she states, watching as he turns to leave.

He glances back at her.

“Your threat holds no real power over me,” he says offhandedly, notably not agreeing to her terms. Bending down over the coffee table, he picks up the glass of whiskey he’d poured for himself and takes a sip. “Anything you might reveal of my business would be dismissed as the ravings of a madwoman. And you’re right, I don’t want to kill you. But I will, if you force my hand. Nothing will be revealed that I do not wish to be revealed.”

“Ha,” Teena laughs humorlessly. He thinks so highly of himself, like he’s some kind of all-knowing god, controlling the events of this world like some grandiose puppetmaster.

She’s seen behind the curtain, though, and she knows better. She’s learned how to play his game.

“If you think my death would stop the truth from coming out, you’re more of a fool than I thought,” she says. “How long have I known you, Spender, that I wouldn’t have put in failsafes in the event of my death?”

Oh, is that a flicker of fear, she detects?

“I’ve had the better part of three decades to plan for your downfall,” she continues. “I do not fear death as you do.”

His lips remain tightly closed, his whiskey forgotten.

She leans in close, meeting his cold, unfeeling eyes head on.

“And that is why you will always fail.”

There’s a kind of delirious satisfaction in watching him go. It’s a waste of oxygen, she thinks, that he continues to live, but she will not stoop to his level. Not unless absolutely necessary.

He slinks back into the shadows from whence he came, and she prays that’s the last she will ever see or hear from him again. She’s prepared to follow through with her threats, if it’s not.

The shotgun goes back to its rightful place under her bed, with all her husband’s old things. He had been a good man, before he got swept up in Spender’s world. She tries, now, to remember that side of him, and not the one that came later. Enough of her life has been spent being angry, and she’s tired of it. She’s tired of the sadness and the bitterness.

It’s time for her to move past all that.

She lays back in her bed, the one that had almost been her deathbed, and breathes in deeply. Once upon a time, she had needed copious amounts of sleeping pills just to get through the night. The horrors that awaited her when she closed her eyes were unbearable, so traumatizing that she’d even experience nightmarish hallucinations.

But now?

Well, for the first time in years, Teena Mulder has a peaceful night’s sleep.

~~~

I can't make you go a day without Mulder and Scully in the update...

He knows he should be sleeping. Scully is snoozing away on the bed, and has been for quite some time now. Then again, once her head hits a pillow, he knows she’s hard-pressed to stay awake for even five minutes.

Chapter 29/34 - rocking chair

Him, however…

He sits up on the ugly upholstered couch, stretching his neck in a futile attempt to straighten out the kinks.

He’s a father.

The thought is almost beyond comprehension. If he’d actually been asleep, he might have thought it had all been a dream. But, no. He’s sitting in a hospital room a mere ten feet away from Scully, and they’re parents.

It feels both sudden, and like it was years in the making.

Casting a quick glance over to his sleeping partner, he rises to his feet and tiptoes to the doorway, pulling the door open as quietly as possible. The brightness of the fluorescent lights in the hallway causes him to squint momentarily until his eyes can adjust. A sign comes into focus in front of him on the wall, pointing him in the direction he wants to go.

A few hours ago, the nurses came by to check on the three of them, ensuring that they had everything they needed for the night. They’d offered to take the baby to the nursery so that the new parents could rest, and though it was tough to see that little cherubic face go, he and Scully both knew that their nights of getting a somewhat acceptable amount of sleep were numbered. They eventually agreed, and like magic, Scully had slipped into her silk pajamas and under the paper-thin hospital sheets before he even knew what happened.

Now, though, he figures he might as well do something useful with his insomnia-induced awake time, so he heads down the hall until he comes to a large glass window. Behind it, the lights are dimmed, but bright enough that he can see the seven or eight babies sleeping peacefully in individual plastic bassinets.

His cheeks twitch with the beginnings of a smile as he takes in the gentle rise and fall of their little bellies, their first soft breaths of this new life.

Each one has a name tacked onto the plastic bin of the bassinet, proudly announcing the date and time each was born. His eyes roam over every one until he spots her. His little girl.

Madeline Samantha Mulder May 2, 2000 10:13 a.m. 6 lb. 4 oz.  /  18 ¾ in.

Though he’s already had the better part of a day to get to know her, the sight of her still knocks the breath out of his lungs.

Almost as if she senses she is being watched, she begins to fuss, the hat that was keeping her head warm beginning to fall off. He can see wetness building around her eyes, tears leaking out and drying on her rosy cheeks.

Mulder puts his hand on the glass, wishing there was something he could do.

Thankfully, a nurse comes bustling in, bunching the little pink stocking cap back onto her head and whispering soothing words that he can’t hear.

He taps softly against the glass, not loud enough to disturb the other sleeping infants, but sufficient to get the attention of the nurse. After adjusting the baby’s blankets, she looks up, offering Mulder a small smile.

“Can I see her?” he mouths, pointing at his daughter. He raises his wrist and points to the hospital band that declares him the baby’s father, and the woman’s smile widens. After double-checking that Madeline is back asleep, the nurse comes around to the hallway, clipboard in hand.

“Already on that new parent sleep schedule, I see,” she jokes, eyes scanning down a list of names.

Mulder chuckles. “Been practicing for years,” he says.

“Can I see your band?” she asks, and he presents it to her. She checks the ID number on it against the information on her documentation, and nods. “You wanna take her back to your room?”

He hesitates. “Uh, my… wife’s still sleeping. I don’t want to wake her.”

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to calling her that…

“Not a problem, Mr. Mulder. We’ve got a room back here you can use, if you like.”

“That would be great.”

The nurse leads him back to a side room at the back of the nursery equipped with a few chairs and all the necessary supplies.

“Let me go get your little girl,” she says, before disappearing through the doorway. She’s back moments later, the baby now blinking awake in her arms.

Mulder mentally kicks himself.

“I shouldn’t have had you disturb her, she needs her sleep,” he says, a tinge of regret causing his shoulders to slump as she rests little Madeline in the cradle of his arms. Parent rule #1, if your baby is sleeping (by some miracle), don’t even breathe in the wrong direction. Just count your blessings.

He’s already messing it up.

His self-chastisement is cut short by the warm chuckle of the night nurse. “She’ll go right back to sleep, don’t you worry. She’s all tuckered out from her busy day!” she assures him.

Mulder relaxes, smiling a grateful smile up at her.

“Let me know when you’re heading back to your room,” she says, taking her leave.

Once she’s gone, Mulder’s attention falls to the wide-eyed little creature staring up at him. Her eyes are baby blue, a different shade than Scully’s, but he’s probably the only person on the planet that could tell you so. The flutter of her eyelashes mesmerizes him.

“Hi,” he breathes, tears involuntarily pooling in his eyes for what must be the millionth time that day. Maddie wriggles in her tightly swaddled blankets, and Mulder tugs on them to make sure they don’t fall loose.

After some effort, one tiny little arm escapes its confines despite his attempt at stopping it. He shakes his head with a breath of laughter, reaching out with his free hand to let her wrap his finger in her miniscule fist. With his thumb, he begins tracing soft circles on her warm, baby soft skin.

Has he ever held a hand so small? Five perfect, pudgy fingers on each hand. The tiniest fingernails he’s ever seen. That cute button nose and chubby cheeks. Rosebud lips and a chin that he’s noticed juts out just a little when she’s about to cry.

She’s perfect, his Madeline. And he vows to protect her from all the harm in this world.

“Sorry for waking you up, baby girl,” he whispers, lifting her fist to his lips and placing a kiss there. “Don’t tell mommy.”

Her wide eyes stare up at him, trusting and content.

“Come here,” he says, and he shifts her so she’s upright, then transfers her to his chest. The second her cheek—still sticky from tears—falls against his chest, her eyes flutter shut. He can feel her every breath, laying like this. From the rise and fall of her chest to the almost imperceptible exhales of air from her nose, there is a living breathing person relying on him now.

What had he ever done to deserve this?

He rubs her back, patting lightly at a steady rhythm that he hopes is comforting and relaxing. The repetitive motion plus the rocking chair ought to be enough to put any person to sleep—even himself.

Her fist curls against the neckline of his worn, gray t-shirt, fastening it in her iron grip. He lets his cheek fall against her head and breathes in deeply. This is a moment he wants to remember for the rest of his life.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he mumbles, his lips brushing against her head before he pulls back.

He pauses for a moment, as if waiting for an answer. He thinks he can hear a clock ticking somewhere in the hallway, and a door somewhere in the distance snicks shut.

He lowers his voice even further, speaking so only his baby can hear.

“I’m in love with your mommy.”

The words are barely audible, but they’re the truth. And a truth spoken softly is better than nothing.

“What do you think of that, huh?”

On his shoulder, Madeline’s face has gone slack, a little bubble peeking out between her lips with each even breath she takes. She’s fast asleep, and in hardly any time at all.

He prays the pattern will continue when they get home.

For a good half hour, he stays planted in that chair, humming softly to every song he can think of that might qualify as a lullaby. Eventually though, after two rounds of Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis, his own eyes begin to droop shut.

He’s loath to part with her, but the nurse stops by again asking if he’d like her to take the baby back to her bassinet, and he agrees. Before long, he’s back in the hall, the phantom weight of Madeline on his shoulder as he carefully opens the door to suite 509.

“Mulder?” he hears her voice, raspy and disoriented. The sliver of light from the hall illuminates her face, and she blocks it out with a raised hand, squinting adorably. “Why are you up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answers, making his way back to the couch.

“Were you trying to sleep on that thing?” she asks, looking at the couch in disdain. He wants to laugh at the messiness of her hair sticking up every which way, but instead he feels his heart clench at the sight of her.

I love you, he thinks.

“Mulder…”

He realizes he hasn’t answered her question, so he clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. Might be a little short, but not bad,” he says.

The furrow of Scully’s eyebrows is visible even just by the light of the moon streaming through the horizontal window blinds.

“I sat there earlier. It’s terrible,” she says, confusion lacing her features.

Mulder shrugs, not sure what else to say.

She purses her lips, the expression on her face one he recognizes to be her puzzle-solving face. He’s seen it plenty of times at crime scenes, but he doesn’t have a clue what it may mean in this context.

“Come over here,” she says.

He looks up, his eyes meeting hers.

She’s serious.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stands from the couch, approaching Scully cautiously lest she change her mind.

But instead of changing her mind, she shuffles backward, making space on the not quite queen-sized bed for Mulder to lay down.

“How is she?” Scully asks knowingly as the bed dips below his weight.

He toes his shoes off, swinging his legs up on the bed and tucking them beneath the covers.

“She’s perfect, Scully.”

She smiles. Her hand reaches out as he’s settling into the mattress, and catches his hand in hers. Their fingers intertwine like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and he hopes she can’t feel his heart hammering in his chest.

This somehow feels different than the other times they’ve shared a bed. Unlike those times, there’s no great need for comfort and security, and no cow has flown through the roof of the building.

It’s just two parents trying to catch some shut-eye. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Thanks for being here, Mulder,” Scully mumbles sleepily, her eyes having fallen shut once again. “Thanks for being her dad.”

He squeezes her hand once in acknowledgement. There are too many words he wishes he could say, gratitude he wants to express for allowing him to do this with her, to be a part of it. For giving Maddie his last name. For honoring his sister. He doesn’t even know where to begin, but now isn’t the time anyway. He is rendered functionally mute.

The air conditioner hums in the silence that settles, and he counts the seconds, sure that she must have gone back to sleep.

Just as he begins to feel himself drifting off, he hears her again.

It’s almost inaudible. Spoken like a secret into the night, an accidental admission that wasn’t meant for his ears. Part of him isn’t sure it’s her he hears at all, merely a wishful auditory hallucination experienced on the cusp of a dream.

“I love you.”

And, even if it’s not real, he thinks he hears himself utter back, “I love you too.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

[lesbianlenas]

took cold medicine bc i couldn’t stop coughing and legit thought i was going to die lmfao…..it gave me severe chest pain like it was so bad also i almost threw up and now i’m congested when i wasn’t before. so like thank u cold medicine for being so helpful. i cannot take this again fr i took it last time i was sick & it also made me feel worse idk why i thought it would be different this time 😭

[mutable-manifestation]

Ghost Chirps AU Part 3

Part 1 & 2

Around half past midnight, Jason is losing his patience.

They've been searching for hours and finding a whole lot of nothing, and statistics about the odds of finding kidnapping victims and the first 72 hours.

It's been almost 48 since he saw the kid and he's cursing himself for not doing more sooner.

Cameras are finding nothing, Signal is finding nothing, everyone is finding a whole lot of nothing.

And Jason...

Jason chirps.

He doesn't know if it'll help, but it's the only idea he's got. Even if it's a shallow chance. It's all he's got; he has to try.

And if Bruce decides that Jason being meta is the line? Then he'll cope.

He won't refuse to do something just because he's scared when his- when the kid's well being is on the line.

He won't be like Bruce, who'd let his killer walk free rather than do something about it because his feelings were somehow more important when Jason died.

He won't.

The first chirp yields nothing.

He does it again pushing to try and make it as loud as possible.

Again, nothing.

Again, he chirps, something in him certain that if he just keeps going it'll work. Somehow. But he's learned to trust his gut - or weird meta instincts?

And it works.

Because after the third chirp the kid chirps back.

Except.

The kid is not in Gotham.

He is very, very not in Gotham.

He chalks it up to his weird meta-bird instincts that he somehow just knows it came from somewhere hundreds of miles that-a-way.

Kidnapping is looking more likely given just how far the kid got, but now?

Now Jason has a way to find him.

He ignores Oracle asking about mask static in favor of hopping down from the balcony he'd paused on and heading back to the batbike - Bruce's paranoia meant it would have more than enough gas to take him as far as he needed to go and then some.

'And more than enough weapons to level a block, if needed,' he thinks viciously.

"Hood!" Oracle’s sharp voice shakes him from his thoughts.

"Found the kid," he shoots back, hoping to avoid the inevitable questioning.

Mixed exclamations of relief and confusion echoed over the radio.

"How!?" Nightwing cries. "I was literally right next to you! What did I miss!?"

"What are you, deaf?" he grumbles back irritably, uncomfortable. It'd be easier if they were, he thinks. Then he wouldn't have to explain.

"Does this have something to do with the static noise your helmet was producing previously? I had worried it was damaged," Oracle asks.

"Static?" Jason echoes, not slowing a bit - nearly to the bike.

"Oh yeah!" Nightwing says, as though she's making perfect sense.

'Ah,' he thinks, 'A shred of mercy in this vastly cruel existence.'

Aloud, he just says, "Yup. He's not in Gotham anymore, though, and I don't know how far he'll end up going or how long I'll be gone. Anyone who wants to come with can catch up, because I'm leaving now."

15 seconds later he's leaping onto the batbike and peeling out.

***

Jason doesn’t chirp again until he’s nearly to Illinois. 

He wants to. He wants to chirp nonstop the moment he hears that first reply, wants to spend the whole hours-long drive listening to nothing but a litany of chirps that reassure him that his kid is alive alive alive.

He won’t risk it. 

He doesn’t know where, exactly, the kid is. Doesn’t know if his family didn’t hear him because the chirps are only audible to him and the kid or if it was really due to a helmet malfunction covering for him. 

But there is a chance that whoever has the kid can hear his chirps, so Jason won’t risk having him respond more than he absolutely has to in order to find him.

The next time, the kid answers back to the very first chirp, and Jason knows he’s heading in the right direction.

He gets turned around just once, overshooting and heaving to loop back, but he curses himself for it anyway - wasting precious time when the kid is going through who knows what.

Then he’s entering Amity Park: a nice place to live.

A nice place to die, for whoever it was that took his kid.

Several chirps later he’s in front of a school - of all things.

He doesn’t waste time doubting himself - kidnapping victims could be stashed anywhere - he storms in, batbike left idling at the base of the front steps.

Three chirps later he’s slamming through a door into a classroom. Full of kids. Taking a totally normal class - aside, of course, from Jason’s interruption.

One last exchange of chirps later and he finally lays eyes on his little shadow - who has the audacity to also look surprised, as if he wasn’t the one to lead him here in the first place.

Jason takes a moment to feel relieved, adrenaline beginning to crash before it revs back up with his indignation.

What happened to ‘goodbye!’ Who in their right mind would disappear from Gotham and not think that those left behind would assume they were kidnapped!? It’s Gotham!

Oh. Oh the child was in Gotham alone.

The child was in Gotham for a vacation.

Oh the child’s parents didn’t even realize he was gone? He’s worried about them putting him in an iron maiden!?

Jason’s eyes may be green, but oh, how his vision is red.

He barely hears the school’s alarm going off when he finally drives off-grounds, laser focused on following the road to the dot that’s popped up on his helmet just a few streets off, sending a curt thank-you to Oracle for saving him the effort of finding the kid’s address himself - she’s done him the courtesy of leaving everyone muted from his end, but he has little doubt they’ve all been listening to him. He’s only surprised she’s willing to condone the murder.

But then, of course she didn’t, he thinks as he pulls into a decently shadowed alley full of bats and birds. He’s torn between being touched that all of them came and being annoyed that he isn’t already in the process of murdering the kid’s parents. 

“New Brother?” Orphan asks the moment the bike is off, head tilting in question from her dumpster-top perch.

A second, smaller sense of outrage bubbles up next to the first, and it is a testament to his impeccable self-control that his hand only twitches over his gun at the question.

Bruce - Batman - tries to say something, but before he can finish even just the first syllable Jason’s head is snapping around to glare hell at him, and a low, animalistic growl practically rips itself from his throat.

He can see the way everyone tenses - subtle to anyone else, but a glaring neon sign in Jason’s vision. 

He curses himself for it; he asked them to be here. He specifically requested their help, and they gave it. The more of them there are involved, the faster they can help the kid into a safer environment.

But Jason came here to help the kid, not to offer him up as the next sacrifice in Batman’s long line of child soldiers.

“You wanna help? Great. Rule One: YOU,” he points at the bat for emphasis, “can’t adopt him.”

He chokes on whatever he was intending to say next at Orphan’s delighted clap and exclamation of “nephew!”

He wants to correct her, but… he doesn’t. 

Crime Alley is no place to raise a kid; Jason knows that.

He knows it more than anyone, having spent his early years there and his most recent years trying to make it better. He knows that.

But h- the kid is a meta. 

Looking at the facts: the kid is meta.

The kid is meta whose first concern with rule breaking is punishment via torture device.

The kid’s parents are neglectful enough that he spent over a week in Gotham and they never even noticed.

The kid went to Gotham to escape his home.

Whether his parents know that he is a meta or not, it is clear to Jason that the kid needs to be Out Of That House. Yesterday.

But he also knows just how metas are treated - even the MPA can only do so much against the tides of hatred and fear. 

And he’s seen the maps - he knows this state is one of the worse ones for metas to live in, let alone a meta child at the mercy of a foster family that has even odds of neglecting him, being just as bad as his original family, or possibly actually caring about him.

Crime Alley is no place to raise a kid, and Red Hood is far from the right person for such a job.

But Crime Alley isn’t all that Gotham is, and perhaps Jason Todd could very easily decide to get an apartment in a nicer area.

He won’t lie to himself, he knows he isn’t parent material, but he’ll at least be a step up from what the kid is used to while he works to vet a real family to transfer him to. 

He’s halfway through his mental checklist of the options for the safest place for an apartment and other such logistics when he’s reminded of where he is by Oracle’s voice in his ear.

“Hate to interrupt the group brooding you guys have going on over there, but I managed to dig up… a lot of information about the boy and his family situation.”

He notes how the others all perk up from where they’d been…staring at him. 

Ah, that was why it was so quiet. They were staring in disbelief when he didn’t deny the nephew thing. Well. A conversation for another time.

“Lay it on me,” he says to Oracle, ignoring them.

“His name is Daniel James Fenton, goes by Danny, high grades throughout elementary and middle school until they took a steep drop at the beginning of highschool - likely related to whatever happened when his metagene activated. 

Has one sibling, a sister named Jasmine Fenton - no middle name. She goes by Jazz. High grades across the board with no notable dips. No indication of possible metagene in any of  her records or in Danny’s, beyond the grade drop and your own first-hand experience.

Parents Jack and Madeline “Maddie” Fenton. They have their own personal website where they describe themselves as “ectobiologists” and as ghost hunters. The pictures in their gallery show a vast array of weapons - dubbed “ectoweapons” - in the same chrome-green style with the name “Fenton” stamped somewhere on them. Some of the weapons are for sale on their site, advertised for defending oneself against ghosts. There are some pictures of what must be their lab, all of which look to include at least 12 different types of OSHA violation, and the image in their site’s “about” section has the whole family standing in the lab in front of what looks like a vertical Lazarus Pit.”

“What,” Batman says more than asks, voice tense.

“And judging by the staircase seen reflecting off of one of the guns in the picture, it seems that this lab is in their basement - I can’t see why it wouldn’t be, given they were fine with putting an enormous monstrosity of a satellite on top of their building.

There are plenty of cameras in the house itself, but for some reason all I can get from them is static. Any video or audio in the house that they don’t put on their site appears to be unusable for some reason. 

All told, there is plenty of cause to get CPS involved. If their lab safety is even half as bad as it looks and it’s in their basement it’s pretty much a sure thing that the kids’ll be taken from them. 

Given the small-towny nature of the area it’ll be best to contact someone from outside of the community for the case. It’ll move things along significantly if we have somewhere to send them.

They have an aunt, Alicia Walker, but she’s already marked down as a “no” for taking them in in the event something should happen to the Fentons. 

This leaves their godfather: Vlad Masters. An incredibly reclusive billionaire, pursued the same Paranormal Science degree as the Fentons did when they were in college, but suffered an accident that put him in the hospital for two years with an unknown illness that Masters was allowed to name “ecto-acne.” Lost all contact with the Fentons until he invited them to a reunion party last fall and was named godfather three weeks later.

Masters got his wealth through a series of suspicious business deals. No one has been able to prove foul play yet, but just glancing over some of the early papers is already showing plenty of inconsistencies.

No other relatives - the Walker parents passed away some time ago, and while one of the Fentons remains, she’s in a nursing home. And also disowned Jack. And went out of her way to disown both Jazz and Danny as soon as she heard about them.”

“Great. Make Jason Todd a long lost cousin, set CPS on them. Red Hood is here because Danny ran away to Gotham and stuck his nose in crime alley so I tracked him down because I thought he was kidnapped in my territory, the Bats chased down Red Hood thinking he was gonna hurt the boy, CPS is there because your research turned up the potential unsafe living conditions and you overheard that the kid was gone for a week without anyone noticing - which scream neglect. Now we’re cooperating because we’re all annoyed at the parents that let their kid wander all the way to Gotham and convinced him that a torture device was a possible grounding option.”

He turns to Batman. 

“You can claim to have done a DNA search to find the connection, and I’m sure you can find a reason to dismiss Masters as an option. Make sure to have them call Jason as soon as possible. Oracle-”

“Already routing incoming calls through Gotham. Also, both of Masters’ residences have inaccessible cameras similar to what I’m experiencing with the Fentons. He can be dismissed under suspicion of having an OSHA nightmare in his home. I’ll see if he has his own vertical Lazarus Pit while you all work on exfiltrating the niece and nephew.”Jason doesn’t dignify that with a response, hopping back on his bike to follow the new route - this time actually to the Fenton household.

[cevansbrat0007]

On the Clock

Summary: Ari stops by for a snack while he's out chasing a lead.

Warnings: Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Oral Sex (fem rec), Finger Fucking, Ass Slapping, Ass Grabbing, Handcuffs (mentioned), Overstimulation (implied), Cursing, Pet Names, Minors DNI

A/N: Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are sincerely appreciated.

___

“Oh God, I–Beast!”

Your fist slams down on the desk as your legs threaten to give out from under you. It was all too much. Between each sinful flick of his tongue, and the delicate precision of his thick fingers roughly pumping in and out of your dripping pussy… 

You weren’t sure if you were actually going to survive. 

“Gimme one more, Bird. Just one.” Ari’s free hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp crack echoing through your tiny stockroom and spilling out into the shop. “You can do it.” 

A muffled sob escapes as you cling to the cool, flat surface for dear life while that same hand delivers another blow – this time giving your cheek a hard squeeze after it lands. His punishing grip all but ensuring that you’ll be heading home with fresh bruises, although he has yet to hear you complain. 

Especially after he just got done telling you that all your sweet curves belonged to him anyway. A fact that you were no longer as interested in disputing as you once used to be. Maybe it was because you enjoyed wearing his marks almost as much as he enjoyed giving them to you.  

The filthy wet squelch of his fingers as they ruthlessly fuck your cunt, along with with the sounds of your desperate cries, has you feeling grateful that there’s no one around to witness just how pitiful you must look. 

Of course you have Ari to thank for that, whose quick thinking brought you to this very moment. 

Which involves him kneeling between your parted thighs, eating your pussy from the back. Devouring you as if his life depends on it. And for all you knew, it did.

Because when Ari had sent you a message at 11:57am asking if you were free for a quick snack, you’d had no idea that he’d been referring to this. But then again, you also hadn’t had time to respond, what with you trying to box up orders for several waiting customers. 

Which meant that you’d been just as surprised as anyone when he strolled through the doors of Baubles & Quills less than ten minutes later, with his badge displayed on his hip and a scowl etched across his ruggedly handsome face.

Confused by his sudden presence, you’d offered him a brief smile before suggesting that he might be more comfortable waiting for you in the back. Of course your bounty hunter had declined, muttering something about “being on the clock”. And then he’d stood off in the corner glowering at the small group of patrons that were steadily occupying your time. 

Precious time that was apparently reserved for him.

Shaking your head, you’d simply returned your attention to running your business. If Ari had questions that needed answering before you were slated to see him tonight, then he was going to have to wait his turn. Afterall, you had bills to pay for both this place as well as your own home. And providing quality customer service was one way to ensure that you would be able to do all of that on time and in full.

However, that’s not to say that you weren’t affected by his presence. It was almost impossible to ignore the weight of his heavy gaze. Especially since your body felt the need to respond accordingly against your own best interests.

From your quickening pulse and pebbled nipples, to your slightly shaking hands and damp panties, your bounty hunter was not the type to be so easily relegated to the background. Nor was he the kind of man who would allow himself to be forgotten either.

Which was why you then witnessed Ari escort your last patron, the lovely Ms. Greta Thurman who was also pushing 80, out to her car with all the patience of a saint. Only for him to return seconds later, this time locking the door behind him and flipping your sign around to signal that the shop was closed – without your fucking permission.

You’d opened your mouth, fully prepared to protest such gross mistreatment. Only to swiftly think better of it the moment you’d gotten a good look at his face. And then he’d motioned for you to join him back in the stockroom, which had been roughly twenty minutes ago. And now…

Now, you were growing increasingly convinced you were going to die. And yet, the Beast at your back had the nerve to keep demanding that you give him one more. Always just one more. 

“Poor little Bird.” Ari hums, sounding slightly out of breath. But he doesn’t let that stop him, especially when he feels you clench around his fingers when they strum over that special spot inside you. “You might be done, but your pussy wants more.” His pointed tongue goes back to rhythmically lashing at your sensitive clit. 

Again and again. It was enough to drive a woman crazy.

“It’s so good, Beast! S’good!” You mewl, your short, blunt nails scraping against the desk. “S’goo–fuckfuckfuck!” Your ability to form coherent sentences has long since abandoned you, leaving you a sweaty, blubbering mess as your body works overtime to process the intensity of the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“My greedy girl.” His harsh growl has your knees about ready to buckle. “Greediest pussy I’ve ever had.” Sensing you’re about to collapse, he removes his fingers from your wet heat, making you whine. And then he goes back to squeezing and kneading your ass, loving the way you rise up on your toes as he holds you open for his assault.

“Ari!” You continue to whine, wishing you still had his fingers buried deep in your cunt, even as your impending orgasm looms. He growls again in response, the heady vibrations pulsing through your entire overly stimulated body.

You try to run – attempting to climb over the desk in search of refuge – only for your bounty hunter to drag you back. 

“Try that shit again and I’ll cuff you.” Is the only gruff warning you receive before he goes back to lapping at your honeyed folds. The vulgar sounds he makes as he sucks and slurps at your heated flesh, demonstrating just how committed he is to his task.

And he positively hated being interrupted. Your vision blurs when he reaches around to stroke talented fingers along your swollen nub, taking special care not to send you over the edge until he felt you were ready.

Asshole.

Your hips continue to writhe and buck beneath his assault, but you don’t try to run again. And this time when your orgasm washes over you, it feels so good it hurts. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream as wave after wave of bliss sends your nerve endings buzzing. 

It was hands down some of the most exquisite pleasure you had ever experienced. 

Eventually Ari relaxes his hold, albeit rather reluctantly, before giving you a minute or two to get your bearings. “Thank you, baby.” He murmurs, the husky timbre of his voice sending another small jolt of white-hot electricity pulsing through you as he goes to stand up. “That should be enough to get me through.” 

“Huh?” Comes your weak reply. Frankly, he’s lucky to even get that. Right now you could barely function, let alone string together a damn sentence. But then it registers that he’s leaving. 

Even though he hadn’t –

“I really hate to eat and run, but I’m afraid I’m on the clock.” He winks at you, taking a moment to twirl your ruined panties around his index finger. “Just needed a taste of something sweet first.” He then tucks the garment into the back pocket of his jeans. 

At this rate, your entire underwear drawer was going to be empty before the month’s end. Which meant that you were going to have to put your foot down and demand he return them. At least a few pairs anyway. The brute wouldn’t be happy until you were walking around this town going commando. 

“Oh.” You mumble, feeling a pang of disappointment as you push your damp curls off of your forehead. “Um, okay.” But as quickly as it comes, it’s replaced by a fresh surge of heat in your belly when you finally notice the wetness still darkening his beard. Something he didn’t seem too worried about fixing.

“Aw, don’t look so disappointed, Bird.” His big hands go to frame your face, pulling you close to capture your lips in a heartfelt kiss that has you practically melting. And you can’t help the sliver of female satisfaction that slowly unfurls inside of you when you catch a hint of your warm, earthy scent on his skin. 

Because whether you realized it or not, you’d just marked your territory in a way no other woman could possibly compete with. This Beast was all yours for the time being. 

“There we go.” Grinning when you finally relax, your gentle giant pecks your lips one last time before stepping away from you. He winces slightly, adjusting his straining erection through his jeans, inwardly cursing the fact he had an appointment across town that he was probably already late for. “I’ll be at your place no later than 8:00pm with takeout from Mi Patron. Text me what you want and then be sure to call when you’re locking up, okay?”

“Okay, Ari.” You breathe, your teeth going to nibble at your bottom lip. “It’s a date.” On impulse, you raise up on your toes and wrap your arms around his neck, dragging him down for one last kiss – which he eagerly accepts without an ounce of fight. 

“Sorry.” Is all you say when you finally allow yourselves to come up for air. In truth, you weren’t feeling even remotely apologetic. But you did have an image to maintain so… “Must’ve lost my balance.”

“Right.” Ari whistles low, shaking his head as he pins you with a knowing look. “I’ll see you later. Behave while I’m gone, sweet girl.” With that, he turns on his heel and heads in the direction of your front door. Leaving you alone to make peace with the fact that you were falling for this man.

“I’m doomed.” You mutter, staring down at your bare toes while you debate your next move. On one hand, you supposed you could always skip town. But given his profession, you reasoned he’d be able to track you down with relative ease. 

Well, there went that option. With a sigh you bend down to pick up your capris so you can go about making yourself look presentable again, sans panties. The way you saw it, the only choice you had left was to go down swinging. Which made sense. And if that was the case, then…

“I’m taking you down with me, Levinson.”

END

___

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in between | megumi fushiguro

You're not his girlfriend, but it's hard to deny the ache in your chest when you think of him. You're always there when he calls, but at what cost?

The details: female reader; fwb, sex with feelings, no curse au, megumi being distant and unemotional (for the most part). Aged-up Megumi (he and reader are both in their 20's). Previously posted under a different username. 3.1k words. Divider by @/cafekitsune

It’s late when Megumi calls. 

The buzz of your phone against the nightstand lulls you from a dreamless sleep. You rub your eyes and squint at the screen, taking a deep breath as you decide whether or not you want to answer. You’re tired– it’s been a long week, and if you pick up the phone, you’ll be cutting into your precious sleep time. The other side of this coin is that if you don’t pick up, you’re not sure when you’ll see him or talk to him again. He’s not exactly been a predictable presence in your life, and you really do enjoy the fleeting moments he gives to you. So you accept the call, squeezing your eyes shut and yawning against the back of your hand.

“I woke you up, didn’t I?” His voice makes your spine tingle; it's hushed and raspy, and you know he’s trying not to wake his roommate by talking too loud. 

“Well, yeah. It’s…” you pull your phone away and squint at the time. “... ‘s past midnight, Megumi. What else would I be doing?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’ll let you go.”

“No, wait!” Damn it, you curse yourself. It’s clear you sound desperate, but the more you hear his breath, the more you want to feel it on your skin. You sit up and pull a pillow into your lap. “I’m up. I can’t sleep now, anyway.”

His laugh is quiet– a little bashful, a little incredulous. “You sure?”

“Totally.” I don’t know when I’ll see you again. “Give me a minute. Ten. Twenty.” You giggle and blush, swinging your feet over the side of the bed so you can shuffle to the bathroom. “Is it cold outside?”

“Not too bad, really. I’ll see you, then.”

“Yeah, see ya.” You end the call and find something comfortable to wear– nothing showy or dressy. It isn’t like you’re going anywhere public, anyway. Hair fixed into a sensible style, you spritz a little of the perfume that he’s told you he loves and grab your purse, deciding to take the stairs down to the lobby of your building.

He’s waiting in his little black car, windows down, music thumping– though not too loud. He reaches across and opens the door for you and you slip in, breathless, your heart already pounding. 

“Hi,” he offers, nonchalant, almost bored. His lips curve into a little grin, and your stomach does a flip.

“Hi.” Your smile is a little more eager, but he thinks it’s cute, and he lets you know so by shaking his head, turning his eyes toward the road. “It’s nice out tonight.”

For a moment, you tune into the music on the stereo and murmur a few bars, laughing to yourself because the lyrics are so Megumi. He has a knack for choosing music that speaks to him while speaking about him at the same time, and you're always struck by how poignant the words are. There's not a particular genre that he sticks to– he's not picky. It just depends on the message of the song. The two of you have had several long discussions about what music means to you, and you always come away from them feeling like you don't know him as well as you thought you did. 

Megumi is an enigma. He doesn't talk about his family or his past before you came into the picture. He tells you about all the crazy shit he does with his friends, all of his near-death experiences and places he's traveled and famous people he's met. There's a new story every time you meet up, and at some point you begin to wonder if he's telling the truth or if his life really is as insane as he makes it out to be. At just barely twenty-three, Megumi has seen and done more things than the average person will experience in an entire lifetime.

He's never met anyone like you, though. No one cuts through his defenses the way you do. No one clouds his thoughts the way you do, day in and day out. It's why he has to limit himself to only seeing you once a week, give or take. If he were to see you more often than that, he'd never be able to focus on anything else. 

"You're quiet tonight," he says, reaching across to lay his hand on your thigh and give it a subtle squeeze. You roll down your window and suck in some of the fragrant, early summer air, thankful to see that he's driving further away from town tonight. There's a good amount of countryside that you've explored together, and you hope he's driving to your favorite spot. The sky is clear, temperature mild. It's the perfect night to lay a blanket out in your favorite field and stare at the stars. 

"Been a long week," you say. "Work has been hell."

"Tell me about it," he encourages, making a gentle left turn onto the road you'd hoped. This one is gravel; he slows the car to avoid jostling you too much, but you don't mind. In the rear view mirror, you see a cloud of dust stirring in your path and it awakens a memory of the last time you came to this spot. You squeeze your legs together and stare out of the open window, hoping that tonight will be another for the memory books.

You tell him about work, about your shitty coworker who got caught stealing money from the bank deposits and threw a giant tantrum on her way out the door. About the lawsuit she threatened and the line of customers that was more concerned with the time they'd waited than the resulting drama from the discovery. By the time you're finished, he hasn't said a word, but he slows the car once he crests the top of a familiar hill and comes to a stop, shifting into park. The rumble of the gravel road stops, and the resulting silence feels too loud for a few seconds. The song changes, and he hums the melody, his arm hanging loosely out the window, fingers drumming on the side of the car.

"I remembered you liked it up here." He's quiet tonight, too. There's something on his mind, but you don't want to pry. Megumi will talk when he wants to and not a second before. So you nod and hum in agreement, hopping out of the car. You circle around to the back and knock on the trunk; he opens it with the press of a button and kills the engine but leaves the radio playing. The music is an important part of his night with you. 

You pull the blanket from the trunk and toss it over your shoulder. Megumi meets you and steps close, fingertips grazing your hips while his eyes adjust to the darkness. Your heart jumps when his scent surrounds you, and you find yourself stepping closer as if you're somehow magnetized to him, tilting your head to meet his gaze. 

"Hi," you breathe, lips slightly parted, anticipating his next move.

"Let's walk," he says, threading his fingers between yours and stepping off into the tall grass. You don't move far from the car before you stop, declaring that this is the perfect spot, your head tilted back toward the sky as you drink in the stars. Away from the city, they're brilliant and sparkling, and you aren't really able to fathom just how many there actually are.

Megumi thinks your eyes shine brighter than any of them, but he'd never say that out loud. He'd never forgive himself for being so unbelievably dorky by saying something romantic like that. Instead, he lifts the blanket from your shoulders and spreads it out on the dewy grass, then sits down with his long legs crossed, tugging at your hand until you crumple to the ground beside him and kick off your shoes. 

"You have a knack for finding good scenery," he admits, gliding his hand back and forth over your knee, your calf, then back up to your thigh. "I like this spot a lot."

"You like small talk tonight, too," you counter, poking his shoulder, feeling impatient for his touch somewhere other than your leg. "What's going on with you? You're acting weird."

He shrugs and grabs your hand before you can reclaim it, lifting it to his lips for a kiss to the back. "I'm not allowed to miss you?"

You laugh a little, short and exasperated. "Well yeah, but just say it instead of trying to make small talk. This isn't like you."

He leans into you then, fingers trailing over your cheek, his breath cool and peppermint-scented. Your eyes flutter closed and you curl your own fingers just under the collar of his shirt, giving him a subtle tug to bring him even closer. "Fine. I missed you. But I don't now." He kisses you then, soft and pliant and achingly tender. It leaves you wanting more, but you could also kiss him just like this for the rest of your life.

"I missed you, too," you whisper when his lips fall to your neck and his tongue traces a path back upward to your jawline. His hands cup your face, fingers fanned behind your ears, guiding you so that more of your neck is exposed to his mouth. 

He whispers your name and guides you to lie back just as a breeze blows through the field. It stirs his hair and he pushes it back away from his eyes before leaning against you to kiss you differently now- a little harder, a little more insistent. It's instinct for you to arch your back, hands pressing into his back to hold him in place. You find yourself at ease with Megumi more often than not– you're not afraid to give into your desires, most of which have been discovered and explored thoroughly by (and with) his hand. You've not been with many men, but Megumi has been your favorite. 

It's not just about the sex, though anyone looking from the outside in might think that. It's convenient for both of you– no strings, no feelings beyond a deep friendship. Your best friend calls him your fuck-buddy, but you know it's more. Just…not as much as it takes for a full-fledged relationship. Megumi has told you that time and time again. He's satisfied with your arrangement. You are too, for the most part. You're free to date other people, free to live your own life, to finish your degree and keep your apartment tidy and keep your own hours without worrying about accommodating someone else. 

When he lifts your shirt away and unclasps your bra, you wonder fleetingly what it might be like to wake up next to him. He sucks a nipple into his mouth and all coherent thought floats away on the night breeze, and you bury your fingers in his hair, crying out his name. You scramble to pull his own shirt away, claiming an unfair playing field, then drag your nails down his back as he moves over top of you, grinding his half-hard self against your thigh. You suck a mark into his neck and hear him hiss, muttering something about his roommate. 

You freeze. "What?"

Nonplussed, he devours the soft skin between your breasts, one hand grabbing and pulling while the other parts your thighs, fingers pressing against the heat beneath your jeans. "They're gonna ask about the hickey."

"So?" Try as you might, you can't fight the roll of your hips when he touches you through your pants. He's good. Too good.

"They don't know about us." He kisses downward over your abdomen, nibbling at the soft flesh of your belly before biting the waist of your jeans, pulling them away from your body and nudging his nose against your hip. 

"Whose fault is that?" you ask, unable to resist pushing your fingers through his hair again. "Why is it a big deal if you're sleeping with me?"

He unfastens your jeans. You let him. "'S not. Just not their business, that's all."

He's right, but it gnaws at you anyway. You grab fistfuls of his hair and tug when you feel his breath on the part of you that needs him most, and he peels your jeans away fully, dropping them into the pile of clothes at the foot of your blanket. You're completely nude and entirely vulnerable to him now. He kneels over you, bangs hanging in his face, a small smile on his kiss-swollen lips. "You alright?"

You lie. You nod, using the ball of your foot to nudge the bulge in his pants. "Need you," you say, sitting up to help him take off his pants.

Months of this, and you know exactly what he likes– how he wants to be with you, where he likes to be kissed (his neck, just below his ear) and how he likes to be touched (a heavy, reassuring hand, kneading his muscles, pulling at flesh). You know he doesn't care to receive, but he loves to give. Megumi is a generous lover, thorough and deliberate and intentional with every move, each kiss. He wasn't always; the first few times you hooked up were less than incredible, but you couldn't stay away from him. It wasn't always about the sex at first, anyway. He was easy to talk to because he didn't say much. He let you ramble without judgment and without making you feel as if you were burdening him somehow. Though he'd offer little in the way of advice or encouragement, you appreciated his quiet candor, his way of absorbing without getting emotionally involved in your woes.

You connected in a physical way, too. It was obvious the first time he kissed you, and with how fast things escalated, you knew he wouldn't be someone you could easily give up. He made it clear from the beginning that he didn't want a relationship beyond a friendship, and you agreed. You didn't need the drama of a romantic relationship, either. 

When he moves inside you, you'd swear you're lifted clean off the ground. He's a perfect fit, and it never fails to take your breath away. Week after week, he brings you the most satisfying pleasure, taking his time to make sure there's not one inch of your body left untouched, un-kissed, unloved. He worships you, the way you make him feel, the way your body seems made for his. He likes to do it outside, though the car has proved hot in more ways than one when the weather isn't cooperative. You've done it in the rain though, all giggles and slippery skin and soaked hair. There's a certain trust you've built, but because you're not a regular thing, it feels special every time he calls you to meet up.

When he feels you begin to quiver, your breath fast and hot against the sharp line of his jaw, he pulls you up, away from the blanket, arms wrapped securely around your back. He shifts just enough so that he's sitting with you straddled across his lap, his cock still buried deep inside you, just at a different angle now. He pushes his thumbs under your chin and cups your cheeks, staring into your eyes with intimidating intensity. He's close– you see it in the way his jaw twitches, his eyes shine with something deep and concentrated. His lips hover close to yours, parted just slightly while you roll your hips against his, fingers knotted together at the base of his neck. You start to tell him you're coming but he licks the words out of your mouth, muffling your whimpers when you start to pulse and fall apart around him. 

Megumi curses and bites down on your bottom lip, sharing his breath with you while he tugs at your hair, his other hand splayed across your lower back to push you in at just the right angle so he feels all of you. It spurns his release, too, and his typically quiet nature is betrayed with a surprised shout as he comes faster than he'd known he could. Each breath you take is punctuated with your cries, and you cling desperately to him, your entire body coursing with the aftershock of your release. 

For a long time, you hold each other. You wait until your heart steadies, Megumi regulates his breathing, and he kisses your shoulder, then rubs his cheek against the sweat-slick skin of your neck. He kisses your ear, then pushes his nose against your cheek, cradling you as close as you can possibly get.

"It's hard for me…to admit that I need someone," he confesses. 

You kiss the crown of his head and tug him against your chest. Though your legs still quiver, you try your best to stay like this for him. He's almost always more likely to talk after you've had sex– he feels raw and vulnerable, and he knows he can bury his secrets in your skin. You're good at giving him that, too.

"I know…I know." You stroke his back and feel him relax further until he's heavy enough to push you down onto your back. 

He hovers over you, eyes searching your face. "Why do you always answer when I call?"

"I never know when I'll see you again if I don't," you admit, feeling oddly embarrassed. 

"You can call me too, you know," he says, as if it's the most logical thing in the world.

You know better than to fall for it, though. He's said it before, and you've called. You've texted. You've waited and waited for him to call back, and he'll only do it on his time. So, you've learned to save yourself the embarrassment and wait for him to make a move. Is it wrong? Your best friend seems to think so.

Do you care? Nah. It makes sense for you right now. And when Megumi whispers to you how soft you are, and how right you feel, you find you can't argue with him about who calls who and who is more available at the drop of a hat.

It's not love…at least not yet. But you'll enjoy the in-between for a while. 

[mournings-stars]

Could I request an Alastor x reader? mostly smut, however i love fluff with aftercare and such

I was thinking the premise being of a reader who was and old friend from cannibal town coming to the hotel maybe? (cis fem reader)

hellohello! i personally don’t write smut for alastor but here’s a little fluff for you/how im comfortable writing for alastor!! its a bit of an ambiguous relationship but i hope thats fine :)

alastor x cannibal town fem reader (i may make this into a multi-part fic)

There was more than one reason Alastor brought Charlie to Cannibal Town — yes, it’s important she met Rosie, but he also had business to attend to while she did. He excused himself, heading down the street, several shops down, and into a narrow alleyway where he opened a hidden door to a small shop.

It was two small rooms and a back kitchenette. The walls of the first room were lined with bookshelves that made a narrow aisle to the back of the store. There, was an open seating area with sofas, armchairs, and a roaring fireplace across from the small register in the corner. It certainly wasn’t supposed to feel like a store where you had to buy something, but one where you could if you really wanted to.

“Welcome in!” A very sweet voice came from the back of the shop, a hint of an old, long-lost accent that made Alastor’s smile widen. “I’ll be right with you!”

“Take your time,” he hummed, and immediately heard shuffling from the other room before you stumbled into the front. “Hello, my dear!”

“Alastor!?” You gasped, lifting the hem of your skirt to rush over to him and hug him. He stiffened, a high pitched radio frequency sounding from his microphone and making you step back. “Sorry—“ You straightened out his suit jacket with a smile tugging at your lips as he watched you. When your fussing became too much, he placed a very calm hand over yours and gave you a gentle smile. You laughed under your breath and stepped back. “Sorry—“

“You said that already, my dear — and there’s no need to!” You nodded as he squeezed your hand before letting it go. “No need at all!”

“Right, right… How are you? Where have you been? I’ve… missed you.” Your excited tone dampened as you finished, clearing your throat and offering a smaller smile when it faltered. “But I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“You were always too kind to me!” He said cheerily, walking to the second room to have a seat on the couch.

“Can I get you anything, Al?”

“Just a bit of precious time,” he said a little too sweetly, waiting for you to sit across from him. But you made yourself busy, pouring hot water over tea and preparing a plate of sweets for the two of you to share. “Tell me how you’ve been!” He said impatiently as he watched you go anywhere but toward him.

“Ah… where to start?” You hummed, leaning against the countertop. “I thought you might’ve…” You waved your hand dismissively, but as he’d gone missing just after an extermination, he understood and hummed along. “And since you never told me anything—“

“It was all so sudden, I would’ve left you a note—“

“A note?” You scoffed, but moved on when he nodded, going to get teacups for the two of you. “Anyway, I met someone.”

“Did you?” He sounded unimpressed, watching you get sugar and spoons; anything to avoid sitting down. “So quickly?”

“It took a few years.” He hummed along. “And it didn’t last—“ He laughed snidely. “—It felt very… wrong—”

“I'm sure,” he was almost too quick to say.

“And… They were exterminated, anyway.”

He looked very happy to hear that fact, but said nothing until he got his expression under control. “Shame,” he said, tone crass. “I would have loved to have met them.”

“I’m sure,” you repeated, throwing him a pointed look that he beamed at. “The years have become a bit blurry,” you continued.

“Have they?”

“I spend most of my time here, talking with Rosie. Missing you.“

“Ah, yes… You said that.” His smile dampened. “Surely you moved on?” But he was hopeful you didn’t, and he knew his hopes were answered when you stayed quiet and poured your tea. You remembered how much sugar he liked, and how much cream, not even bothering to ask before you put the cups on the plate and walked to the couches. “I always thought of you,” he admitted, taking the cup you offered, “but I could never go to you… I watched from afar.” He cleared his throat, sipping his tea and forcing his smile to stay put. “And I felt…” His eyes drifted to nothing as he thought back on those seven years. “Excruciatingly bored.”

You laughed. “Does that mean you missed me too?”

He narrowed his eyes, taking the plate from you before you could get anything else. “Why don’t you have a seat next to me?” He set the plate on the end table. “I didn’t come here to be served; I came to, finally, get the chance to see you again.” And then he offered his hand, and the small gesture of vulnerability made you understand that yes;

He missed you very much.

[nanabansama]

Twin Power

In Chapter 108, when Tsukasa tells Nene that Amane won't be able to answer her calls for help right now, Nene tells him to try by harnessing his "twin power."

Now this is silly!! Nene, don't you know twins don't actually have powers in real life? Tsukasa also not knowing what she's talking about is so precious, omg.

Buuut... what if he does have some kind of communication power linked to Hanako?

Despite Nene calling out to Hanako several times...

...he only comes when Tsukasa whispers something, presumably Amane's name! (For more on this, see this post.)

Now, this is really interesting, because Tsukasa is positive that Amane wouldn't answer his calls. And I think that is true--normally, Amane wouldn't.

Except, who was the person that stole his assistant away again...?

And this isn't me trying to disparage Amane, of course! It's obvious he cares about Tsukasa a lot (must we forget what being a yorishiro means?) but he would never just ignore Nene's calls while answering Tsukasa's.

Especially when Tsukasa indicates he's been ignoring his calls for a while now.

Now, while I'm sure that Hanako showing up to save Tsukasa right when he calls could just be for dramatic effect... what if Nene was actually onto something?

What if Tsukasa has some sort of psychic connection to Hanako, perhaps related to him being his yorishiro?

And what if Hanako has been ignoring him the whole time?

WOULD THAT BE FUCKED UP OR WHAT?!

The indication Tsukasa makes that he was stuck somewhere (maybe Hanako's boundary?) and had to free himself without Amane's help makes this all the more upsetting.

I just think that, on top of the very real fact that Hanako has been ignoring Tsukasa's cries for help, the idea that Hanako can't even tune them out is... pretty awful, don't you think?! It almost makes me hope that's not the case, for both their sakes.

...The fact that Tsukasa can stay so upbeat in spite of this makes it easier to stomach, though! What a guy. ♡

Anyway, I could just be reading too deep into things, but I personally believe AidaIro has a wicked sense of humor and that little "jokes" like this often have more meaning than we give them credit for. But let me know what you think!

[evermoresversion]

ㅤㅤ♡⃕ ﹙falling for you, conrad fisher. chapter three.﹚

PAIRING Conrad Fisher x Fem!Reader

TW/TAGS Established relationship, fluff, marriage proposal, mention of pregnancy.

SUMMARY After everything you've been through, you and Conrad decide the future of your relationship.

SONG Paper Rings by Taylor Swift.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN | CONRAD'S MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST | SERIES' MASTERLIST

"Where we go?" you asked Conrad as he guided you somewhere on the beach while you had your eyes covered with a blindfold.

It had been at least two years since what happened with Belly.

"Just wait a little bit." you could hear the smile on his lips and there was a moment where he let go of you.

"Connie?" you asked with a bit of worry but it dissipated when you heard his voice again.

"I'm here, hon." You waited until he gave the next instruction. "Walk a couple of steps forward."

"I'm not going to fall, am I?" you heard him let out a soft laugh.

"No, love, trust me."

You sighed and did as he asked, thus coming across his body, from which you took his forearms with your hands so as not to fall.

"I got you, I got you." he assured. "Take off the blindfold."

Once again you obeyed him and blinked several times to get used to the sudden change in light while Conrad adjusted your hair that had been messed up.

Once you could see clearly a big smile formed on your lips.

"We are in...?" You asked, looking into his eyes and observing a shine in them that you were sure was the same in yours.

"Yes, we are in the same place where..."

"We kissed for the first time." You both said in unison while you watched the beach and he admired you.

"Yeah." he smiled.

"This part of the beach is even prettier at night." you mentioned and your gaze finally landed on Conrad and he looked at you with love and adoration. Despite so much time together, he still managed to make you nervous.

"I thought about making dinner for you but everything would probably have burned, so I might as well pass on that option." He mentioned with a sly smile of embarrassment and you smiled, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb.

"It's perfect anyway." You murmured, observing everything in detail. "Did you decorate it yourself?"

"Yeah, yeah," he scratched the back of his neck, looking at everything as well and then at you. "Do you like it?"

"Are you kidding me? I love it. I love the vintage lights and the detail of the petals. Thanks, Connie." You smiled gratefully and he leaned down to peck your lips.

"Everything to see you happy."

Your attention was diverted to one of the nearby trees, some photos were hanging on it. You approached to see it up close and sure enough, they were photos of both of you.

"Connie this is beautiful..." as you turned to look at him, he was kneeling on one knee in front of you, holding the most beautiful ring you had ever seen in your life.

"y/n, we have been through so much together that I think we deserve a happy ending, I wanna teach you how forever feels like, I want to wake up with you every morning, spend the rest of my life with you and grow old together. You are everything I was looking for and I finally found it, so I won't let you go, I will take care of your heart as the most precious thing I have, you are everything to me. Do you want to marry me?"

Some tears threatened to come out of your eyes and a look of panic appeared on Conrad's face at your silence, but he sighed in relief the moment you began to nod effusively.

"Yes! Of course I want to marry you." Conrad got up from the ground, gently took your hand, put the ring on your finger, kissing your hand and took your face to kiss you lovingly.

"We're going to be very happy, you won't regret it." He murmured against your lips and you kissed him again excitedly.

At that moment you didn't need anything more than each other.

Deep down you have never needed it.

disclaimer ── evermoresversion © 2024.

TAGLIST OF THE SERIES : @ilovefamousmen11 @elcpsstuff @j-u-hs-world @akornsworld @conradfisherswifesstuff @sarcasm-and-stiles @nctma15

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts

Today's prompt is: cold. (Apologies in advance for waving a cheery goodbye to the cold for a while, before it was brought back)

The Luckies Girl in the World (chapter six)

Summary: A visit to Sherlock's parents bestows Rosie with a pet name.

Six Years Old

I never found it weird that Papa called me Watson. It was his name for me, but some of my friends, teachers and apparently Sally Donovan, found it to be heartless and cold. 

They all failed to discern the amount of affection and warmth in his voice when he addressed me as such. There was nothing cold about it.

Papa also used endearments like my heart and my precious girl, but only in private, which made them feel even more special. I never heard him call Dad anything but John, though he had a dozen different ways of saying Dad’s name.

***

Papa gave me a new name a warm summer day when I was six. We were visiting his parents, which I adored, he not so much. That’s what he claimed, anyway, but I saw how fond he was of them. They didn’t have that strong bond I had with my parents, but it more than sufficed, and Dad made up for it by being his wonderful self. Natural, friendly, helping in the kitchen and doing some of the heavier gardening for my grandmother.

Papa and his father had one particular interest in common. Bees. My grandfather had several beehives, and the first thing Papa did when we arrived, was to pester his father about the creatures he found so endlessly fascinating. Papa’s father was a patient man and answered all his questions meticulously. 

Until then, I hadn’t been allowed near the hives, but this time, Pops, as I called him, had a surprise for me. My very own beekeeper suit, long gloves and a gigantic hat with a protective veil.

Papa was just as excited as me when I’d dressed myself, and the three of us walked into the garden to inspect the beehives. Not after Dad had taken endless pictures, though.

“Fascinating, aren’t they?” Papa murmured in my ear when Pops lifted out one of the frames where bees crawled around and buzzed.

I could only nod in agreement, because I couldn’t get my eyes off them. The hexagon pattern, the delicious honey they produced, their colour, how organised it all was.

At dinner that night, I told Dad all about my bee adventure, helped by Papa and Pops. When Granny served her famous honey cake with toasted almond flakes on top and vanilla ice cream for dessert, my day was complete.

“Is the honey from Pops’ bees?” I asked hopefully.

“Oh, yes, Rosie,” Granny answered. “Your Pops wouldn’t allow any other honey inside this house. Besides, it’s the best honey for miles.”

Pops squeezed her hand, and I sighed happily when I was granted a second slice of cake.

***

After that day, Papa started to call me by another name. Not that he discarded Watson altogether, but it was mostly limited to when he reprimanded me, so I guess it turned out to have a chillier effect on me in the end. 

When he first used the new name in Dad’s presence, I could see tears form in his eyes.

“Bee,” Dad whispered. “What a beautiful and fitting name.”

“Indeed. You like it, don’t you?” Papa asked me.

“I love it,” I stated. “I’ve never had a pet name before, have I, Dad?”

“Not as such, love,” Dad agreed. “Do you want me to come up with something too?”

“Only if you want to. You call me love and sweetheart all the time in addition to my name, so it’s fine,” I told him.

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” Papa recited.

“You and your Shakespeare,” Dad teased.

“Well, it is a nice quote, though I think an originally Danish saying, also used in Norway as far as I know, describes what I’m thinking about even better,” Papa retorted.

“Can you translate it into English?” I asked expectantly.

“Of course, Bee,” Papa replied. “A dear child has many names.”

Also available on AO3

(@s in the replies)

[turtlecleric]

Bay!Mikey x Reader, angst? It's pining idiots time. Idk I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open but I wanted to do something for V Day

---

By the time you make it home, you're exhausted and ready to pass the fuck out. After a much-needed shower, you collapse onto the couch and put something on the tv for noise. Despite how dead tired you feel, it's not late enough to actually think about sleep yet. Besides, sleeping this early would be a waste of your very limited, very precious free time. Still, you don't really feel like doing much of anything, so you proceed to stare at the ceiling while some random sitcom fills your living room with quips and laughter that you don't really hear. 

You're just starting to consider saying fuck it and going to bed anyway when there's a knock at your door. 

You groan as you push yourself up. A little annoyed. A little confused. Those feelings don't go away when you open the door to see a stranger holding up a plastic bag with the logo from your favorite sushi place. 

“Delivery,” the guy says in a bored tone, pushing the bag into your hands.

“Uh.” You glance down at the food, then back up at the guy. “I didn't order any-”

“Already paid for. Says it's for,” he peers down at his phone for a moment, and he grimaces a bit. “...Angelcakes.”

Your eyebrows raise at that. Mikey bought you food? Why? 

The guy heaves a sigh, then leaves without another word. He's not having a very good Valentine's Day, you think to yourself. Then again, until now, you weren't either. It's just another day in your world. Just another day filled with too much work and not enough time. You had honestly been planning on just skipping dinner altogether. 

Mikey. Coming in clutch. Again. It makes you smile, that he thought of you. But, to be fair, he always makes you smile.

Damn it. 

You retreat back into your apartment and pull out several containers with various sushi rolls. A lot of rolls, actually. Like, more than you could ever hope to eat by yourself. 

A second knock pulls your attention, though this time it comes from your window. Ah. That tracks. 

You let Mikey in and immediately get swept up in a hug that lifts your feet off the floor. He sways you from side to side in his arms, pulling a laugh out of you before putting you down, and his smile is like a balm on your soul. 

“Mikey!” You feign sternness, jabbing the center of his plastron with a finger. “You should've told me you ordered food! What if I had picked something up? Or started cooking?”

He snorts at that, pushing your finger to the side with one large hand. “You said you were swamped at work. It's gotta be really bad for you to actually admit how busy you are. You always skip dinner when that happens. Can't have my Angel wasting away.” He winks down at you and heads for the couch, already opening a container of sushi and stuffing a bite into his mouth. He turns back to you, talking around his mouthful. “Especially on Valentine's Day!”

His tone is light, like it always is, but the words make you pause. The fact that he knows you that well. That an offhand text you sent that morning led him to do this for you. It has a swell of fondness growing in your chest, and you feel yourself soften. He really is such a good guy. Such a good friend. 

Friend, you remind yourself bitterly. Just a friend. 

He must sense something shift in your mood, because his grin falls. You see his brow creasing, a worried frown tugging at his lips. “You okay, Angel?”

You take a slow breath before fixing your smile back in place. “Just tired, Mikes.” You join him on the couch, pulling a container into your lap and avoiding his gaze. You need to squash this stupid sadness that's got its claws in you. This stupid… yearning for something you can never have. “...Thank you for this. I really appreciate it.”

He's quiet for a moment. Then he grabs a piece of sushi and holds it out, like he's holding a glass and wants you to clink yours against his. It makes your smile real again, and you pick up your own piece to comply. 

“Cheers, babe.” The nickname makes your chest squeeze, but you push the feeling down so he doesn't see. 

“Cheers.”

The two of you eat in comfortable silence as the show plays. It doesn't take long for you to polish off all the rolls with Mikey's help, and you lay down with your head pillowed on his leg like you've done a million times before. His fingers find your hair and start to brush through, pulling a contented sigh from your lungs. His hand in your hair, his steady breathing, just his presence. It's soothing in a way you'll never be able to fully explain, and soon you find yourself struggling to stay awake. 

Halfway through the next episode, you realize he's… uncharacteristically quiet tonight. Not rambling or cracking jokes. Not even laughing at the show - and Mikey loves this show. He's the one who introduced it to you in the first place.

You're so tired, so close to falling asleep right there with your head on his lap, but you manage to push through the heavy blanket of exhaustion and speak. 

“What are you thinking about,” you slur. The feeling of his hands lightly scratching your scalp is making it hard to focus. Hard to think.

His hand falters for a long moment. Then it continues, but he doesn't answer. Time weaves around you, and you try to keep your eyes open but you can't. You can't. You feel yourself drifting, falling into the waiting embrace of sleep, and it's only then that you think you hear his voice. But it's… different. Sad. More serious than you've ever heard him. And surely you're dreaming? Surely this is just your mind playing tricks? 

“Would you be my valentine,” his voice whispers. “If I asked, would you… would you be mine?”

A lovely dream, you think to yourself. 

---

Mikey watches you sleep, still brushing a hand through your hair. You're so beautiful. And he is so, so afraid. 

“Would you be mine?” he whispers into the air. "Would you?"

---

Tag list: @yorshie @luckycharms1701 @thejudiciousneurotic @khayalli @mxalmighty @thelaundrybitch

[fatuismooches]

just thinking abt giving Zandy his good first Christmas after you woke up

like he had never experinced a loving family or any of that kind, and certainly not holidays. Zandik hadn't too, you remember that clearly, you dragged him out to get this and get that, made him watch you bake cookies and such because you didn't want him to somehow mess them up.

so... you tried to do that again but with Zandy instead, ofc you couldn´t tell him about 'Santa Claus' and stuff like that, he'll just tell you many reasons why that would be impossible and so on. but you did make an effort to make him gifts, several for each segment infact. now you might say that would be unreasonable bc they could just go and buy it instead, but you made everything yourself, and they wouldn't even try to complain or get a replacement anyway.

(you also asked threatened the other segments and even prime to get him(Zandy) a present as well, or you might just give them on less than everyone else. they, of course, easily obeyed not wanting the others getting more affection than them.)

-Luv ya

SOBBING MAKING ZANDY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS ONE TO REMEMBER... 😭 Ahh so cute,, you just want to make the precious bb happy!! You know very well how Zandik never had anything nice during his childhood, you know you can't do anything to go back fix that, you can only make him feel loved now... letting him wrap his arms around you securely as he watches your every move very carefully (and has the gall to dictate you on the decisions. "You've used too much of that frosting. I want a different flavor." Also tries to eat them before they're done, the expression on his face when you first physically slapped his hand away was priceless. At least he gets to lick the spoon clean.)

But... maybe Zandy can live out the happy experiences a child should have anyway? (Making Zandy happy and also healing Zandik's inner child at the same time... </3) Of course, he gets the baking experience with you, he gets to decorate the tree with you too, you lifted him up and let him put the star at the top! Maybe if your health is good, he can make snow angels with you and have snowball fights! And the gifts, yes the gifts, you want Zandy to have the experience of excitedly ripping them open and marveling at the gift. Doesn't matter what it is either, Zandy is the type of bb who would appreciate anything. (Maybe you even get Pantalone, Childe, and Bina on the case!! They're fond of the child segment as well :3)

Haha, I imagine Zandy being a bit confused about why the segments are being so nice to him but the feeling is overwhelmed by the joy of all the gifts and attention... maybe this is the Christmas magic you told him about!

The other segments definitely brag about their gifts to each other... they make it a competition even though it's not supposed to be.

[zestirial]

I've honestly only just realized...

That without Izuku, there would have been no Mha at all.

Let me explain: I imagined what the universe would have been like without Izuku's presence. Whether he committed suicide or simply changed profession.

Well, you know what? They would have been in deep shit!

To start things off, we have the SCA attack. Who allowed Mineta and Tsuyu to escape thanks to their quirks? While they were trapped on a boat surrounded by water, with villains at their heels? And who literally saved All Might? I'll leave you to stir it all up, and think of the disaster that could have been even greater if he hadn't been there.

Several injured students would have been the last straw for U.A.! At the beginning of the year, no less.

Let's take the sports festival a step further. I'll keep it simple. If Izuku hadn't been there, Shoto would NEVER have accepted his left side. So he's going to rot to the core because of his rage. And who went to see Endeavor after that to set him straight?

And then, of course, there's the internship part. Iida decides to take revenge on Stain for what he did to his brother.

In the anime, we have deku who arrives in time to save him. But here, no one will be there to help him, and above all, Shoto won't be coming as backup, as he had joined the position sent by the green man.

No Izuku, no location, no location, no rescue.

So Iida must either be dead, or so injured that he can't continue his heroic course, so bye-bye!

Then it's off to training camp. To cut a long story short, Kota would never have accepted the heroes, and there was nothing he could have done since Muscular would have already killed him.

Then it's Eri's rescue. Since Mirio would have inherited the One for All, things wouldn't have turned out the same way at all. So I can't really put an opinion on it, since I'm only basing my opinion on my memory.

But anyway, you get the point.

Izuku midoriya brought back a lot of precious things to his entourage.

He saved and protected many things that he himself neglected.

I've based this summary on the things that struck me most in general order. Clearly, if you ever watch the anime again, you'll find a lot more details! But it's clear that he did more than that. Whether for his friends, his elders or his teachers.

The things he's done are gears for the future, so of course I'm not saying everything. But one fact that's easy to admit and notice is Shoto Todoroki's evolution.

Without Izuku, he would have achieved nothing, and an immeasurable hatred would have reached him by season 6.

Izuku helped him to find inner peace, to reconnect with his family and to make him what he is now.

I say that for him, but it applies to everyone who crosses his path. And who have decided to follow in his footsteps.

So... Thank you for everything Izuku Midoriya! Our hero!❤️

[kalyxvfx]

POLICE OFFICER ELLIE

Ellie x fem!reader

Summary: Ellie doesn’t have much time left over for you so you’re confronting her. 

Content: angsty stuff, sweet story

Note: This is my first story so if there’s something not right with it or it doesn’t really make sense at some points feel free to tell me! I’m open for any criticism. I hope you’ll enjoy reading this!

Word count: 743

Another evening where you come home to an empty apartment with the lights off and just silence. Since Ellie got this job, which she worked very hard for, she always comes home very late in the evening or she doesn’t have much time for you anymore. 

You love her, but you get kinda jealous of all the people that get to see her every day for several hours and you know it is a little pathetic but you couldn’t help yourself.

Throwing your bag in the corner next to the dresser, you take off your jacket and shoes. It’s October so it is really cold and rainy out there so you’re very glad that you finally come home after a stressful day at work.

Today a new trainee came to you in the office and you were the one who had to take care of her. She, Linda, always made mistakes that you had to fix afterwards. You could understand her since it was her first day but it was kind of annoying to you.

It is already 9pm so you start to wonder where your precious girlfriend is right now. After a few minutes you decide to call her, but you just hear the voice of her lovely mailbox. 

“She has never been this late” you mumble to yourself. Maybe the day is as stressful for her as for you, you think.

Walking over to the kitchen you start to cook because waiting on Ellie will just drive you crazy or you’ll get frustrated. “Alexa, play “Blank Space” from Taylor swift on a low volume” you say to this little speaker which is standing on the dining room table.

After a while of cooking and enjoying the music in the background, you finally hear a key on the other side of the door.

“Hey babe, I’m home” Ellie says a little bit tired when the door opens. “Hey, how was your day?” You ask while she closes the door behind her and slips out of her shoes. She looks as if she had been run over, or at least like she needs 10 days of sleep. 

Ellie is coming towards you as she replies “Good I guess.” in an exhausted tone. Good I guess? “An interesting answer when you’re away the whole day” You say with a hint of upsetness while she sights and you continue “and couldn’t even call your girlfriend back.”

You know that she probably has much to do at work and maybe it’s unfair to say it like this but you don’t see her that often anyway, and she can’t even call back?

“Okay babe, hear me out-” she tries to say but you cut her off. “No, no hear me out, I don’t get to see you much anyway and I just wanted to have a calm evening with you, eating your favorite dish, watching a movie together and laugh with you, you’ve been promising this to me since forever now” You explain more upset now than before.

Ellie looks at you a little bit disappointed by herself, “I’m so sorry my love, I didn’t know that this is hurting you so much.” She says while she comes to stand by your side, putting her arms around your back from behind. A faint sob escapes you and Ellie instantly knows that this can’t continue like this

“Hey, don’t you cry, we’ll find a solution okay?” She emphasizes, giving you a kiss on your temple. Just as she does, your head feels as light as a feather. You missed this, all of this. “Okay.” you slowly say, placing your hands at Ellies hands at your lower stomach.

“I’ll speak with my boss tomorrow and try to get better work hours. I don’t want you to be so sad. Why haven’t you said something before?” She asks softly, hugging you a little bit tighter now.

Why haven’t you said something to her before? Why did it bother you so much and you haven’t said something? Was it really so hard to say? Maybe, you think, not really able to get an answer out of your head except that all those worries were just ridiculous now that you think of it.

Her reaction was so lovely and that’s why you love her. “I love you” You say, turning your head to her. “I love you too.” She responds with a slight smile as she kisses your lips.

Communication is key.

[hiemaldesirae]

Hi, electric here, yes the STP man

Not the swap au anon by I HAD A THOUGHT

Adam now is pissed at Vox?

Adam Vox fight of course, like the Adam Alastor fight

But Vox doesn't have a microphone to stop the blast.

And Adam, the annoying man that he is, makes it a point to bring attention SPECIFICALLY TO HIMSELF AND THE FACT THAT HE'S ABOUT TO KILL THE HOTEL'S PRECIOUS HOTELIER

Of course, Lucifer has a deal, and this does not turn out well.

But Alastor would SEETHE

hey electric. love you man but i just want you to picture me like. leaning forward in a chair with my hand pressed to my forehead and sighing like a disappointed father. why do you all show up with your wonderful ideas just to torment me so.......

anyway this one is an absolutely scrumptious thought!! if u dont mind i might even use this in the spinoff fic lol because i just....... cant help but think of adam somehow managing to broadcast across hell the fact that he's going to kill vox *for good* this time, and alastor, whos been engaged in a fight with a couple of exorcists (<- still treating it as a game at this point) immediately changes directions for where vox is, but he's too late and can only watch as adam prepares to strike vox fatally... ofc blah blah some caveat of the deal happens and vox manages to get enough of his power back for lucifer to come in and sweep him away to safety, leaving adam facing a very pissed off (and probably even more powerful than show!al) radio demon and his several murderous thralls (and that includes the other two vees)

[goodqueenaly]

Realistically speaking, how would Brienne or anyone else react to any speculation or reveal that she is Dunk's descendant?

To be clear, I don’t think Brienne (or anyone else in the main story, for that matter) will ever find out that she is a descendant of Ser Duncan the Tall. If the Dunk-Tarth connection plays out the way I think it will (and much of my speculation in this post is going to be using that theory as a baseline), then we’re talking about a romantic/sexual relationship that happened some 80 years prior to the start of ASOIAF; even if Brienne’s ancestor was conceived at a different time from what I imagine, this ancestor certainly has to have existed by 259 AC, when Dunk died at Summerhall. We’re talking, in other words, about at least the better part of half a century, if not close to a century, of difference in time from the birth of this ancestor to the main novels - far too long, probably, for anyone with living memory of this relationship to report on what happened. Too, if Dunk conceived a child with Daella who was in turn passed off as the child of Lord (?) Tarth, then who apart from Dunk and Daella themselves would have known that this affair happened? I suppose it’s remotely possible that someone could, say, get a supernatural vision of the past including this relationship, but I don’t see how this vision would fit into the narrative without feeling awkward and unnecessary. Ultimately, I don’t think Brienne needs to discover the answer to a question neither she nor anyone else around her is asking; this is a mystery we as readers, observing all (or, at least, all of what we’ve been told) of Westerosi history at the same moment, care far more about than anyone in the current novels does. 

Anyway, putting all of that aside, it’s difficult to know what Brienne might think if she learned that she was a biological descendant of Duncan the Tall. On the one hand, if Dunk conceived a child with Daella while he was a knight of the Kingsguard (not to mention while Daella was married to (again, presumably) Lord Tarth), then Brienne might struggle with the idea that her ancestor broke his Kingsguard vows for the sake of a sexual affair (and again, with a royal princess, no less). After all, cultural memory on Tarth does not simply idealize the heroic figure of Ser Galladon of Morne- literally referred to as “the Perfect Knight” - but specifically links that perfection, in part, to the obviously chaste romance between Ser Galladon and the Maiden - the beau ideal of unconsummated chivalric devotion. Nor indeed might Brienne look kindly on her would-be great-grandfather using (so it might seem, at least) the closeness of his role as Daella’s royal guardian to pursue a sexual relationship with her. After all, Brienne had experienced severe shock and disillusionment upon learning that the knights of Renly’s camp at Highgarden who had curried her favor, and even (as Hyle Hunt did) treated her as their equal, had only done so in order to claim her as a sexual conquest in return for a monetary prize. Would Brienne sneer at Duncan the Tall, with respect to his affair with Daella, much in the way she did (at least initially) at Jaime - that he, Dunk, had “scorned and soiled” that “rare and precious gift” Dunk had (in part ostensibly) received, to be a knight and a knight of the Kingsguard? Would she consider Dunk no better than the sleazy knights who had viewed her, Brienne, as no more than a source of casual sex - that her great-grandfather had had no more respect for her great-grandmother’s virtue and his own honor as a knight than men like Ben Bushy and Will the Stork had had for her virtue and their honor?

On the other hand, it would of course be wrong to characterize Brienne as a person who has no concept of romantic attraction and love, even - and, indeed, especially - in the context of knightly service. Brienne’s desperation to serve Renly, and especially to join his Rainbown Guard, stemmed in no small part from Brienne’s very strong, though obviously unrequited, romantic love for Renly. Likewise, though this paragraph is naturally too brief to cover the complex relationship between Jaime and Brienne, her experiences with him have inextricably intertwined romance, chivalric duty, and the meaning of knighthood. (Nor, to be fair, should we ignore the fact that, according to Yandel, “[m]any of the folk of Tarth, highborn and low alike, claim descent from” Galladon of Morne, necessarily implying that Galladon had any number of romantic relationships that resulted in children.) Would Brienne compare her own desire to serve Renly as an expression of her love for him to, as it may have been, Dunk’s romantic devotion to Daella, framed and abetted by his service as a knight of the Kingsguard (when, indeed, he may have been sent specifically as her protector and sworn shield to Tarth)? Would Brienne understand where, perhaps, Dunk’s own romantic feelings toward Daella may have developed and evolved as his knightly service to her continue, when she, Brienne, had herself seen a notable change in her feelings toward Jaime as her quasi-knightly role with him progressed?

Moreover, all of the above speculation is without having a clear understanding of how the Tarths (much less anyone else in Westeros) remember Dunk (not to mention, for that matter, Daella). The presence of Dunk’s shield in the Evenfall Hall armory remains the only direct allusion to Dunk that we know of on Tarth today, a frustratingly vague reminder of his (presumed) time there. We have no idea what Brienne thinks of Dunk as a person (as opposed to simply the possessor, unidentified by her in the moment, of a shield she much admired as a child), much less as a person with a direct impact on the history of her House, and still less how the reputation of Dunk may have changed (or not) over the course of the better part of a century since he had, perhaps, lived there. Because we don’t know Brienne’s opinion of Dunk, we cannot at all say how such an opinion might be impacted by the revelation that Dunk fathered a child who would go on to (presumably) be one of Brienne’s grandparents. 

[sasster]

Walking on Glass

And I do solemnly swear that this is the last set of new trolls I make for a long while.

So what’s the Colmea guy’s deal, anyway? [doc]

-- “Now you’ve really done it.” The child, and she can’t be more than five sweeps old, smiles around a juicebox from her perch. “He’s not going to be happy about this one little bit.” Her warning fills you with just enough dread that it roots you in place.

The he in question is, for the short time that you’ve known each other, very particular of the fungal colonies that throng throughout the lab like a great big web. Some of them in larger terrariums cobbled together and the others in their much smaller quarantines. He was more protective of these small quarantined batches than he was of anything else, even the aquarium that sits nearly ceiling to floor and across the back wall of the lab, housing a handful of species of jellyfish, with the largest, and need for such ample volume, being his overgrown lusus. Nemopilema nomurai, he once whispered into your ear when he caught you staring at her.

She is quite the daunting thing, with what must be a ten or fifteen-foot diameter and countless feet of long sprawling tentacles, tendrils, and tangles of some sort of marine fungus weaving around and within them. He never offered a scientific name or approximate for it, and to be fair, you never asked.

Conversations with the man always centered around his research, his precious colonies, that you’d been helping him with. The science he always mumbled, mostly to himself, was difficult to parse on a good day, on a bad day he stopped pretending to try altogether.

Your role, as far as he was concerned, as far as you understood, was only a very small part.

A collective consciousness. The only colony that survived the interaction with your mutation to the point that you started to become one. Once again, the science of it all was lost on you, something about parasitic symbiosis or some other, but the piece of it he’d gotten into you somehow took root and you’d found yourself actually talking to it.

Making decisions with it.

It was only natural you’d want to get a closer and better look at it, right? 

“It was a mistake.” Is all you can manage, staring at the ground that almost glitters with the way the ambient lights of the tanks shine off of the glass of one of the smaller, now shattered, terrariums that litters the floor. Many of the stray shards lance through the colony in places that look fatal even to the untrained eye.

“It was a mistake.” She mimics, not quite getting the cadence right, but the road work is there, so there’s maybe a future in ventriloquism for the kid. “I think he’s gonna feed you to Big Mama.” She indicates the tank with the massive jellyfish in it, punctuating the thought with the insufferable sound a straw makes when it reaches the end of a drink.

Colmea couldn’t be that unreasonable, could he?

As if summoned, and you don’t think she sent for him, the door opens as soon as the fear creeps up on you.

There is a severe way that the doctor has about carrying himself, a stern expression attached to whatever it is he lets his gaze fall on. Right now that is solidly on you. The gravity of the situation and the weight of the girl’s words leave you incapable of removing yourself from the scene of the crime, after all. You’d only reached a harmless hand in to touch it, how could you predict this outcome?

“It was a mistake.” You whisper desperately as he fully enters the room, the picture of serenity, taking in the scene before him. He does not regard you or what you’ve had to say for yourself.

Even if the colony was not sliced through as it was, the abrupt displacement from its aquatic habitat would have done enough on its own to paint a grim scene, splattered across the floor like an abstract painting. He surveys the damage quietly, a ponderous god, visage poisoned by the blue and pink glow of the lights within neighboring tanks. Now his gaze flits about from shard of glass to shard of glass, as though looking for answers in the mosaic they make up on the floor.

Everything in the lab has become remarkably still, even the girl in the corner has ceased vacuuming the bottom of the juice box in favor of savoring the silence that smothers the room, deafening even over the bubbling of the surrounding tanks.

Colmea does not rush in, ready to collapse to the floor and mourn the loss of his experiment, instead he is carried further into the room by slow and deliberate steps, each one a soft tap against linoleum that crushes the glass beneath it. The answers to questions that he does not bother voicing slotting into his mind as he advances, and if those answers change any part of his expression, which you suspect it doesn’t, it goes unnoticed when his contemplative steps take him into the shadow of his colossal lusus.

Far too long passes before he is standing directly in front of you. Very briefly, a crack in his veneer provides a view into the ever-feared high blood rage bubbling beneath the surface.

“Myriad,” he addresses the girl, still up on her perch by the edge of the jellyfish enclosure. “The colony?”

Myriad makes a face like she is seriously concentrating, an expression you’ve come to understand means she is reaching into her mind to find her natural connection to the fungal colonies that surround her. Not as a member of the collective, but as an eavesdropper. Her game goes on for too long and it is clear that she is only playing up the dramatics, reveling in your dread, when the pensive god clears his throat.

“Dead as a doornail!” She reports, cheery as she was when she delivered her taunts moments before his arrival. It should hurt, but you already knew. You felt it, a part of you, die the second the tank hit the floor. “No survivors, wiped out!”

The ghost of something horrific crosses behind his eyes.

He nods.

His demeanor does not betray him and there is no warning when he strikes, just the stinging feeling left behind by a backhand that causes you to lose your balance. With a hideous crunch, your knees fall into the ruin below, the salty remnants from the enclosure mingles with the fresh wounds and sends a significant shock through your system. So significant in fact, that you make neither a move nor a sound. 

Colmea shakes his hand loose, the anger that boils just beneath but never quite breaking the surface places a dangerous dose of malice behind his eyes.

“Myriad, find me a broom.” He commands, and as soon as it leaves his mouth, her feet hit the ground right behind you with a crunch that makes you wince. A stifled giggle followed by her plodding along tells you it was an intentional assault on her part.

His hand is wrapped up in your hair before the door closes behind her and he lifts you up to meet his eye line, all the while winding more and more of it up until he finds scalp, as though he is handling something that weighs about the same as a stuffed animal. 

There is no growling, no deep orange eyes signaling danger, just a furrowed brow and a deep sigh. “I had such high hopes for you.”

“I,” you start to plead your case, tears welling at the corners of your eyes at the realization that your mutation did not make you special enough, but he does not give you the opportunity to continue. Instead, your face is acquainted with the glass of the aquarium with such force that it rattles the base of the enclosure and causes some of the smaller species of jellies inside to send off bright sparks of light, in hopes of startling whatever predator they assume has invaded.

All they really succeed in is disorienting you all the more, your face making contact a second and third time before stars start to decorate your vision and the edges begin to blur. Something cracks, and it is not the glass.

Still, the angered god does not growl or snarl. Nor does his reflection, warped by a myriad of things between the forming concussion and the glass of the aquarium, broadcast anything beyond his mild indifference.

Your face hits the glass a few more times before the girl returns from her quest and he finally relents, dropping you to the floor with a sigh. In the same moment, the stars in your vision become angry black splotches, eagerly rushing out to meet those blurred edges.