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gogogodzilla · 6 months

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day 27, sensory deprivation

wanda maximoff x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, reader calls wanda mommy, slight dubcon, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, more plot than porn, im sorry yall i got carried away, continuation of day 13 kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

You hunch over the kitchen sink as the steady thrum behind your temples refuses to cease. Ever since Halloween, you have been getting these sharp pains that radiated throughout your skull, not to mention the visions.

You see hallucinations of yourself or someone who looks like you, living another life. You see yourself wearing that same outfit that you did on Halloween fighting monsters that you can’t even begin to describe and robots, out of all things. You see yourself lounging around with people who you think are your friends drinking and attempting to lift a hammer of sorts.

The visions come in quick flashes that leave you sick to your stomach and disoriented afterward. Slowly, you regain your senses enough to straighten. The sounds of Billy and Tommy’s video game and them rapidly pushing the buttons on their controllers fill your ears as you get your bearings. You’re right where you’re supposed to be.

Suddenly, they call for you. You hurry to right yourself, trailing a hand soothingly over your temple before you venture into the living room.

“Our game keeps changing,” Tommy complains as you watch as the controllers are surrounded by red, pixelated energy every few moments and change in their hands. You raise a brow, at a loss for words.

Before you can even begin to offer an answer, the twins are off running upstairs. “Boys!” you call, but they’re already gone. You chase after them, your footsteps echoing on the stairs.

“Mom, our game is freaking out!” you hear Billy exclaim as they rush into your bedroom.

“Is she asleep?” Tommy asks as you reach your bedroom door.

Wanda’s voice is muffled as she replies, “Mommy’s not sleeping, honey. She’s just resting her eyes.”

You rest a hand on either of the boy’s shoulders, “What did I say about letting mommy rest? I told you she’s not feeling well.”

Billy turns to face you, rubbing his temples, “But, my head feels weird. It’s, like, really noisy. I don’t like it.”

You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “My head’s been feeling a little funny, too,” you murmur before ushering the boys out of your bedroom. “It’s okay, honey, let’s let mommy rest, and we can find something for your head.”

As you reach the bottom of the stairs, your vision blurs for a moment and you blink rapidly. You’re sitting on the living room couch with no one in front of you. You find yourself talking to an invisible presence.

“I’m not sure what’s happening to me,” a mix of a sigh and a laugh leaves you. “Wanda is bedbound, and I have two boys to take care of. I don’t what I’m doing, but I do know that they don’t need to see here like this.”

Your vision blurs again and the next thing you know you’re standing at the bottom of the stairs, right where you were. You stumble a little bit, as you shake your head slightly.

As your vision clears, you notice the boys tugging a Wii remote between the two of them, arguing.

“I got to it first!” Tommy grunts, attempting to pull the controller toward himself.

“You always get to it first!” Billy counters.

You take a step between them grabbing the controller. “Boys,” you hiss, “now is not the time for petty arguments. At least wait until I’ve had my coffee for today, please.”

Tommy clings to your side, “We’ll be good.”

You lean down and press a kiss to the top of his head, “Thank you, honey.”

Movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention and you turn toward the stairs. Wanda shuffles down the stairs, wearing one of your old t-shirts, sweatpants, and a robe. You’re not quite sure how you know it’s your shirt. Billy and Tommy share a look, confusion evident on their faces. Billy shrugs before turning his gaze toward you.

You follow Wanda into the kitchen, watching as she sets the jug of milk on the counter and retrieves a box of cereal out of the cabinet. She pauses as the jug flickers with the same pixelated red energy and changes into a carton.

“Honey, what’re you doing?” you question as you stand on the other side of the counter. Wanda sniffs her spoonful of cereal before bringing it to her mouth.

“Cereal,” she answers as the milk flickers and changes once again.

She shuffles out into the living room and you follow closely. She takes a seat between the boys, and a knock sounds at your door. You take a few steps toward the front door, but Wanda raises her hand and red tendrils surround the door and open it.

“Hi, Agnes,” she calls as Agnes enters your home. “I’d get up,” she says as she begins to laugh, “but I just don’t want to.”

Agnes’s eyes dart from the back of Wanda’s head to yours, and you grimace. She rounds the couch and you follow her, “Hey, boys, why don’t we give your parents some me time?”

Wanda straightens and gasps softly, “Agnes are you sure?”

“Oh, abso-positively,” Agnes beams, reaching a hand out to the boys.

“Do we have to?” Tommy groans as he nears Agnes.

Both you and Wanda nod. You needed to figure out what was going on with her and be there for her. You couldn’t do that if you were looking after the boys and making sure they didn’t destroy your house.

You shoo them along, “It’s okay, boys, I’ll take care of mommy. You go and have fun with Agnes.”

Agnes chuckles, “I promise, I won’t bite.”

And with that, they’re gone. It feels like it’s been years since you’ve been alone with Wanda, even though you were with her all of last night. You take a seat beside her on the couch and set a gentle hand on her thigh.

“Are you doing okay, my love?” you ask, gaze soft as you turn to look at her.

She flicks on the TV with a grin, “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

As soon as she answers the potted plant begins flashing just like Billy and Tommy’s game and just like the milk jug. Next is the fireplace and then the TV. Wanda straightens as the various items in your living room begin rapidly changing. With a flick of her wrist, all the items are back as they once were.

“Why don’t we go upstairs and relax? Everything seems a bit… distracting down here,” you suggest as you stand. You hold out your hand for her to take, and she hesitates for just a moment. “C’mon, let me take care of you,” you urge, shaking your hand slightly.

Wanda grasps your hand and you lead her up to your bedroom. Memories of the last time you were here flood your mind, and the thoughts lingering in your mind make your cheeks flush.

You turn to face Wanda, and it appears as if she had the same line of thought as her gaze drifts to the bed, left messy from her groggy exit this morning. Wanda tugs her robe off and throw it to the other side of the room.

You gently grab her hand and usher her toward the bed. The backs of her thighs hit the edge of the bed and she sits, allowing you to tower over her.

You tuck a loose strange of red hair behind her ear, “It’s going to be okay, love.”

She leans into your touch, humming a bit, “You know, I’m usually the one taking care of you.”

“You think you can let me take the reins today?” you ask, grinning.

She pretends to think it over before sighing, “I think I would like that.”

You reach into the bedside drawer and are pleasantly surprised to find exactly what you were looking for. You pull out a silk blindfold and silk restraints, holding them up for Wanda to see. She nods, wordlessly giving you permission to have your way with her.

She lifts her arms so you can tie them up, and your fingers work expertly as they secure her wrists to the headboard. You aren’t sure how your hands know what to do, it’s almost like muscle memory. You reach for the blindfold and gently pull her hair out of its ponytail so you can wrap the blindfold around her head.

“You’re gonna let me know if it’s too much?” you ask as you straddle her waist.

She nods, “I trust you, baby.”

You hum before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. It’s sensual and sweet— the exact opposite of the thoughts that are currently running through your mind. Desire courses through your veins as you deepen the kiss, swiping your tongue across her bottom lip and ravishing the inside of her mouth.

You groan at the taste of her, sweet like the cereal she had earlier. You pull away, just for a moment, to trail kisses down the side of her, loving the little gasps that leave her.

You slide down her body, trailing your hands over her breasts and down her abdomen. You hook your fingers into the waistband of her sweats, looking up at her through your lashes. She gives a curt nod, sensing your silent request for approval.

In one swift motion, you relieve her of her pants and underwear, leaving her bare. You gasp at the sight as heat pools in your belly. You situate yourself between her thighs, flushing as they automatically spread for you.

“So pretty, mommy,” you whisper, your breath fanning across her core. Her breath catches in her throat as she bucks her hips. You wrap your arms around her thighs, keeping her steady as you press kisses along the insides of her thighs.

She whines as you avoid everywhere except where she needs you.

“Don’t make me beg, baby,” she pants, a hint of warning dancing in her tone. She could easily flip the script and have you be the one begging. All it would take is a flick of her wrist and your reality would change.

The thought causes you to freeze just for a moment. Your… reality?

You’re drawn back into the moment by Wanda bucking her hips in your direction, and you’re reminded of the task at hand.

You run a soothing hand over her thigh, “I’m sorry, mommy. I’ll make you feel better. I promise.”

You press some final kisses before latching your lips onto her core, swiping your tongue through her folds. She tastes exquisite, and you can’t get enough of her. You eagerly lap at her core, taking in all of her. You dip your tongue into her entrance, loving the way she clenches around you.

Those perfect little whines and gasps were escaping her as your mouth worked its magic. You slide a hand up and under her shirt, kneading her breasts and relishing how soft her skin is under your fingertips. You rolled the pliable bud of her nipple through your fingers, eliciting a whine from her.

You slide the index finger of your free hand through her folds, coating it in her slick. You languidly sink your finger into her entrance and then pump it just as slowly. She groans as she throws her head back against the pillow.

You latch your lips onto her clit as you add another finger, increasing your pace. You swirl your tongue around her clit in a way that has her arching her back and whining. You curl your fingers inside her and reach that spongy spot that had her toes curling.

“Love that pretty little mouth of yours, baby,” she whines, clenching against you.

With one final thrust of your fingers, she’s cumming around you, a high-pitched mewl leaving her lips. Her hips rut against you, sending your fingers even deeper inside her. As she cums, red tendrils rush out of her and swirl around the two of you. The room changes rapidly around you, and your vision goes black.

You were a black widow. Natasha Romanoff rescued you from the Red Room, and you became an Avenger. You met Wanda when Ultron lifted Sokovia out of the sky and changed your life completely. Your life was never the same after that, and you’d been by her side ever since. That was until Thanos came and ripped your entire life apart at the seams. He took Wanda from you, and you wanted him dead. You grieved her for those five years, and you grieved everyone you lost afterward. The pain was too great, and Wanda wasn’t the same afterward. You couldn’t do it. She created this idyllic life for you. To keep the pain and the grief and the heartache from hurting you. To keep you with her.

You shake your head and blink rapidly. Your head is pressed against the plush of Wanda’s thighs, and you slowly lift your head. She was still coming down from her high and you remove your fingers from her, earning a sigh from her in return. Slowly, you go through the motions of untying her restraints and removing her blindfold.

She blinks a few times as her eyes adjust to the midday light shining through your bedroom window. You press your lips to her, attempting to convey all the emotions that were swirling through your mind.

She cups your cheek, and her eyebrows furrow as she looks over you, “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Is this real?”

She straightens, “What do you mean?”

“Please, Wanda,” you beg as your throat tightens, “how did I get here? What’s happening?” She stands and begins throwing her clothes back on, avoiding your gaze. You stand along with her, watching as she moves throughout the bedroom. “Please, just tell me. I won’t be mad, I swear.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she states as she heads out your bedroom door. You follow after her, your thoughts racing a mile a minute.

“I love you, and I don’t care how you made this possible. But, I deserve to know,” you pleaded with her as she walked into the kitchen.

She retrieved a cup from the cabinet, pressing her lips into a thin line. “I told you, I don’t understand what happening and why I can’t fix it,” she says, exasperated as she throws her hands up.

“Wanda!” someone calls as they enter your home. You both straighten as you turn to the front door. Monica comes running into your house, panting.

“What are you doing?” Wanda hisses as she rounds the corner of the counter and steps in front of you.

“Wanda…”

“How did you get in here?”

“Listen to me,” Monica holds up her hands. “This whole thing is about them,” Monica started, pointing to you.

“Get out of my house,” Wanda demands, rage burning in her eyes.

“Hayward was trying to bring them—”

“Don’t talk to me about that. Don’t talk to me about my family,” Wanda orders as red tendrils wrap around Monica and push her out of your house. “I don’t want to hear about it.”

You follow as Wanda lifts Monica into the air for all the neighborhood to see. You are stunned as you watch their interaction play out. You don’t think you’ve seen this anger in Wanda before.

“The drones, the missiles, Pietro?” Wanda questions, lifting Monica higher in the air.

“No, wait, Pietro, no, no, no, that wasn’t us,” Monica stammers.

“All you do is lie!” Wanda shouts as she throws Monica toward the ground.

You rush forward, ready to catch Monica, but she halts her descent. Blue energy rushes out from the ground as she lands and looks up at Wanda with electric blue eyes. Wanda lets out a gasp and grabs your bicep, yanking you behind her.

Monica straightens as she stares down Wanda, “The only lies I’ve told are the ones you put in my mouth.”

A red ball of energy appears in Wanda’s hand, and the air seems to shift. “Careful what you say to me,” she warns.

“Don’t let him make you the villain,” Monica urges, an unspoken understanding of who they’re talking about passing between them.

The ball of energy brightens in her hand and she raises her brows, “Maybe I already am.”

You’re about to step in when Agnes rushes over, “Young lady, I think you overstayed your welcome. They’ve been through enough.”

She wraps an arm around you, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. She looped her other arm through Wanda’s and began to tug the two of you away.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Monica began.

“Run along dear,” Agatha urges as you begin to walk toward her house.

“Wanda, you have to take it down,” Monica calls, pleading with her.

“No,” Wanda snaps, turning to point at Monica. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Your thoughts are racing as you get tugged away by Agnes. Wanda wraps a protective hand around your waist and pulls you closer. What have you gotten yourself into?

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda marvel #wanda x you #wandavision #scarlet witch #agatha harkness #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #no y/n #reader insert #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #wanda maximoff smut #mommy wanda

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servin-up-surveys · 2 years

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survey #041

“... but i would like to ask for one thing: big tits”

Do you have anyone you fully trust? Yeah, a couple people. Have you ever deleted Facebook friends for a significant other? Lol no, good fucking luck keeping me if you're trying to enforce control over who I'm friends with. List one word to describe your significant other? Loyal. Have you ever watched fight videos for amusement? No, because people getting hurt isn't something I find even remotely funny. Do you consider yourself a good kisser? I've been told so though tbh I don't have a fucking clue what the vast qualities of a "good" kisser are lmao What is your favorite piece of jewelry? Ummm I love my spiked, chained choker, but it's currently tight on me. I'm also fond of my Halo of the Sun bottlecap necklace, though it's visibly worn. Then there's my moon necklace, but my skin reacts poorly to the silver... and a meerkat one, that ALSO reacts poorly to the material. I love necklaces, basically, but fuck having sensitive skin. Is there a place you'd rather live right now? Oh, absofuckinglutely. Mom and I are so done with this place. It's not home, and it never has been to either of us. It's a place to keep out of the elements out of just necessity. We settled here because we didn't have a choice, and with every day that passes by now, we just want to recoil back into the middle of nowhere in a cozy little house that's not squeezed right between two others just like it. I can't point out enough how this has never felt like "home." What's the best Valentine's Day gift you've gotten? There was one year Jason got me a copy of Heavy Rain (he knew I'd really been wanting to play it), a beautifully decorated box of chocolates, and uhhhh one or two pink roses that I remember really appreciating with its diversity. I'm pretty sure I still have a picture of it on an old phone... Is there anyone who is overly nice to you? I don't think so? Have you ever considered writing a novel? Yeah. Does it bother you when people call you 'ma'am' or 'sir?' No, especially with how I was raised to pretty much refer to everyone like that. Have you ever been obsessed with a television character? I don't think so, no. What was the last thing that changed your life completely? I don't know. "Changed your life completely" is a pretty strong description. Do you have any step-siblings? One, though I don't really see him as my brother, and I doubt he sees me as his sister. When the holidays come around, do you help decorate? Honestly? No. I don't have the motivation, drive, or energy. I'm appreciative of what Mom puts up, though. Have you ever been questioned by the police? Not so much me as my mother. We had an old neighbor obtain property damage, and being the house right beside theirs, the cops had questions regarding if we'd seen anything, which we didn't. In which state/country were you born? North Carolina. Is there anyone you'd like to be cuddling with at the moment? With how my depression has been lately, I'll take every opportunity I can to cuddle with my partner. Do you cuss more than any one else you know? It's possible, though Girt MIGHT have me here, it's hard to tell, haha. What is something you want but can’t afford to buy? I wish so badly I could just go out and buy mom a car. What she has is hanging on by a thread, and every time hotter weather comes around, she and I both REALLY feel it because it doesn't have AC. What type of church do you like the most, if any? None, considering I don't support foundations of mass brainwashing. Which lost friend do you most wish you could be friends with again? Megan. Are you optimistic? No. Do you think you would be happier if you had more money? That's not even a fucking question, I know I would be. It wouldn't solve all my problems, most certainly, but it would absolutely help. Are you alone? In this room, yes, but my mom is home. Name a song you’ve listened to today? I have "Stein um Stein" by Rammstein on rn. I have to be in a very specific mood to handle the weight of it with the subject matter and it's oddly calming to me atm. Do you know how much you weighed at birth? How much? Uhhh vaguely? I think I was slightly on the smaller side, or at most average? How do you tend to view driving? Monotonous or entertaining? Fucking terrifying. If you have your ears pierced, when did you get them pierced? As a kid, but I don't remember the exact age. Old enough to pick myself, though, I do know that much. Please respect your child's ownership of their own body by letting THEM choose if they want something pierced, ever. On Facebook, do you have people listed as your siblings who aren’t really your siblings? No. I did that once upon a time, but not anymore. Have you ever been falsely accused of something serious? No. Do you like windchimes, or do they annoy you? I LOVE windchimes. Do your parents nag you a lot? What about? The first thing that comes to mind is Mom's frequency to remind me to dust my room; I have a lot of random shit all around that collects dust fast and god do I hate cleaning it all. She also likes to prod me to do more with my writing and drawing. Have you ever had a computer virus before? Yep, back in the days of downloading things I shouldn't've. Are you dependent upon anyone? I am horribly dependent on my mother to be a 26 y/o. I'm gonna be in for a fucking shock when she's nont here anymore. If you had to choose, which sibling would you live with? I... guess my younger sister? I would NEVER let my older sister's husband have ANY sort of authority over me (such as by living under his roof), and my immediate younger sister is the only other sibling in NC, so I wouldn't have my choice. I wouldn't exactly wanna live there either though, primarily because by pure coincidence, Jason lives LITERALLY a few houses down the same fuckin' road and I simply don't want to be even in his proximity. I feel like that alone would irritate my PTSD. Are any of your family members in jail? No. Yet. A disowned uncle of mine though is at risk of being locked up, and I hope he fucking does end up in a fucking cell to rot for being a human-shaped mass of ACTUAL rancid, shit-stained garbage. Do you think you're a clingy person? I KNOW I am. Have you ever been called a slut before? Only jokingly by like friends. What color are your mother's eyes? Brown. Do you plan on being strict towards your children? If I wanted kids, which I don't, I would never cross a certrain threshold of "strict," and that's when things get physical. The day I spank (aka in more straightforward terms, hit) my hypothetical child is the day I want that hand cut the fuck off. I do not CARE what that kid did, you don't teach ANYONE through fear, nevermind someone whose fucking brain is developing and will want to accept hitting as normal when enforcing your way. Do you flirt with a lot of people? No, I do that exclusively with one person. Have you ever been falsely accused of starting drama? No, starting drama is just straight-up not something I do. I can't even imagine someone accusing me of that. Have you ever been to Dairy Queen? Yes, we have one right down the road. We don't go a lot, but it's good. If so, what's your favorite thing to eat from there? They have this Oreo Cupfection thing that is delivered straight by God lmao try it. Did you ever enjoy gym class? No, I always hated gym. What is your biggest insecurity? DO NOT get me started, ugh. How did you do in high school? I did extremely well in high school. Everything went to shit afterwards. Why are you best friends with your best friend(s)? He never, ever gave up on me and has always been there for me when he had no obligation to be. He sees in me what I don't, and that makes me want to try harder to be that person. Would you swim with sharks for $5000? Yes. i might even do it for no money, idk. Have you ever been told that you should be a model? Well no, but one of Jason's friends mistook me for one when he saw my favorite picture of myself, which was Jason's phone's background for like... I think most of our relationship. To this day one of the most flattering things to ever happen to me, lol. Do you like the taste of burnt popcorn? Absolutely not. Have you ever had a rolling backpack? Yeah. Do you like the name Judith? Not especially, but I love the A Perfect Circle song, haha. Have you ever tried cocaine? No, not ever interested. Have you ever slept on a couch with someone else? Napped, yeah. Did the last person you touched lips with have a kid? This is... weird phrasing, but anyway, no. What is your favorite season? Fall... ugh, hurry up. Haha Mom and I were actually talking earlier about how ready we are for summer to be over and this woman said something along the lines of, "Brittany, you're ready in January just because you know summer's coming" and OUCH the accuracy lmao. What was the worst breakup you’ve ever had? Hi, have I ever told you about this guy named Jason? Would you buy a kid candy just to make them stop crying? No, because that would be rewarding that behavior, and that's not how you teach a kid. Would you ever consider getting a mohawk? No. What were you doing when you heard about the attack on the twin towers? I have no memory of this. Favorite line from your favorite movie. Oh idk, TLK has a lot of meaningful quotes. Ever made your on definition for something on Urban Dictionary? No. Do you know what you want to be when you grow up? I am grown up and I don't fucking know. Do you help out around the house as much as you should? Admittedly, no. Partially because doing like... anything is painful and abnormally exhausting for me, also because I regularly forget, and other times because I just... don't. I'm a wonderful adult and daughter. Did you ever ride the school bus to school? I remember doing this like... once or twice because my mom was very sick and couldn't drive and Dad couldn't delay going to work or something. Have you ever uploaded anything to YouTube? Mhm. Do you like the band Atreyu? I know of them and have heard a couple songs in my life, but I don't have an actual opinion on them. Can't even name a song. What is your favorite character? It can be from a book, movie, or cartoon. Darkiplier and Pyramid Head. Who is the friend you have that you would never have expected to have? Alon, really. She was the absolute prettiest person in school that I wrongfully assumed as being preppy and probably stuck-up and yet she's actually SUPER down to earth and was so inclusive, friendly, and kind to the weird emo kid that was me. She literally gave me a purse that I used for years (and still have in my closet) just because she thought I'd like it and it was a joke about how old my previous purse was. She's just a straight-up good person. I really should message her on Facebook one of these days to catch up, she's an adoring mom now that still shows she cares on there. What shape was the last piñata you broke? Oh, I have zero idea. Have you ever been someone’s booty call? No. Do you actually know anyone named ‘Bill’ or ‘Bob’? I have an uncle named Bill. Who were you last in a hot tub with? My then-boyfriend and our two roommates. Have you ever had a water balloon war? Yeah, as a kid. Have you ever found a member of the same sex attractive? Yes, I'm pan. What is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to you? Markiplier reblogging a gif I made of him and his dog Chica and leaving me unable to sleep for three days lmao What would you call your body type? Gross. Have you ever been dumped via text message? Yes. Do you believe in any particular curses? No. Ever play a Ouija board? No; I can't confidently say I believe in their abilities, BUT I'm not fucking around and finding out. I do think they're very cool though and love Ouija-styled decor and whatnot. I had a REALLY cool Ouija board backback for a long time. Have you ever failed a class before? Yes, in college. Meet anyone from your past lately? No. Have you ever had a deadly animal as a pet? No, not my thing. The "worst" thing I MIGHT get are Old World tarantulas, but even their venom isn't fatal. Are you terrified at the idea of weight gain? I could not POSSIBLY explain to you how fucking terrifying that idea is to me now that I'm finally fucking losing weight. What are you listening to right now? lmao so I moved on from the earlier song onto "Dicke Titten," what an i-fucking-conic masterpiece lmfao Have you ever heard the song "Bullet With Butterfly Wings?" I have indeed, and it actually spawned a username I once had in some places, BulletsxButterflies lmao. Do you charge your phone every night? No. When you sleep, do you move around a lot? It seems to depend on whether or not I have a nightmare, I think. I kick and flail a lot if I'm having a bad dream. Who, in your life, makes you feel discouraged? After leaving a certain former friend behind, it's really just myself. Do you ever suspect your significant other of lying to you? It only ever happens sometimes when he in any way refers to me as the opposite of just plain ugly. I just struggle so, so hard to see what he apparently does. What is one of your biggest pet peeves? It's bitchy honestly, but I get very annoyed when someone talks to me when I have earplugs in, especially if it's insistent. What have you been stereotyped as before? Uhhhh i think just emo/goth/scene? Do you enjoy creative writing? I wouldn't still be RPing if I didn't. If so, what things do you like writing about the most? I only really do mostly fantasy-oriented meerkat RP these days. I sometimes consider joining a Warriors cats RP site, buuut I don't think I ever actually will. What is your favorite color lollipop? Red/pink for strawberry, probably. Have you ever been known for something extremely negative? No, I don't think so. Do you have any diseases? No. What color are your best friend's eyes? Brown.

#lyrics: ''dicke titten'' by rammstein #god i hope the intro lyrics don't get me p*rnbot activity lmmao #surveys #survey #random surveys #random questions

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

infirmity.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: part four of our 100 arc, covering 5x02, haunted! I forgot how much i love this episode, so i really leaned into this one. it’s a labor of love!! i can’t wait to hear what you all think (i crave feedback and affection) and if you reblog, i’d love to see your cheeky lil thoughts in the tags!!

words: 4.3k warnings: language, bad decisions

summary: “a friend should bear his friend’s infirmities” - william shakespeare, julius caesar.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

You knock on the door at 8:30 sharp. Almost thirty seconds pass before he answers, and you note the hand on his holster as he opens the door.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you chirp. “Ready to go?”

He turns, gathering his things. “What do we know about this case in Kentucky?”

Thrown a little by the lack of greeting, you follow him into the apartment. The sight of the Foyet files on his desk aren’t foreign to you, nor are they a surprise. They’ve been there every time you came over during his leave (in fact, you’ve sat on them more than once), so why you expected them to go away once he was back you had no idea.

“Um, no connection between Call and his victims. They’re canvassing, but no sign of him so far.”

“Start with his recent history. Find the stressor.” His voice is flat, impassive, and you frown.

He was just getting better…

You’re about to head back toward the door when -

“Don’t move.”

Right. The alarm.

He stands by to arm it. “Ready?”

“Are you?”

+++

You arrive at the tarmac, Hotch in the passenger seat of your car. He looks a little resigned, but straightens and takes a breath before he opens the door, settling into his role as he steps out and straightens his suit jacket.

It’s always a little funny to watch him transform. You’re honored you get to see it, even if he’s in rough shape.

Especially then.

You climb the stairs and follow him in, settling in your usual place.

“Good to see you,” Dave says as Aaron scoots down the aisle. It makes you smile.

“You, too.”

Aaron gets settled and you shift, trying not to hover but finding it difficult to be separated from him after his weeks of absence. He greets the rest of the team, exchanging pleasantries and checking in with Reid about his knee.

“Any other attacks?”

JJ shakes her head, while Spencer elaborates. “Call’s proven hard to track. He’s never had a driver's license so he’s probably still on foot.”

“Or public transportation,” Emily notes.

You hum. “He wouldn’t take the bus. His face is everywhere.”

“Has anyone found a stressor?” You weren’t sure if Aaron’s brusque affect was going to continue once you made it to the plane, but his tone just about answers your question.

Stepping back into authority quickly, there, Aaron.

“He just lost his job,” Garcia supplies. “He’s worked at a factory since 1990. Made appliances since forever and not a single promotion.”

Derek tilts his head. “That’s a long time to be bitter.”

“Or he doesn’t care?”

JJ looks at Spencer and shakes her head. “Not if he’s got a family to feed.”

“Actually, he’s of the hermit variety as far as I can tell. He’s got no one. No wife, no kids, no parents.” You watch Garcia’s eyes flicker around the screen as she talks to you, doing what she does best.

“Nothing to live for.” Derek’s looking a little too pointedly at Aaron for your taste, but your evaluation is interrupted.

“So why hasn’t he killed himself yet?”

Your brain sputters at Aaron’s offhand delivery. “What?”

“Sprees usually end in suicide. If he’s got nothing to live for, why hasn’t he ended it?”

The energy in the room grows uncomfortable, fast. Aaron’s voice is still flat - you might go so far as to say it sounds dead, but that inspires a kind of heavy sullenness in your chest you’d rather not subject yourself to.

You wish Haley was around for no other reason but to kick his ass.

You’re thankful for Spencer when he answers Hotch’s question. “Because he isn’t finished, yet. We know he has displaced anger. He took it out on the first victim.”

“Well,” Aaron continues, “the stock boy represents someone. We need to know who.”

You meet Derek’s eyes and you can tell he’s trying to read you - trying to see if you’re as concerned as he is. You don’t give him the satisfaction.

+++

Later, you corner Morgan on the plane before landing, keeping your voice low. The case is in your lap so there’s a valid distraction when you need one.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He stops and turns. “I thought Hotch was cleared to drive.”

“He is.”

“Then why did you pick him up this morning?”

You shrug. “I wanted to.” His eyes bore into the side of your head and you look up with an exasperated huff. “What?”

He sighs. “He’s only had a month off.”

“Well,” you say, aware that you’re being pedantic before you even get there, “thirty-four days. That’s a little more than a month.”

His stare is withering, but you’re impervious. “And you think that’s long enough?”

“Are you asking me as his coworker or as his friend?”

“Is there a difference?”

You shrug. “Maybe.” Yes. “But if you don’t think he’s had enough time, you should tell him.”

He scoffs. “No thanks. I like my job.”

“You like him more.” A little smile crosses your face. “Though, I know you don’t like to think so.”

“No. I like you.” Derek corrects. “He also happens to like you, so I tolerate him for your benefit.”

“Much appreciated.” You return to your work, but Derek’s eyes linger. You don’t look up as you ask, “What?”

“What if he has PTSD?”

Still writing, you answer with a general air of nonchalance. “He was evaluated.”

“Oh, come on. We wrote those questions. Hotch knows exactly -“

You slam your pen down and lean back with your arms crossed. You draw Spencer's eyes and lower your voice again. “So, what? Are you going to pick at me until you get me to say something you want me to say?” You let out a sardonic chuff, settling back to work. “If that’s the case, you’re gonna be here a while.” You tip your head a little toward the little table by the window. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

You admittedly feel a little bad for being short with him, but everything seems to be testing your patience today.

And if you’re honest, you’re worried about Aaron, too.

After a few minutes of work in silence, you call out to him again. There’s the smallest of apologies in your voice. “Derek?”

He looks at you, dark eyes open and yielding - concerned and forgiving. “Yeah?”

“He’s back because he has to be. He needs to know we’re here for him.”

“He knows that.”

You offer him a small smile. “Don’t let him forget it.” You pause, your head wavering a little bit as your tone turns a touch facetious. “I can’t do all the heavy lifting around here.”

You get a laugh out of him - just a little one - and it’s enough. “Don’t push it, kid. I remember when you were dead weight.”

You roll your eyes.

That’s enough, for now.

+++

Even your seemingly-endless patience with Aaron rapidly wanes as you spend more time at the crime scene. It’s frustrating.

“He was on an antipsychotic?” You ask with a little frown.

The pharmacist nods. “Well, that’s why I wanted him to calm down. He’s been off of them at least a month, now.”

“And when were you going to tell us this?” Aaron asks, harsh and sharp.

You look at him, your frown deepening.

What the fuck is that attitude?

“He’s armed, he’s delusional. Who’s his doctor?” Hotch’s tone grows even pointier, somehow, as he pushes harder.

“I don’t remember - my computer…” She gestures behind the desk, where the computer has been fried by a bullet.

“Great. That’s great.” He walks away, already making a call.

“Excuse us,” you say in an attempt to recover. Derek echoes you and you try to avoid running after Hotch as he strides down the aisle.

Long-legged asshole. Slow down.

“Hotch,” you call. He doesn’t listen.

“Call JJ and tell her about the meds.” He’s still walking. You’ve caught up.

Derek chimes in, gesturing back at the pharmacist. “This is not her fault.”

Aaron turns on him. “Morgan, he’s in a psychotic break. It changes everything.”

“You want to talk about this?” Derek asks, taking another step closer.

Squaring up to Derek’s shoulder, you’re ready to pull them apart if they get really heated.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

In some ways, Morgan’s admission on the plane was truer than he let on. You are the link between Derek and Aaron, almost like a balm. You see things in them that they can’t see in each other. It helps.

With a pang, you think of Haley, for some reason.

You miss her.

“No.” Aaron’s interruption is sharp and it startles you out of your thoughts. “I want to find him - Garcia,” he turns, continuing on his warpath forward, “he’s been off his antipsychotic for a month. What else did you miss?”

Your mouth drops open and Derek’s about to deck Aaron while his back is turned. You push in front of Derek, getting between them to give him a chance to cool off. The last thing you want is to handle more wound dressings - for either one of them.

Aaron hangs up and walks out after what you imagine is a rather unilluminating update from Penelope. You turn, putting your hand on Derek’s shoulder and looking him in the eye.

Still think he’s alright? His eyes ask.

You grit your teeth. I don’t know.

+++

The psychiatrist and patient lay dead on the floor, Call nowhere in sight. Derek directs the local officers to check the perimeter, just in case.

You look at Hotch, who still doesn’t look completely checked in, himself.

Or maybe he looks too checked in?

I don’t know.

You’d be lying if you said his behavior didn’t freak you out. Though he’s standing beside you, you miss him.

Come back to me.

You miss the man who pliantly sat under your hands as you washed his wounds and brought him takeout and forced him to take naps in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday.

You miss the man who fought you for the remote and stole far too many of your fries, who would change the channel if you made the mistake of going to the bathroom on a commercial break.

That man was with you as late as Saturday. Returning has brought something else out in him, the part of him that spent (often very) late nights looking for Foyet has risen to the forefront.

“We’re too late.”

Before the rest of you can do anything, Aaron leaves the room, pushing past Dave in his haste to leave.

Emily calls after him, but he’s long gone down the hallway. They look at you.

All you can do is shake your head with a downturned curve of your mouth.

+++

After a little while, you go downstairs and find Hotch outside. Before you can say anything -

“I should have seen the blinking on the video.”

You huff at him. “Hotch, it could have been a nervous tic. You couldn’t have known - none of the records were available, yet.”

“But it wasn’t a tic. It’s a classic sign of long-term antipsychotic use, and I missed it.”

You step in front of him, squarely meeting his eyes. “We all missed it.”

He’s got another pessimistic jab that you choose to ignore just before Emily and Dave arrive with news from Garcia.

Oh, Aaron.

+++

The officer huffs. “I don’t care why he took him.”

Aaron had, once again, escalated the situation with local police. Tensions are high, and you only hope he can get his shit together at some point. “You should.”

Goddamn it, Aaron.

He continues, advancing on the police captain. “Call’s memory is no longer suppressed. He’s reinventing his past and unless we understand how, we’re not going to find either of them.”

“Well, I’m not gonna just sit around and speculate.”

It’s an old-fashioned Western standoff, now.

Who’s Clint Eastwood?

Well, Hotch has the looks but -

Quit.

Fine.

“Then don’t.”

The captain turns to you, Emily, and Dave. “You don’t think we should chase him either?”

“We need to get ahead of Call,” Dave answers evenly.

The captain looks at Aaron once more before storming off. The rest of you approach Hotch, and Emily’s a little frustrated when she reminds him, “There’s a kid missing.”

“They don’t need the extra manpower.”

You squint at him. “Since when?”

“If we had studied Foyet’s initial crimes -”

Oh for the love of fuck.

“- we would have known that a survivor didn’t make sense.”

“What does he have to do with this?”

Great question, Emily.

“All we had to do was stop and look at Foyet’s history. But we didn’t, and we lost two couples and a bus full of people. I am not making that mistake again.” He leaves the three of you stunned in his wake. After a moment, you follow him.

You always do.

+++

“Let’s go.”

You’ve got the address to the unsub’s home and you take the car with Aaron, the rest of the team following behind you.

He drives fast, but that’s nothing new. He throws the siren and floors it. You call SWAT yourself, getting Derek prepared for staging.

When you get out of the car, you throw your vest on, helping Emily with the straps across her shoulders before she can reach them themselves.

“Prentiss,” Aaron says, putting his earwig in. “Check in with the lieutenant, see if there’s anything we can use.”

She nods. “Yes, sir.”

“You good?” You ask, looking over at him.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

You throw your head to the side, and he takes your flank as you get closer to Emily. Her briefing with this particular lieutenant could go sideways, but you don’t want to leave him feeling trapped.

“...The kid’s in there. We got this. Tactical teams are covering the exits. He’s still focused on the old man.”

Emily squints, adjusting her comm. “For now, but we’re gonna have to figure out the safest way to get that kid out.”

“I’ve got a team in the back and one on the way. We’re going to infiltrate.”

“You do that and someone else dies.” The balance of firm and collaborative rests delicately on her tone. She’s doing well.

“Either Call or a child murder. Flip a coin.”

His tone frustrates you, but you leave Emily to her devices, checking your magazines for the third time. Your sidearm is in place, as is your backup.

“It doesn’t have to end like that. We get a confession out of Jarvis and he goes away, and Call gets his answers. No one else has to die.” She pauses, and a streak of white flashes in your peripheral. “Hotch!”

You whirl, ready to sprint after him as he walks decisively past the rest of you, past the gate, and into the house. After a moment’s hesitation, you make a break for it. A wall of arms stops you, and you know Derek’s behind you when you hear, “What the hell is he doing?”

No vest...Is he even carrying his gun?

“Let him go.”

You turn on Dave, your face plastered with fear and fury. “What do you mean let him go. Rossi -”

“I’m not letting him go in there solo.” Derek pushes against Dave again, but to your surprise, he’s locked in tight.

“We have to trust him.”

That cools Derek off, but not you. You thrash, freeing yourself from one of the local cops. “The hell we do.”

“Kid - wait, no.” The roles reverse, and Derek catches up to you and locks you in his arms before you can breach the perimeter. Your elbows don’t land against his vest, but you sure try. “You’ll get him killed.”

There’s only stress and silence as you stop struggling. All you can do is wait.

Derek keeps his arm around you, but you almost feel like the contact is for both of you. You take deep breaths, trying to slow your heart rate. It’s through the roof.

“What’s he doing?” Emily asks into her mic.

Dave leans into his comm. “Stalling.”

You can almost feel Derek’s jaw tightening. “He has nothing to lose.”

He has everything to lose.

You have everything to lose.

Don’t be a hero, Aaron. Don’t do anything stupid.

You hope that he can hear you somehow.

Too late.

Hotch appears in the window, followed by the boy.

There’s a quick SWAT conversation in your ear.

“Do you have the shot?”

“Negative, negative.”

He’s blocking the shot.

Goddamn you, Aaron. Goddamn you.

“Bringing the boy out,” a faceless voice on the radio says. The hostage runs down off the porch and you catch a glimpse of Aaron before he disappears behind the door again.

You turn your head a touch, keeping your eyes on the door. “Get him out of there.”

Dave shakes his head. “That’s his call.”

Your body is wound tighter than a coil and you’re not sure if you’re ready to storm in there or just start walking home.

There’s a gunshot, and you’re out of there like a bat out of hell. You launch yourself over the short fence and attach yourself to the first SWAT agent you see, remembering your training at the last moment.

You breach the house and find Aaron cuffing Darin, whose father is dead in the armchair in front of him. Your jaw has never been tighter.

Once you confirm that he is in fact still alive and still only has nine holes in him, you turn on your heel and you storm out of the house. You don’t stop until you’re leaning on the front of one of the cars, trying to catch your breath. Your hands shake and you don’t trust your knees to hold you up.

The relief wars with something hot and unpleasant, leaving you more exhausted than you’ve been in weeks.

You keep your head turned away from Aaron as he approaches you. It’s petty, but you also don’t want him to see the fear on your face.

He calls you with a sigh in his voice and it finally ignites the fear into anger.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” you spit. Your voice isn’t loud, but it certainly carries. JJ’s eyes flicker to you from the other side of the yard. “What kind of stunt are you trying to pull? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

His jaw tightens. “Let’s not do this here.”

Your brow draws across your eyes and your mouth opens, indignant. “Let’s not do this here? You’re fucking kidding me.”

In his current state, nothing is off the table. His temper is running short and you know you’re capable of pushing him until he breaks. It hasn’t happened yet, but today might be it.

Much to your surprise, a sigh leaves him, and he knows he’s stepped in it. “It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

His remorse only stokes your anger. Go figure.

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry. You could have died, Hotch. What you did was so beyond protocol I don’t even know if I should start with the necessity of your life because we need you as our unit chief or the importance of your safety as my friend -” You cut yourself off and look away from him, frustrated you even got that far.

He has nothing to say to that. You’re completely right. The guilt might as well be written across his face in Sharpie.

His absence fucked with you, to say the least. It felt awful, empty, in the field without him. And then when you were home - well, back at the apartment, he was only ever in pain.

Overall, your anxiety regarding his health and safety is riding high.

Much to your frustration, your eyes water, and your lower lip shakes - angry tears an ever-present threat. Your arms cross over your chest. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

He reaches out for your arm, but you throw him off before he can make contact, turning your head. You stare at the ground, watching him flounder out of the corner of your eye.

“Go. Go do your fucking job, Hotch.” His nickname is acid in your mouth. It feels like a punishment, a lash of a whip. He doesn’t move, and you turn on him, meeting his guilty brown eyes with your flinty ones. “Go. Make the arrest. They’re waiting on you.” You throw your chin to Derek and Emily, who are indeed waiting for him on the porch with the unsub.

With another heavy sigh, he turns and rejoins the rest of your team.

You stay where you are, directing coroner and local law enforcement personnel to relevant staging areas as the crime scene is processed and handled. Aaron’s eyes try to find yours, but you avoid them, focusing on someone, anyone else with crisp professionalism that hardly belies your fear.

You’ve never been so angry in your life. Even if you have, you can’t remember it feeling this wretched.

+++

He sits beside you on the plane once you’re up in the air and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. The rest of the team sleeps scattered around the cabin, but you suspect that at least one of them is faking it, waiting for some kind of spectacle or spectacular blowup between the two of you.

You haven’t spoken to Aaron since leaving the crime scene. You drove back to the precinct with Emily and Dave, staying close to JJ and Spencer while you packed your things. There’s a part of you that feels bad for creating what Strauss would call a “hostile work environment,” but the other part can’t bring itself to care.

You can’t even begin to articulate the fear that coursed through you as you waited for him outside that house. You couldn’t begin to explain the extent of your fear, but after the stabbing and the removal of Haley and Jack from your lives, the prospect of losing him in the field was beyond unbearable.

It’s frustrating to feel so comforted by his proximity while you’re still so angry with him. The familiarity of it all hardly blunts your anger. If anything, the relief at having him back at your side sharpens your anger into something that scares you.

The impossibility of it is beyond measure. You’ve known for some time now, but this is the first you’re willing to admit it.

I love him.

Fuck.

You love him. You love his son. You love his wife.

You love the weird look he gets on his face when he has to say “penetration” while he’s delivering a profile. You love the way he tries not to smile when Emily beats Spencer at chess. You love the way he twiddles with pens when he’s thinking or nervous or both. You love that each of his smiles feel like a gift just for you.

There’s nothing you don’t love about him.

Except, of course, the way he, with profound idiocy, endangered his life today for no particular reason in addition to his generally asshole-ish behavior.

“I would say I’m sorry, but I’m sure you know that.”

You do.

He waits on you, quiet and still.

You take a deep breath, finally looking at him. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He nods, his jaw flexing.

“Don’t do it again.”

He blinks once, slowly. You know he can’t promise that, but you appreciate his acknowledgment nevertheless. There’s quiet for a moment.

“Aaron…” You look at him, nothing but concern in your tone.

He shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“I was just going to say…” You swallow, trying to find better words but coming up short. “We’ll get him.”

+++

Derek’s voice echoes down to the bullpen as you finish up the last few pieces of your paperwork. “I will not stand by and watch this man kill himself.”

Aaron’s door is closed as he works. You’re not sure if you’re thankful for that, or if you’d rather he hear it. You can’t really hear Dave - not that you’d want to, you’re almost as pissed at him as you are at Aaron - but it doesn’t matter. You know what he has to say.

Derek’s voice drops lower than you can hear. Dave drops his head.

Moments later, Derek flies back down the stairs, grabs his jacket, and takes his leave with a cursory goodbye thrown in your direction. Dave returns to his desk and Aaron’s door finally opens.

You look up as his lights turn off, gathering your things at your desk. With a little sigh that looks a bit like defeat, he stops at your desk. The smugness doesn’t completely leave your tone. “Need a ride?”

Of course, he does. “Please.”

You rise and walk to the elevators together. In the silence, you tell him, “I’m still really mad at you.”

A sigh. “I know.”

+++

You walk him upstairs and take care of the alarm while he removes his suit jacket and throws it over the couch.

“Do you think Call’s gonna be okay?” You ask, still facing the alarm.

“I don’t know.”

“He got his answers,” you note, turning to him. “He killed the man who haunted him.”

His eyes are fixed on a spot on the carpet. “And what else is there?”

“Years of torture.” You both know you’re not talking about Call anymore, but it’s nice to pretend. It gives you the opportunity to say things you wouldn’t - shouldn’t - say to him. “Fear. Grief.”

“Think he’ll get over that?”

“How could he?” A humorless smile pulls at one corner of your mouth. “But at least he doesn't feel like he’s alone.”

He finally meets your eyes. “He doesn’t have anyone.” I don’t have anyone, his brow says.

“He has Tommy. He’s not alone.”

You have me. You’re not alone.

His brows pull low over his eyes, and you take another opportunity as it comes. “Do you want me to stay again tonight?”

“No, I’m alright.” He takes a little breath and you round the corner, pouring him a couple fingers of whiskey before making a slow, purposeful trek across the room. “Thank you,” he says, taking it.

“Of course. Anytime.” Now, you both know you aren’t talking about the drink.

Nevertheless, you pat your pockets for your keys, phone, and various federal paraphernalia, finding them all where they belong. “I should head out, then. Call if you need anything.”

He nods, watching you with quiet eyes as you close and lock the door behind you.

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans

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zoey-wades · 3 years

Text

Get You (Fluff-ish)

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x Aurora Emery

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: A little flirting and swearing, dassit.

Summary: Bryce and Aurora get to know one another, which pushes our boy into unknown, cavity-inducing territory.

A/N: My number one rarepair that no one else ships. I wrote this because I was bullied by @thecapturedafrique into writing something. I haven't written anything for choices in quite some time, so this is... that something.

_____________________________________________________________

To Be Alone (Part One)

Bryce always believed that fawning--real, genuine, starry-eyed awe--was goofy. He could count on one hand the number of times a partner left him speechless, which was quite a feat. It wasn’t that he believed he was above it; he could never quite understand the position someone would have to be in to feel that way about someone else. But that damn Aurora Emery and her silent but deadly studious stare could bring any man to his knees. He told her as much. Multiple times, in fact. She’d laugh it off as just a huge joke, but Bryce needed her to know that he was being legit. It was important to him that she knew that about herself. Maybe she could reel it in and let him have control over himself for once.

There wasn’t a name for what they were--a fact that Bryce was okay with. At least he thought. Right now they were just comfortable in one another’s company. It’s not that he didn’t want more...the question crossed his mind more than once. But Aurora never once hinted at the fact that she was looking for anything more than companionship. She was blunt. If she wanted something serious, she definitely would’ve said so. Unfortunately, Edenbrook was filled to the brim with nosy fucks. And though he wasn’t necessarily one for hiding his attraction, he knew for a fact that the attention made Aurora uncomfortable. On more than one occasion, he had to tell people to back off when they made comments about “thawing the ice princess.” He would do anything in his power to protect her, if he could. He spent two months of Fridays with her, a ritual that just kind of happened without much planning. They’d talk for hours, and more than once he’d woken up in her bed, with his arms wrapped around her and her head on his chest.

So when Aurora texted him that Friday afternoon about a change of plans, curiosity plagued him.

Bryce: Change of plans, huh? What’s up?

Three bubbles popped up. And then:

Aurora: I wanted to do something different. Same meeting place?

Bryce: Always.

Bryce: Am I allowed to know what that something different is? Or is it a surprise?

Aurora: It wasn’t a surprise.

Aurora: But now I think it is.

Bryce: You’re killin me. Do you know what you do to me, Rory?

There was a long pause as she typed. And then stopped. And then typed again.

Aurora: Where have I heard that before? ;)

And there it was. That boldness that seemed to show up at the most inopportune times and sent a rushing wave of warmth through him. It climbed up the back of his neck and made him huff out a sigh in the middle of the cafeteria.

Bryce: Careful, I might have to take you for a ride in the parking lot. Again.

Aurora: Don’t make threats you can’t follow through with, daddy.

Despite the bravado, Bryce was clearly flustered. He didn’t know it was possible for someone to out-Bryce him. But here he was: red faced and shifty-eyed in the middle of a crowded room. He placed his phone face-down and took a long sip from his water bottle, willing his blood to return to his brain and away from his head. When he was sure that he could resume the conversation without hunting Aurora down for sport, he picked the phone back up.

Bryce: Alright, Miss Emery. I’ll play your games. See you later?

Aurora: xxoo

It was all so corny, he thought to himself. Reading and re-reading her texts, or scrolling through her Instagram to see her even when she wasn’t around...these were actions that he had NEVER considered remotely Bryce-like. Yet there he was, spending his free time thinking about what he’d say to her when he saw her at the end of the day. Thoughts of her were interrupted only when he needed all of his attention to keep people’s organs in place. Or when he needed to write a report. But when all was said and done, his thoughts drifted right back to her. He blinked, and it was the end of the day. He felt his hands shake, and wondered what the fuck he had to be nervous about.

They’d spent so much time together. They were practically together. Weren’t they?

“God damn it,” he muttered to himself, as he ran his fingers through his hair and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. It always looked good, but for some reason--today of all days--it wouldn’t cooperate, “You are Bryce Fucking Lahela. You don’t get flustered. Jesus.”

He shook his arms out, rolled his shoulders, and took a deep breath.

“Alright,” he sighed, “Let’s go see our woman.”

Aurora looked amazing leaning against the hood of his car. She was dressed in black jeans and a simple tee shirt, with her hair in a bun. But he wanted to kiss her right there in front of everyone, PDA be damned. Her face lit up when she noticed him, and he nearly tripped over his feet as he walked across the parking lot, causing him to pause his steps. Her brows furrowed in concern.

God she was so cute.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking in an attempt to save face. Because of course he did.

“Are you alright, Lahela?” She asked, raising a hand to his forehead, “You’re clammy.” Bryce gently grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it absentmindedly, resulting in a slow grin gracing her pretty features.

“I’m good. I just showered, so my hair is a little wet,” her fingers intertwined with his, and his voice caught in his chest. He cleared his throat, “I-uh...I didn’t want to smell like...well you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She bit her lower lip and glanced over his shoulder before leaning up to place a small peck on his lips. It’d been something she’d done numerous times before. But today it felt different. He couldn’t place what the difference was, but as she pulled back from him, he leaned forward to kiss her again. She smiled against his lips, and placed a hand on his chest.

“Down boy,” she laughed, “save some of that energy for later on.”

His first thought was to say “fuck later on” and take her on the hood of his car. The louder second thought reminded him that she wasn’t going anywhere. That this was different. And he nodded, taking a mental step back.

“So what’s the surprise?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

His hands snaked around her and he rested his forehead on her shoulder. The action was surprisingly intimate, all things considered, “I hate when people say that.”

“You’d think it’d make you ask the question less, then.”

“Hardy-har, smartass.” When she reached up to scratch the back of his head with her nails, he groaned involuntarily and squeezed her, lifting his head to look up at her, “We need to get out of here, and fast.”

Something flashed across her features, and she raised a brow.

“Alright.”

The drive to this supposed secret was a long one. Using Aurora’s GPS directions, the trip led them down numerous winding roads, across a bridge, and through some trees. If he didn’t know any better, he’d guess she was leading him to his own demise. Maybe she was softening up by holding his hand while he steered. And badly singing along to some 90s pop song was just a plot to let his guard down. It was working. She could brandish a knife, and he wouldn’t even notice.

The final destination was a large clearing filled with parked cars, and a large screen projecting some early 00s movie trailers. People milled around, drinking and eating large buckets of popcorn.

“Well shit,” Bryce grinned as he pulled up to an empty spot between two standing speakers, “You brought me to a drive-in?”

Aurora was already unbuckling her seatbelt, “You said you never got to have a normal high school experience. So, I figured we’d make up for lost time. Only if you want to. If you think this is corny, we can do something else.” She paused and turned to him with wide eyes, “You don’t think this is lame, do you?”

Bryce cupped her face in his hands and pressed a loud smack of a kiss on her lips, “Rory, this is perfect.”

As they stood in line waiting to order movie snacks, he looked over at Aurora to find her deep in thought. Her brows were furrowed as she read the menu, and her lips were slightly pursed just begging to be kissed. She muttered something about the prices staying the same for 10 years, completely unaware of the effect she had on him just by existing. Knowing he had a preference for slashers, Aurora brought him to see a double-feature of Scream and I Know What You Did Last Summer which were both favorites of his. He was surprisingly touched that she remembered. He assumed that she may have forgotten those throwaway comments he made. After all, he wasn’t used to people remembering the small details of his life, and he didn’t mention them often. He’d been working so hard for her trust that he didn’t even realize she’d been working to earn his as well, in her own Emery kind of way.

“Caramel corn?” She suddenly said, and he blinked at her in confusion.

“What?”

“Do you want caramel corn? Or kettle corn? I know you like mixing the salty and the sweet. So I’ll get cheddar,” she pointed at the menu, “And you can get the caramel. And we’ll just…” She made a weird gesture, insinuating mixing the two in a bucket. He randomly felt a pang in his stomach and he had to stop himself from doubling over.

Oh.

“Caramel is perfect,” Bryce said, throwing an arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer, “We can do whatever you want.”

Oh no.

She threw him a funny look, but shook her head and chuckled softly, “Okay then.”

Bryce followed her back to the car like a lost puppy, carrying the popcorn while she carried the slurpees, and he felt the pang in his stomach turn into a dull flutter. Seeing Aurora out of her element was something he had to learn to get used to. Within the walls of Edenbrook, she was perpetually serious. You’d be hard pressed to find her laughing or shaking from nerves. She remained calm and level-headed, always logical, and rarely sentimental unless she was with a patient. The first time he saw Aurora lighten up was when she was among their friend group. Though she seemed partially guarded, in hindsight, it was the first time Bryce saw her fully smile. He recognized that she was beautiful, even then. But there was something about the way that she had a smile reserved especially for him that made that smile pale in comparison. There, in the car, she shook the popcorn in a bag vigorously with the dorkiest grin on her face. He wondered if anyone else ever had the chance to see her like this, and he hoped to God they hadn’t.

“You’re gonna tear the bag, Rory,” he said, laughing along with her, “I’ve never seen someone so violent with popcorn. You should’ve just let me do it. With these arms,” he flexed and she rolled her eyes, “It would’ve taken a lot less time.”

“There’s a method to this,” she shook it one last time for good measure, “You don’t want a pile of one flavor at the bottom. It has to be evenly distributed, come on. You should know this.”

She unrolled the bag opening and tilted it in his direction, “See. I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re the genius here.”

“Thank you.” She popped a piece of caramel corn in her mouth.

One thing Aurora failed to share with him was that she was afraid of slashers. She clung to his arm during the tense scenes, hiding her face in his shoulder and jumping when people were killed. During the low moments, Bryce would pull her close and whisper film facts to her, hoping that the realism would make the movies a little more palatable. As the time passed, she relaxed, leaning back into the seat and only slightly jumping when someone died. Her hand slipped into his, and he could feel her pulse race. By the time I Know What You Did Last Summer was over, and Scream was about to begin, half of the popcorn was on the floor from Aurora constantly jumping.

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t like these? We could’ve seen something else, Aurora,” Bryce asked.

She shrugged, scooping small handfuls of popcorn and throwing them out of the open window, “I work in a hospital. I thought I could handle it. Plus, I know you like them...I just wanted to do something fun.”

“I don’t think watching you freak out over a killer in a fishing village is fun,” Bryce half-joked, “Even though I did like having you curled up under me. That was a plus.”

She playfully hit him on his arm.

“I’m serious though,” Bryce said, turning to her, “next time, we can do something we both like.”

“I promise, it’s not that serious,” she shrugged, “I did this all the time in high school. It’s par for the course.”

He felt the uncharacteristic sting of minor jealousy, but quickly pushed the feeling away.

“So you just brought cute guys to the drive-in all the time? I didn’t know teen Aurora was such a player.”

She snorted and shook her head, taking a large sip from her slurpee, “Never that. I was in the science club and boys scared me. I came here with my friends. Maybe my parents.” There was a moment of pause and she swirled the straw around in her cup, “You’re the first guy I’ve ever been here with. So I guess this is like a high school redo for me, too. So...thanks for coming here with me.”

Her voice sounded so soft, and he realized she was sharing more about herself without him having to reassure her that it was safe to do it. Without thinking, Bryce leaned across the passenger seat and kissed her, pulling a soft gasp from her lips. His large hand cupped her chin, and she walked her fingers around the back of his neck. She tasted like Blue Raspberry syrup and smelled like sweet coconut and vanilla shampoo. When she pulled away and rested her forehead against his, she smiled at him and pushed some loose hair away from his face.

“What was that for?”

“I just felt like it. I don’t know. I…” he swallowed hard and shut his eyes, “I think…”

Fuck.

He opened his eyes to see her watching him with a concerned expression on her face, “You think…? Did I do something--”

“I think I love you, Aurora.”

#playchoices #bryce lahela #aurora emery #bryce x aurora #naja writes #get into it (yuh) or whatever Doja said

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

let me down slow (03)

word count; 6723

summary; mitch comes over to see you, and while teh day may not go as planned, it leads to some pretty important revelations on your behalf.

notes; this is a little softer, but its a good transitional part.

warnings; none, really. just period cramps, and all that sucky stuff.

Since that night, your phone had never been silent for too long. Apparently, you and Mitch had a lot to talk about, and a lot to debate. You may have had your similarities, but you had your differences too. Like that fact that despite both him and Stiles being on lacrosse teams, you still thought football was more entertaining, but weren’t actually a huge fan of either.

You had spent more nights up late in the dark, fingers moving over the keyboards as you talked to him, more than you had spoken to someone new in a long time, and yet it was only ever relaxed and calm. You never had that anxiety you got when staying up late into the night to talk to a boy on the phone, you were just talking to your friend, and getting to know him in a way that you never thought you would. You had each other’s numbers but had quickly swapped snapchat names too, and you almost regretted it when he began to send a lot of long video messages as he told you what was going on at every point of the day, before realising you actually liked knowing what he was up to, even if it was just three minutes of watching him walk through the supermarket to find milk and complaining about queues.

Those videos had quickly become late nights calls, the two of you video chatting or sitting on a call for hours, until the night was late and you went back to texting, before falling asleep. On more nights than you could count in the last three weeks, you had woken up with your phone in your hand or on the pillow beside you, and had to plug it in to charge in the middle of the night before falling asleep again.

The sex had been ongoing too, the two of you taking every chance you had to sneak around, and every time had been completely and utterly earth-shattering.

Sometimes that included you showing up at the Stilinski household at times you knew Stiles was going out, claiming to forget and say you’d just head home, waving him off like the dutiful best friend on the doorstep before letting Mitch drag you into the house and have your clothes off before you reached the bedroom. Or, it involved that mysterious and fittingly sexy SUV he owned pulling up outside of your house just after your parents had left for work in the mornings, so that he could press you into the kitchen counter and fuck you over your dining room table, before the two of you crashed on the couch to take a break.

Mitch knew exactly what he was doing, and the two of you had indulged in a fair amount of experimenting. You’d let him blindfold you with one of the smart ties from the back of his closet door that was saved for special occasions, and he’d shown up smirking and pressing a pair of handcuffs into your hands that he’d taken from his father’s office.

Your world had gotten a whole lot bigger since Mitch Stilinski had stepped into it, and it was a whole lot brighter too. It was like the sun had been brought closer just by his presence, he felt like summer; warm and bright and full of promises.

Which is exactly why you felt so awful when you swung your door open, looking at him standing on the other side optimistically, a bright smile on his face as he held up a bag of Chinese food in one hand, wiggling his eyebrows at you suggestively.

“I brought dinner. I was feeling gentlemanly tonight, figured I’d feed you before fucking your brains out.” You let out a gentle laugh at his words, but didn’t step out of the doorway, your hands clenching around the wood a little.

“I can’t. Not tonight.”

His face fell a little, and you shifted yourself, your face screwing up a little at the pain that spread along your body, starting at your lower back, letting out a low sigh as the worst of it passed, and he raised his brows a little. “Is it because I didn’t call first? I just figured it would be alright because you said you were spending the day inside today, and I didn’t want you to be lonely, and I kinda’ figured that was a hint, which I guess it wasn’t, but s-”

“It’s not you, Mitch, I promise.” His jaw snapped shut, and he looked adorably confused for only a moment, before his eyes moved down your body, settling on your stomach before flicking back up, gaze fixing on yours in silent question, and you nodded your confirmation, rubbing at your lower stomach and letting out a pained whimper as a particularly rough round of cramps set in.

You figured he’d just leave, and so you fixed him with the best smile you could, despite the pain, but instead, he was taking a half step closer to you, the smell of food reaching your nose as the bag rustled, and he held it out a little closer to you, offering it out for the taking. “How about I let you have the extra spring rolls, and I’ll rub your stomach for you. We can watch some movies if you want.”

“I.. um, you know there will be no sex, right?” He let out a laugh at your words, shaking his head and rolling his eyes in a way that made you smile too.

“I know. Periods seem like they suck, and I was looking forward to seeing you anyway, so it doesn’t really matter what we do. We can even watch a romantic movie like ‘The Notebook’ or something, whatever you want.”

“We can watch an action movie.” Taking the bag from him, you opened the door up a little wider to let him through, not missing his mumbled ‘thank god’, at not having to watch something sappy, simply stepping out of the way as he moved into the house, and taking the familiar path he had learned well towards your kitchen as you followed.

“Want me to get plates and cutlery, and you can go sit back down?”

“That would be awesome.” You sighed, not even bothering to see his reply before you were making your way back to the stairs and up to your bedroom, the heating pad you’d left discarded on your bed was waiting for you, calling you back to it as you crawled back under your covers, grumbling to yourself as it made your body ache from the change in positions, before you were settling in the pillows and lifting the heated bundle back up to press to your abdomen, a happy sigh leaving you.

“Really bad, huh?” Mitch nudged the door shut behind him with his foot, carrying plates and cutlery in one hand, with two glasses in the other and a large bottle of chilled water under his arm. “I didn’t know if you had a drink but I figured you’d want one.”

“Do you know that you’re an angel? Like a blessing. A saint.”

He grinned, placing the plates before you and taking the bag from where it was left discarded beside you, kicking his shoes off as he came to sit next to you on the bed. Opening up all of the containers and balancing them in the bedding carefully so they didn’t tip over, he listed off each thing he got, your eyes fixed on him as he did, until he was screwing up the bag and looking up at you expectantly as he held an empty plate that would be yours once it was filled.

“You got all the things I like.”

“Not entirely true, the noodles have peas in, because that’s how I like them.” He held the container up for you, showing you the little green veggies sitting inside, but you took it from him and a fork, dishing some up onto your own plate as you ignored his failed deferral of the claim you’d made that he’d actually put a considerable amount of thought into the meal.

He followed suit, the two of you dividing up the meal and discussing all of the elements until the wrappers and boxes were all tucked back into the bag and kicked from the bed, left to sit on the floor as the two of you settled down to eat, his body beside yours in the pillows, and the remote in his hand. He scrolled through the movie choices, offering you different ones he thought would be good, until you settled on something between an action and a comedy, wanting the light-hearted energy to surround you while you were feeling down.

Once you’d finished eating, he’d cleared all of the plates away for you both, taking them downstairs and discarding of the rubbish too, rewarming the pad that had begun to lose its heat. As promised, when he returned, he had positioned himself behind you instead, pressing your back to his front and replacing the head pad on your stomach, rubbing your stomach soothingly every time you got cramps.

Each time you let out a sound in pain he would press a kiss to your head, or your temple, and mumble sweet things in your ear to make you feel better, and each time you shifted and apologised he told you that it was okay, moving himself to make sure you were comfortable, no matter what position you moved yourself into. When the pain in your lower back became worse than that on your front, the pair of you shifted with his guidance until you were laying down, your cheek pressed to his chest as you lay atop him, his hands tucked under your shirt and fingertips pressing into the muscle to soothe you, chuckling each time you let out a sigh of satisfaction when he pressed to the right spots.

It was in those moments that you decided you could absolutely get used to this. You could get used to affection, and love, and being cared for when you weren’t well. It was in those moments that you decided you wanted to have someone you could lay with like this when you weren’t on your period, when you were just feeling a little emotional, or tired. You wanted to be able to shower someone else with love and appreciation too, you wanted to have someone who woke you up in the mornings with breakfasts in bed, and someone who kept you up late at night to watch stupid movies and share funny posts on Instagram, and or the first time in longer than you could remember, that image didn’t revolve around Stiles.

It was no longer his face that plagued your mind and his name that weighed down your heart. It hurt to know that he didn’t love you, but it didn’t hurt as much as it did. For the first time you could recall, you could swap his face out with someone else’s and believe it.

Squeezing the man underneath you a little tighter, his hands went flat on your back, simply rubbing soothingly instead of pressing into the muscles, and you nuzzled down into his chest a little more, the soft cotton against your skin making you feel comfy and warm, the steady movements of his hands lulling you into comfort and clearing your mind.

“You sure you’re going to be okay to go in tomorrow?”

You let out a groan, his voice deep and rumbling underneath you, and it had slipped your mind that it was Sunday, and that you still had an assignment to do, your face pressing into his shoulder to muffle your growl of irritation before you were pushing yourself up above him, whining a little when you body flared up with pain again, but he simply watched you, setting his hands on your hips as you sat back on his thighs, rubbing at your eyes and glancing around the room.

“What’s up?”

“I have an essay due, tomorrow. Extra credit boost before graduation, just to bump up my GPA and all that.” You waved your hand a little, sighing out a groan before getting to your feet, padding across the room to find your laptop, and you heard the mattress creak as he propped himself up in the pillows. You considered not completing it, and just explaining to your teacher tomorrow that you didn’t need the extra credit, but the truth was, you did. You knew you wanted this, and once your period passed you’d hate yourself for not doing it just because you didn’t feel great at the time.

Scooping up the device and taking it off of its charger, you made your way back to the nest of pillows and blankets you had created together. He was holding his arms out for you, the covers moved out of the way, so that you could get beneath them, and you could cry at the welcoming image he painted as you collapsed back into his touch.

Snuggling back into him, his hands found your stomach again after he had tucked the blankets around you, and you positioned the laptop across your lap, turning it on at the power switch and waiting for it to load up. His chin was sitting on your shoulder, cheek pressed to yours as your head fell back onto his shoulder, and your legs tangled together under the covers. Shifting one hand to his, you squeezed at them in a silent thank you for him being there for you, and looking after you.

You knew you’d be fine alone, but that didn’t make it any less enjoyable to actually have someone else with you, looking after you and making you feel better.

The device loaded up, the bright screen making you wince as you typed your password in, your home screen coming up and you immediately turned down the brightness, rubbing at your eyes now that it was darkened in a hope that it would soothe the pounding inside of your skull. “Can you even see that screen now?”

He meant it as a joke, and you knew he did, but it didn’t stop the sigh that slipped past your lips as you pulled up an empty document to start typing into. “I have a headache, and the brightness was not helping.”

“If you have a headache, are you sure you don’t want to just take a nap?”

“I wish I could, but I want to get all the boosts I can before I graduate.” He hummed into your ear, moving to press a kiss to your shoulder through your top, before his hands came up to close over yours on the keyboard as you typed in your name and the title of your essay, stilling as his hands stopped the movement.

“Why don’t you let me type, then? You can shut your eyes so you don’t have to look at the screen, tell me what you want to put.”

“Are you serious?” You pulled away to look at him again, and he nodded, before you closed your eyes, feeling like you may break down at the offer, and tapping your forehead against his chin as you leaned in to bump against him in gratitude. “You’re amazing.”

“It’s literally just typing. I don’t even have to think of the words.” You pulled your hands away, curling on your side into his body instead as he moved the device to balance across both of your laps, wrapping his arms a little tighter around you and turning up the brightness so he could see the screen, getting himself ready and giving you a little hum in prompt to begin once he was set.

You listed off the words to him, speaking effortlessly as you moved through the introduction, and he typed what you wanted without complaint. It was when you began the actual study basis that he spoke, offering his own points and challenging your knowledge at times, asking you why you thought something as relevant to include, or what it was adding to the essay.

The two of you worked in perfect harmony to create the piece of work, and you knew that with his added knowledge and the benefit of having another person contribute to it, that it would be one of the best pieces of work you had ever turned in. You had also never felt more relaxed while working, the sound of his voice as he spoke to you, reading back each paragraph for editing and ensuring it was correct, the rumble of it in his chest beneath your cheek.

It took longer than you thought, but was more enjoyable than any other piece of homework you’d ever completed, and you made the decision then and there that you wouldn’t care if you were drowning in work for the rest of your life if Mitch, or anyone else, would hold you like this and make it feel more like a hobby than a chore.

Upon finishing it, he went to the effort of printing it off for you, leaving the bed after fluffing the pillows for you and handing you one to curl up with, before he was making his way over to collect the pages from your printer, digging through your desk drawers to find a plastic cover to slide them into, and tucking the essay into your bag, ready for tomorrow.

You were watching him move carefully, your leg propped up on one of the pillows to ease your cramps, and he peeled his jumper up and over his head, throwing it away to sit over the seat at your vanity. The action had pulled up the light cotton tee he wore underneath, exposing the toned muscles and dark happy trail to you, the path of hairs that dipped down under the skinny jeans he wore.

You were nibbling on your lip, trailing your eyes over him carefully, moving from his abs to his biceps when he pulled the material back down, and he was smirking by the time you eventually managed to drag your lingering gazes up to his eyes.

“As much as I truly love the fact that you were just eye-fucking me - big ego-booster by the way, so thank you for that - we’re going to have to save that for another day.”

You let out a huff, but knew he was right, and instead he came back over to you, picking up the pillow you’d tucked between your legs and laying himself down on the bed beside you instead, getting under the covers with you and letting you shuffle up beside his body. Swinging a leg up and over his waist, you rested your head on his shoulder, his arms wrapping around your body to hold you to himself protectively.

“Do you want to sleep? We can take a nap, if that’s what you want.”

“It is, but we can talk for a while first.” You felt around for your head pad, resting it against your lower back, and his hand came down to hold it in place for you without even having to ask.

“Okay, what do you want to talk about?”

It took you a minute to think, before your lips were flicking up at the corners, and your hand was tightening in the material of his t-shirt a little, before you rubbed your hand over the spot. Pressing your face into his neck, you pressed a kiss to his skin, and then another, just simple pecks to the space that you could reach, but he held you a little tighter instinctively each time. “Tell me about college. What it’s like, to live alone and be independent, I want to hear it all.”

“It’s pretty fucking awesome. I didn’t get to experience much alone, a lot of it revolves around Katrina. We tried real hard to make it work, at first, so a lot of my experiences are different, because of that.”

“You don’t have to talk about her, if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind.” He let out a sigh, running a hand over his face before returning it to your body, tucking it under the edge of your shirt to sit on the bare skin of your waist, rubbing circles with his fingers carefully. “She was a big part of who I was back then, I feel like I’m someone else now. I like who I am now. I dated her for more than half of my high school experience, and the first two years of college. She never forced me in a certain path, but I naturally wanted to follow her.”

“I didn’t date Stiles, I don’t think I ever will, but loving him changed me a lot too.”

“Love has a tendency to do that to you.” He paused, pressing a kiss to your hairline, before taking a deep breath. “College was scary at first. It’s so far away, it takes days to drive down, with all the pauses you take and the sleep time, so, I didn’t get to come home very often. It was odd, not listening to Stiles fall over things, or hearing my dad complain about work. I didn’t get to visit my mom on her birthday because I had exams, and that was the first time I didn’t take her flowers.”

“I miss your mom.”

“Yeah, me too.” He twisted you both a little when you began to squirm at the position, moving you so that you were on your side and he could press up to your back, your hand taking his as you dragged it over your body to sit across yourself. “Better?”

“Yeah, much.”

“So, I think on the first time I really felt like myself at college was actually the weekend I realised things with Kat were going downhill. It had been a whole month since we’d last seen each other, or even video chatted. Of course, we called and texted, but not as often and when I told her I loved her, it certainly didn’t make me feel as warm and fuzzy as it used to. I didn’t plan my weekends around seeing her and having virtual dates, but I started planning on keeping them open, and going to the college pep rallies, and going to the clubs and restaurants with my roommates. I had free time, and I liked that. It hurt when we officially called it off, and I realised I was going to need new friends, but if I’m being really honest here, a large part of the reason I came home again was to reconnect with myself, as well as move on, because I never knew myself and college as one.”

“You’re deeper than I thought.”

“What, did you think I was a kiddie pool of emotions?” He nudged his foot into the back of your leg, cackling a little when you grumbled at the jab. “I will have you know that I possess a deep ability to get hurt, and to do hurt, and that whole feelings shit. Blah, blah, blah, whatever you want to call it, I can do that.”

You laughed, muffling yourself by bringing his hand up to your mouth, kissing the back of his knuckles, and he flexed his hand, before gripping your chin and tipping your head back, pressing his lips to your cheek in a wet kiss in return. “I know you can. You cheered me up after Stiles left me on movie night, twice, and you’ve spent the whole of today caring for me. You’re deep as the Mariana Trench.”

“That’s some pretty high compliments, kitten.”

“You deserve them. So, tell me about having roommates.”

The conversation followed along much the same lines, and he let you shift every time you needed to, your position changing constantly as you tried to get and stay comfortable, but he told you everything you needed to know, without ever growing impatient. In return, you told him about everything he missed, you told him all the antics and stories that coach had endured since he left, and you told him about the funniest crimes his dad had been shutting down too.

You talked for what felt like hours, before the conversations had fizzled into a serene quiet, which in turn had eventually become the sleep you had promised, the two of you drifting off into a comfortable quiet that made darkness overtake your senses.

You had never slept as well on your period as you had with Mitch holding you.

Your sleep was normally filled with tosses and turns, unable to settle for too long as different parts of your body ached and flared with pains, but this time you were happy, and you snoozed, and when you had woken up hours later, it was with darkness filling the room at the window instead of the sunrays you’d fallen asleep to, but you were still in the same position you'd drifted off in, and you realised you hadn't had a fitful night with constant wake-ups, but instead, you’d slept right through for hours.

The man underneath you was still asleep, snoring lightly was each breath, and you ran the tip of your finger over his nose, watching him twitch in his sleep and twist away from the source of your tickling. You’d never seen him asleep before, but you had seen Stiles, and even unconscious the two were opposites.

You were used to Stiles falling asleep around you, he kept himself up so late doing unnecessary research and keeping his mind busy until he crashed that he often fell asleep at other times too, slumped against the nearest surface, which often meant you. He drooled from the awkward ankles, and snored loudly, and twitched in his sleep before jerking awake. Mitch was calm, and clingy, and a deep sleeper. Even the slightest movement would wake his brother, and yet with all the subtle shifts you’d made, he was just adapting to you. Though, you assumed that might be down to his high activity lifestyle, all that sports must take a toll on him, even if he wasn’t keeping it up right now.

Pressing kisses along his jaw, he made a soft noise in his sleep that made your heart clench as you silently cooed over him, before he was shifting, letting out a little groan and pushing on your shoulder to roll you over, his body following until he could press you into the mattress and cover his face with your neck.

“G’ back t’ sleep. Bit longer.”

“I would let you stay, but you dad will wonder where you are, and I have school in the morning, and I’m not sure how you’d like to explain to my parents what you’re doing here.” He huffed out at that, pushing himself to sit up, before shaking his head to clear the sleep away a little bit as he cracked his eyes open. “Hi there.”

“I haven’t taken a nap in fuckin’ ages.”

“It was a good nap.” You confirmed, standing up yourself and taking the blessed few moments of pain-free movement to stretch out a little bit. He leaned over, brushing his lips to your forehead, and you walked across to the window. “It’s later than I thought, both of my parents are already home from work.”

“I should get going.” You nodded, never looking away from the window as he remade the bed with the blankets you both had messed up, before coming over to find you. “You gonna’ be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, I just need to have a shower and get myself ready for tomorrow so I can sleep in. I have a period every month, I’m well used to dealing with it, even if it does suck.”

He rolled his eyes, taking your hand in his and pulling you away from looking outside, but not before you had closed the curtains and locked out the streetlamps bright rays. “Why don’t you walk me out instead of being sassy, huh?”

“I thought you liked me when I was sassy?”

“That’s when you’re fucking me. I like you most when you’re being cute.” You rolled your eyes, but took his hand in your own and headed towards the front door, as he sat on the bed to pull on his shoes that he had discarded by the door so long ago.

“I’m going to go and unlock the door, and make sure my parents are in bed.”

“It’s been a while since I had to sneak out of a pretty girl’s house, I kinda’ missed the thrill.” He smirked, nodding to you as you went, and you were sure to hide the blush crawling at your cheeks.

The darkness that had grown to replace the light in the room was thick and heavy, only making you more tired as you rubbed gently at your eyes, trying to wake yourself up a little from your nap so that you could have a shower and get yourself ready for a day at school, before eventually going back to bed again. The downstairs of your house was vacant, your parents clearly having come in and gone about their night without disturbing you, before going straight to bed themselves.

You could hear Mitch padding down the stairs softly as not to wake your parents, and so you opened the door quietly, turning it in towards you and letting the cool night air sweep into the house. There was a note left for you by your parents, and you picked up the piece of card, flipping it over to read what it said, smiling at the handwriting scrawled onto it.

‘Figured you were getting an early night, didn’t want to wake you last night. Have a good day at school.’

There was a heart drawn at the bottom, and you assumed they didn't think you'd see it until you woke up and headed out in the morning, and you were grateful they hadn't come into the room, because you weren’t too sure how you would explain being curled up in bed and clinging to your best friends older brother as you slept side by side. Probably not the best way to introduce a guy to your parents.

Placing it back where it was, you could thank them for it tomorrow, and Mitch was standing beside the door patiently, watching you carefully as you finally turned back to him.

“I’m sorry today didn’t go how you were planning, but thank you for sticking around anyway.”

He lifted a hand, brushing stray hair away behind your ear and settling the palm over your cheek, pulling you forwards gently until you were standing so close to him that you could pick out the lighter flecks of colour in his eyes, despite the darkness of the night surrounding you both. “My plan today was to come over and see you and have food. Sex is just what we usually do, but I wasn’t disappointed any less.”

You weren’t sure what to say, so you didn’t bother saying anything at all, instead choosing to reach out and lace your fingers with his other hand, to which he eagerly accepted, spreading the digits for you to slip your own between before he was squeezing your hand tightly.

“I want to kiss you again. Is that okay?”

You lifted your face back up, your sights moving from your connected hands to instead find his own eyes, before you were leaning in a little closer, a smile pulling on your cheeks. “Another goodnight kiss?”

“Yes.”

“You can consider this blanket permission to kiss me whenever you want, sex or no sex.” You promised, and you barely caught sight of his smile before he was leaning in to press his lips to your own in a tender connection. It was slow, and sweet, your mouths creating a rhythm of their own as you fell in closer to him, wrapping your free hand around his neck as your fingers played together from where they were connected at the hand and pressed between you both, squeezing tightly as you clung to one another.

“I have to warn you, I may abuse that privilege.”

His words were exhaled breathily into your mouth, and you only chuckled in response, nodding from where his forehead was pressed to your own, before indulging yourself in a few further quick pecks to his lips, which he was happy to reciprocate. “You planning to kiss me a lot, Mitch?”

“Maybe I am.” He leaned back in, smiling against your mouth as the whispered confession faded out into silence, and you let him, leaning over him as he stepped back over the threshold and down the step onto the garden, his head tipped up to face yours, the hand from your cheek slipping down to your hip in order to stabilise you. When you pulled back from him, his lips chased your own for a second, pouted and needy before he finally rocked back onto his feet, fishing into his pocket for his keys, but never taking his hand from yours.

“I’ll see you soon, I’m due college application letters back some point next week, and Stiles and I have always said we’d open them together.”

“I look forward to it, kitten.” He gave your hand a final squeeze, before finally releasing it and stepping away backwards in the direction of his car, the lights flashing as it lit up on the street. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

You nodded, watching as he turned away and climbed into his car, never leaving the doorway until he'd driven past, winking at you as he went, the lights fading as he moved further down the street until he had rounded the corner and was out of sight. Closing the door once again, you pressed your forehead to it, feeling embarrassed about the size of the grin on your face, before locking up and flicking out the lights, making your way back upstairs.

When you made it back into your bedroom, your eyes immediately closed in on the jumper that was left on your bed, the same one he’d shrugged off before the two of you had fallen asleep, but it was now folded neatly and placed on the straightened bed sheets, a purposeful offering that made warmth bloom in your chest and ebb out across every part of your body.

Grabbing your phone from where it was sitting, you snapped a picture of the garment, sending it to him and knowing he would reply when he got home.

you left me your jumper.

With that, you dropped the device, peeling off the clothes you’d spent the day in and dropping them into the laundry basket, before heading towards the bathroom. Switching on the shower, you lined up the towels on your counter before stepping under the warm water and letting out a happy sigh as the heat flooded over your body.

Periods always made you feel icky. They made you feel dirty, and tired, and unattractive.

Today, though, you had felt nothing but peace and tranquillity, being in the arms of someone who cared about you. It was odd, the feeling of moving on. You could sense the shift in your own soul, the way you felt a little detached from yourself, floating aimlessly like you had nothing anchoring you down anymore. You no longer felt like you were bound by the ties you felt to Stiles, the same guilty jealousy that had once possessed you anytime you thought about Lydia - or anyone else - being the one who stole Stiles’ heart instead of you was no longer. The idea of being with someone other than Stiles was no longer met with disdain, but rather your attempt at optimism. You didn’t want to let it go, you didn’t want to move on, and your heart still held a place for him that you weren’t sure would ever go away.

Stiles was the first boy you had ever loved, but now, it didn’t seem so impossible to say he wouldn’t be the only one you loved. There was space for more, there was room for trial and error and heartbreak because, finally, you were allowing yourself the opportunity for the childish infatuation to be released so that you could move on to something more.

Something mature and meaningful. Something that revolved around more than just the chance of affections but something that was built on dedication and understanding and deep-rooted love.

Washing out the suds from your hair, you wiped at the soap on your face, washing off every thought and emotion that had passed over you in the day, and letting your worries and heartbreak slip away down the drain with the soap, feeling completely and utterly refreshed. When you stepped out, steam billowing into the room around you, your first call was to find some new and comfortable clothes to cuddle up into. Once you had done, you spent a little longer rubbing your moisturiser into your face, and drying your hair off before you could get into bed, your eyes closing as you listened to the hum of the machine, the simple but steady note letting you relax yourself as you matched your heartrate to the subtle and steady clicks each time the blades turned over.

Finally, feeling clean and comfy and satiated, you picked up the jumper that had been left for you and pulled it over your head, the longer sleeves swamping over your hands as you balled them up and lifted the neckline to your nose with the tips of your fingers that peeked out, taking a deep inhale of the scent that clung to it.

You felt wrapped up in it, the smell of his cologne that was on your pillow and your blanket, the dip on the bed from where he’d been sitting. No matter what happened when he came over for more physical activities, you were never left with the smell of him clinging to your sheets. After that, your room would smell of sweat and sex, but the smell of his aftershave and his shampoo pressed into the fabric came from a day of cuddling and sleeping, a day of doing nothing but holding on another close, until he was leaving a ghost of himself behind even when he had left.

Lifting up your phone, your latest notification was from the man who was swamping your thoughts, only a few minutes old, and you swiped it open, rolling onto your side and propping a hand under your head.

[Mitch 🔥] saw my syracuse one was over the back of ur chair, u said it smelled good. thought I’d leave u another one.

Taking a quick picture of yourself, your face partially covered by the hand over a jumper you had up and over your nose, you sent it to him, typing out a thank you underneath, and expressing just how much you loved the gesture.

[Mitch 🔥] u look fucking adorable. I like u in my jumpers.

Heat crawled up your cheeks, and you nibbled on your lower lip, flicking out the light and preparing yourself to settle back down to sleep.

maybe next time you come over, i’ll be wearing only the jumper.

Hitting send, it went through the ‘read’ immediately, and the grey bubble at the bottom of the screen was popping up only a second later but he took him a moment to reply, the bubble disappearing and reappearing a couple of times, before a text finally came through, and for a moment, you worried you’d crossed a line of some kind.

[Mitch 🔥] ur a tease, can’t believe i'm this worked up at midnight.

You rolled your eyes, thumbs moving quickly over the illuminated screen, before hitting send, and quieting your own giggle of amusement by burying your face in the pillow.

i’ll make it up to you when i next see you.

The next text came only a second or so later, a yawn taking you over as you prepared yourself for sleep, and it didn’t require a response.

[Mitch 🔥] can’t fuckin wait.

#Mitch Rapp #mitch rapp x reader #mitch rapp/reader #mitch month #mitchtober #mitch-tober #mitch rapp x reader smut #mitch rapp/reader smut #LMDS #let me down slow #mitch rapp american assassin #dylan obrien american assassin #dylan obrien mitch rapp #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien/reader smut

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somerpmemes · 3 years

Text

Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist S1 Starters

Change as needed. More under the cut.

“Quick question: do you always have to play and sing your music that loud?”

“Why are you up so early anyways?”

“Oh, I didn’t go to bed.”

“So, you’re ready for this?”

“I just really don’t wanna screw this up.”

“Keeping it lean for the ladies.”

“I need to expand my horizons.”

“It was literally all you.”

“Now is not the time to be modest.”

“Let’s face it, the woman’s a narcissist.”

“Work your magic, feel the glory, in it to win it.”

“Well I’m not really comfortable with anything.”

“Alright, who wants some freshly delivered, slightly cold, mediocre pizza!”

“Could we maybe open a window or something?”

“They’re not that scary.”

“Are you sure this isn’t an elaborate teleportation device that will take me to an alternate universe?”

“I just wanna get this over with.”

“Is this supposed to be happening?”

“That sounds really sad.”

“Why are you singing right now?”

“Why would I sing to you? You don’t even like me.”

“Can I get you anything? Water? Vodka? Xanax?”

“Quick question: did you recently imbibe or inject anything that came from a “medicinal” type shop?”

“But I’m an open-minded person, I’m willing to roll with this.”

“Maybe you’re operating on a higher plane than the rest of us.”

“Child, I’m completely baked. Ain’t nothing going on in my head right now.”

“This is the first thing that I find remotely interesting about you.”

“Will we ever have joie de vivre?”

“My mom left me when I was young and my whole life has been a series of rejections from the opposite sex.”

“You sure you don’t hear that?”

“Let’s party like it’s 1978!”

“And you should really take everything I say when I’m high with a grain of salt.”

“That song is real dark.”

“Good music can make you feel things you can’t express in words.”

“Hey, not that I’m keeping tabs or anything but that’s like your fourth cup of coffee today.”

“That’s a whole lot of tmi I just spewed on you.”

“Who knows what other people are really thinking, right?”

“I’ve found in general death and dying tend not to be the best conversation starters.”

“If I show you something can you promise to keep it only between us?”

“This is the only thing that I can hold onto.”

“I’ve become a real expert on bottling my shame and pain and hiding it from the world.”

“Listen, I’m not an expert on this or anything but you can't just keep it in.”

“I should’ve been the one this happened to.”

“I think we’re just gonna have to stumble through it together. The blind leading the blind.”

“If you had the power to know what was going on in other people’s heads, do you think you’d feel guilty?”

“I’m going to be uncharacteristically honest with you so don’t get used to it.”

“I notice everything.”

“I just feel like everyone’s against me.”

“Two more hours and I would’ve gotten it, just saying.”

“There’s gonna be good days and bad days, remember? Let’s chalk this up to one of the good ones.”

“Mama needs an update.”

“No, no, don’t be flattered.”

“I view you more as a social experiment, like a rat running through a maze.”

“Sounds bougie, I’m in.”

“I'm not in trouble, am I?”

“Bottom line, please?”

“You’re yelling, bro.”

“I’m acting weirder than normal?”

“Believe it or not I didn’t really play any sports growing up.”

“This power is wasted on you!”

“Is this weird? This feels weird.”

“I gotta say, I am loving the energy.”

“I’m pretty sure nobody cares.”

“Any desire to tell me what this is all about?”

“Of course I know that song, it’s a very famous song. Do YOU know that song?”

“With great power comes a lot of nasty stuff don’t nobody wanna do.”

“I’m not NOT mortified right now.”

“Please tell me your day was better than mine.”

“Do I need to hide all of my breakables?”

“I can’t cook. You should see the inside of my fridge.”

“I guess we’ve just breezed right past the whole “knocking-and-waiting-for-the-other-person-to-answer” phase.”

“When I get inspired no doors will stand in my way.”

“Creative. Absolutely terrifying..”

“Could be cool. Could be confusing. Could be both. Let’s see.”

“And I’m kinda obsessed with you.”

“Door’s always open, honey.”

“So could everyone please act as if they care?”

“I haven’t breathed outside air in over forty-three hours.”

“Why did we come up with this stupid, stupid plan?”

“Dolly Parton is my spirit animal.”

“There are lots of reasons why people are unsatisfied, ___. 80% of it is sex related.”

“Do you just make these statistics up?”

“I’m gonna keep this one simple.”

“The only place I’m comfortable dancing is in my bedroom… closet.”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“First of all, that’s terrible grammar.”

“I was a drum major in high school and that mess would not have been tolerated.”

“I have always found it helpful to vent when I’m feeling dissatisfied.”

“I don’t vent, I scream into a pillow.”

“You dress like a docent at a folk art museum.”

“Wow, we’re still talking about this?”

“___, are you growing as a person?”

“And the good news is I’ve been banned from the grocery store.”

“There’s been a radical shift in the way I perceive the world, you wouldn’t understand.”

“There is nothing in the world that I love more than your smile. But not if it isn’t real.��

“Don’t make this into a thing right now.”

“That term hasn’t been used in well over a decade.”

“I can see your side eye.”

“You can take the fifth and stop telling me about it.”

“Do you know anything about faith at all?”

“I think we might be vibing again.”

“Are you sure that everything’s okay with you because I feel like maybe it’s not.”

“See, that whole “leap of faith” thing really doesn’t work for me.”

“Empathy is a wonderful gift to have.”

“I have faith. You should too.”

“I recognize your tiny footsteps.”

“Okay, that’s enough gaping at the shut in for one day.”

“I swear this is the last one.”

“Why so secretive?”

“I am very aware of what a duet is.”

“Why do I even answer the phone this early?”

“My brain does not like functioning until night o’clock.”

“What’s the good of bad news if you can’t share it?”

“I love barely meeting expectations!”

“Is it great? Feels not so great.”

“I think you’re crushing it, that’s all that matters.”

“You two would be great in a female cop show.”

“Something’s going on with you, I can tell.”

“How do you do that? Really see me. No one else has the ability.”

“I’m just not used to negative feedback.”

“Care to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Can I take a picture? I’m gonna take a picture.”

“Uh oh. Don’t tell me you’re depressed too.”

“My body’s doing all sorts of disgusting things to me like making liquid appear in my eyes.”

“It’s too gutless, it’s too passive-aggressive. I like aggressive-aggressive.”

“I just feel like I’m failing.”

“Why do you put so much pressure on yourself?”

“Wow. I just got a window into your soul and, baby, it is not a place I wanna visit.”

“Did you know I once stared at the ocean for literally seven hours?”

“How about you lead the way and I’ll just holler if I need any medical assistance?”

“You’d tell me if you weren’t good, right?”

“So, tell me some good news please.”

“Thank you for not trying to fix me or make me feel better. Thanks for just being real.”

“Why are you smirking?”

“Sometimes I just feel like I can’t do anything right.”

“Someone sounds like they’re in a good mood.”

“The world is waiting, so am I.”

“I have no interest in hanging around a bunch of 20-somethings talking about artisanal beer all night.”

“___, this is a classy affair. Of course they’ll be pigs in a blanket.”

“Now it’s time for a makeover which is literally my favorite thing to do.”

“No matter how hard I try I just never say the right thing.”

“At least let me help you accessorize.”

“I gotta admit this is kinda fun.”

“Now they just taste like water.”

“Who do we know with a hot tub?”

“You are super fun. Like sloppy, dance on a bar fun.”

“I might also be drunk.”

“I’m a mess… and emotional… also vodka.”

“Life doesn’t always go as planned. It just doesn’t.”

“Is it weird that I want one of those?”

“Yeah, nothing good happens after someone sings that song.”

“I hate when people assume I know their names.”

“So, you’re attractive and talented.”

“I can’t believe that happened, and how quickly…”

“If there’s something going on I’d love all our friends to hear about it.”

“You should probably leave this party before you burn something else down.”

“That’s almost funny.”

“I need that thing more than you’ve ever needed anything in your entire life and I’m ready to fight you for it if you make me.”

“I wouldn’t trust myself to ride that thing sober let alone now still halfway drunk.”

“The last thing I want to hear from you is another apology.”

“I really need to be mad at you right now.”

“Are you crying?”

“What? I’m not allowed to get emotional at a superhero movie? Lives were lost, ___. Ethical questions were raised!”

“He only responds in one letter. ‘K’? Who does that?”

“Just— let’s talk about you.”

“It’s hard to accept that I can’t do this all on my own anymore.”

“Wouldn’t peg you for a food court guy.”

“We are gonna be ultra professional from now on.”

“What’s the crisis? Did I cause it?”

“Can you believe it?! ...apparently you can and perhaps already knew?”

“___, are you okay? You look paler than usual.”

“You okay? You look shaken.”

“But I feel great and I’m gonna be totally fine.”

“Can you google that for me?”

“Are you seriously hiding from me?”

“I listen to true crime to calm myself.”

“Look, we both know I’m not good with feelings or emotions.”

“Mad respect for your pun game.”

“Men don’t check on men in bathrooms, it’s not a thing.”

“Well now I know you’re telling the truth because no one would ever lie about doing something that heartless.”

“Were we ever even friends at all?”

“Real friends have hard conversations. They owe it to each other.”

“I’m gonna get deep for a hot second so bear with me.”

“Stuff like this has been going on for a while now. You wanna tell me what’s up?”

“You’re starting to seem like a liability, man.”

“What’s the point of rising if we can’t do it together?”

“Here to pour salt on my wounds?”

“It’s all coming from a place of love.”

“It is not exactly what I expected but I’m rolling with it.”

“Watch how fast I nail this.”

“Are we talking witchcraft or just shameless career advancing?”

“I’ve got a super chill brain that never needs calming, so…”

“Was I just singing out loud?”

“Am I going crazy? I feel like I am. I mean, I don’t know what crazy feels like but I feel like this is it.”

“That’s… bad.”

“Are you fine? I mean, I know you’re not fine but…”

“Can you schedule your nervous breakdown for another day?”

“In solving one problem I’ve created another.”

“I… I don’t know why that happened.”

“Okay, yes, I’ll admit I’m in a good mood but it’s for completely unrelated reasons.”

“Okay, this is getting worse by the second.”

“I apologize in advance for whatever’s about to come out of mouth.”

“I'm really sorry. Just know, it’s not me, it’s my body.”

“That’s such a strange way to phrase that.”

“There you go, now you know. Hey, that rhymed.”

“I will go to the supermarket… one day.”

“I ruined my entire life yesterday.”

“I just call that uninspired.”

“Honestly, I think I’m broken.”

“What exactly is going on here? A creative inspiration or a massive cry for help?”

“I’m broken and I’m gonna die alone.”

“How do you go through all that suffering and not let it break you?”

“I don’t know what to do. And it’s tearing me up inside.”

“Hurt people hurt people.”

“I think it’s best if you don’t look at me or worry about and focus on what I’m thinking or feeling.”

“It can be challenging sometimes, knowing the right way and the wrong way to care for somebody.”

“Well, it’s the almost-thought that counts.”

“That’s a terrible surprise face.”

“I think it’s finally time I focus on my own happiness for a change.”

“I don’t want to talk. Lord knows that we’ve done enough talking.”

“I’m exhausted. And exhilarated. And thoroughly depleted.”

“Stay aloof, reveal nothing, keep small talk down to a minimum.”

“You’ve been there for me, I wanna be there for you.”

“Don’t smile at me, I don’t wanna look at your sad, appreciative eyes.”

“What? He’s hot, I’m weak, you do the math.”

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a hoodie before.”

“This would be a great place to murder someone, huh?”

“So, who’s ready to talk about death?”

“It doesn’t have to go down like this, ___.”

“You can only postpone the inevitable for so long.”

“In moments like these sometimes you have to haul out the big guns.”

“Someone better be dead or dying, I’m not in the mood.”

“I am worried. This is how I compensate.”

“I find you charming and disturbing, like a Pomeranian wearing a tutu.”

“I go big or go home.”

“Death is hideous and ugly and grotesque and wildly, wildly unfair.”

“Believe me, I’m not doing well but I’m not doing that badly either.”

“I guess we gotta face the music sometime, right?”

#zep #zoey's extraordinary playlist #rp #rp meme #rp starters #starters #sentence starters #sentence starter meme #ask meme

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exclipssesss · 4 years

Note

Ok so I love all of the Sanders Sides characters equally but that doesn't stop me from being overly protective with the Dark sides Namely Remus And it doesn't help when people make him even more adorable and baby! Anyway there's a version of Remus that's touch starved and I jUST WANT TO HUG HIM- So can I have a X reader (Platonic or romantic either is fine were Remus accidentally reveals he's touch starved and reader just grabs a blanket and cuddles him until he falls asleep??? PLEASE??thx!

I love this???? I don't even know about this hc wtf?? AAAA I LOVE THIS HC SO MUCH- and duh, who doesn't love Remus lmao.

~~~

Here For You.

Remus x Reader

;;Type: Angst(?), Fluff

;;Character(s) involved: The trash man himself.

;;

;;Warning(s): sad Remus :(, /bad/ words.

It's been a while since you and Thomas were friends, and seeing the sides was nothing more than an ordinary tuesday night. Well, that is until you met the rest of the 'dark' sides. And honestly? You never were to judge them so quickly. Even Virgil himself refers to them as the 'others', despite being the one who dislikes them the most, but there has to be a reason, right?

Anyways, you were trying to comfort all the sides after whatever just happened. With Janus suddenly getting accepted and Roman having a breakdown, not to mention Patton starting to doubt himself and Logan who's beginning to think he's replaced and/or unwanted, the mind palace is a mess.

But there is a certain side you haven't seen a lot today- which is kinda weird considering he's the loudest of them all, and it kinda worried you. With how the world turned upside down, the last thing you wanted was to see him suddenly turned gloomy-; so you looked for him, top or bottom, in and out. You made sure every place is checked. The mind palace- heck, Thomas' place in general is quiet. No bickering, no yelling, no songs, it's empty; almost unrecognizable. And with that you took a step further, going into his room.

Remus' room was awfully dark, not like what it's used to. He would always have weird creations or flashy super-gosh-darn-bright lights on to annoy whoever came into his room. So this is unusual. Without thinking, you turned on the lights, and in the corner of your eye you can see him at the edge of his bed, startled. He doesn't even seem to notice you're getting into his room, which is again; unusual.

He immediately fixed his posture when he realized you're in his room, grabbing the nearest notebook and a big spiky slimy pen, acting as if he was working on something the whole time. "Hello, (y/n)!" He said cheerily, summoning his normal gigantic creepy-esque smile he normally has. "Sneaking up on me in the dark eh? That's awfully dangerous of you~" He gave another smile, the type where you would roll your eyes on him. You brushed off whatever he just said, walking towards him in confusion.

"I haven't been seeing you anywhere, were you here the whole time?" You asked, raising a brow. He furrowed his own brows at the question, before shrugging both of his shoulders. "Why of course, why wouldn't i be?" He shot back, looking at you with another one of his quizzical looks. "I don't know, you were always the loudest of the bunch, so i assumed something's wrong when you didn't even make a peep."

He tensed, blinking a few times as if thinking of what he was supposed to say. When he looked back at you, it's almost he's choking out words just to make it seem real, funnily enough you see through his facade. "Awww did you miss me?" "That's it? No comebacks? Or rhetorical questions? This isn't like you Remus." You folded your arms, daring him to continue. He gulped a little, before somehow his emotions just.. Fell off. And he goes back to his notebook.

"I was writing down ideas for me to use, which just like Roman or how Creativity works in general, will need time and energy. So there's my reason, are you happy?" He said in a monotone voice. Avoiding your gaze and kept his stare to the stacks of papers in his hand, you didn't seem to believe him though.

"Who in the world writes ideas down in complete darkness?" You pushed again. Remus looked at you and gave an unamused look, raising an eyebrow of his towards both you and your question. "You do realize who you're talking to right?" He answered, or well, asked. "Yeah, but this isn't... You." words came out of your mouth like lava as you tried forcing it out. Remus thankfully noticed this, he puts down his little book and moved towards you, sighing as he finally gives you his full attention.

"Really? Tell me, (y/n), what am i like?"

"I don't know... You were always loud, all over the place, dare i say cheerful. Seeing you like this just doesn't spell 'Remus' to me."

He gave a little sigh again, before chuckling. But then that chuckle turns to giggles, that turns into laughs. You don't know exactly what he's laughing about, so you tried asking him about it.

"What's so funny?"

"Everything! Absolutely everything is hilarious!" He breathed out in between his howling laughs, you were too afraid to ask further, afraid that.. That you pushed an unwanted button. "Oh gosh! I can't believe this!" His laughter ceased after some time, leaving you still stoned on your spot.

"You're so nice (y/n), too fucking nice actually." His hair is messy, way more than usual. He wipes a 'tear' away with his hand, breathing steadily as to not break into another laughing fit. "You're like, the only person who actually cares about me now!" He chuckled again, this time with a headshake to accompany it.

"Wha-? No! Of course not, Janus cares about you, don't he?"

"Oh, yeah, sure, whatever. I mean, he's 'accepted' by Thomas now, so i can't really expect anything from him." He shrugged oh so calmly as if thoughts like that doesn't even remotely hurt him anymore, but it hurted you. "What? So you're not even gonna admit that you're lonely? Or even bored?" You pressed him - although with a gentle voice, somehow feeling your own heart shatter at the thought of him being left alone. Not enough to make you cringe or summon a tear. But enough to make you clenched your heart if only he isn't with you.

"What? You're kidding me?" He snickered, looking at you almost amused by your answer. "Me? Lonely? Bored? Pfft-- Look, me wanting attention? HAH, that's normal! Me being desperately touch starved? Eh, i can work with it. But me being lonely-? And bored?! I can easily wreck Roman's day and that's enough for me to have a good laugh for about a week, not including the teasing and-"

"Wait a minute, you're touch starved..?" You asked slowly, looking at him. He was lost for a second before the flustered look finds itself on his face after a few flying moment. "W-what?! No! What are you talking about? Where did you even heard that? Of course not you silly billy!" he waved his hand at you, defensively, and looks away in an attempt to quietly curse himself.

You sighed. Feeling as if you were gonna giggle at his own dumbfounded reaction but in the same time just wanna cuddle and wrap yourself around him, which is kinda weird since you and Remus isn't /that/ close. Sure you guys laugh over immature things, and maybe mess around with Roman a little, but he isn't your go-to when something were to came up. But now? You just felt as if you were to comfort him...

Screw it.

And with that, you immediately made it your priority for Remus to feel appreciated, or well- wanted. You sprung up from your position and immediately grab the blanket he has which is trashed on the floor. Before using it however, you shook the blanket up and down to get rid of the dusts on it, and immediately pushed Remus down on his bed. You did the same thing to yourself and layed down beside him, covering both of you with the blanket and cuddling close to him.

Though Remus only watched, he watched you with an amused gaze. Small smiles turning to a giant grin as you making yourself close to him, and slowly after that he spoke up with his usually high pitched voice, didn't bother to move away from you. "Not what i expected, but great nonetheless!" His hand wrapped around your body dangerously and you can only give him a warning glare, he acted out as though he wasn't doing it intentionally but come on, hand perfectly landed on your ass? Yeah, no.

You moved his arm up, landing it on your waist. And even though he gave you a little whine, he slowly shuts up when you just kept him close, giving him a dose of affection to cure him from being touch starved. He didn't even say anything after that, not sure from the sleepiness or if he just doesn't want to ruin the moment, but the silence was definitely comforting. Your hand reached his messy hair, running through his locks to calm him even more, which in a way kinda worked. And in a count of minutes, he dozed off, small snores coming through him. You can feel yourself dozing off too, smiling at the sight of him being so relaxed in your touch. That's it until you discover something under your pillow.

Two deodorants tucked neatly under it, brand new and untouched. You knew he loves eating these stuff, as gross as that is, and yet you can only giggle at the thought of him having 'snacks' right under his pillows.

Well, he's definitely a dork.

And the good kind.

#Remus x reader #Sanders sides x reader #Sanders sides #X readers #Remus Sanders #Fluff #Im so sorry this took so long xhdbjxjdj #I was procrastinating v er y hard 👉👈#Thank god its done doe #Anon #Ask

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risingsouls · 3 years

Text

Recruited: Chapter 20

[I hope ya’ll are ready for the feels. To no one’s surprise considering how canon plays out, this chapter has no happiness. Changed a few canon things to fit better or just make better sense of canon, but nothing major, and it gets a little graphic but this is DBZ. SO! Have fun! 😈

As usual, you can find the rest of this fic and other things I’ve written over here!]

Nabooru

Each of Frieza's transformations proved more terrifying than the last. Vegeta drove him to the first by proving his mettle and informing him he knew of his big secret and he should get it over with. While likely inevitable, for if Vegeta continued to push him toward defeat, Frieza would have transformed anyway, the mistake was felt immediately: Frieza impaled Krillin with his horn and easily recovered from an all out assault from Gohan. She and Vegeta attempted a counter of their own after he dealt with the hybrid, but frustratingly failed to make a dent even with a combined attack. The prince tried to flee once (much to her annoyance and disappointment), only to be thwarted by the bloodthirsty tyrant. Piccolo, the mentor Gohan mentioned and who they revived before the dragonballs went inert, arrived and pushed the newly transformed Frieza to take on yet another horrific transformation with a chilling boost to his enormous power. Piccolo and Gohan both failed to take on the monstrosity and, fearing the rising power of the two Saiyans, threatened a third transformation with a promise that it was his most fearsome yet.

The pounding of her heart deafened her, the squabble between Krillin and Vegeta muffled as if she listened in from beneath the emerald waves below them. She could sense the beginnings of Frieza's rise in power, and though stopping it somehow crossed her mind, fear and the fact that she reasonably couldn’t paralyzed her. They couldn't scratch him in his last form, so what hope did they have with yet another transformation?

He meant to end them. He was finished toying with them.

Gold eyes closed for one, two seconds, then reopened to focus on the pair floating next to her. Discussing a plan. Vegeta wanted Krillin to mortally wound him and have the Namekian child heal him. Krillin refused and refused again.

Despite her own exhaustion and wounds from her bouts with Frieza, no matter how short, orange energy flared in her hand. It extended outward and shaped itself into a long sword, her fingers wrapped around its hilt of light. Desperate. Risky. Stupid. But another boost in Vegeta's power was their last chance at survival. Each boost he had gotten since Earth had been significant. But would this one be enough?

"Vegeta."

The Saiyan whipped around to face her. The annoyance in his features contorted to surprise and pain as she drove the ki blade into his middle, armor, flesh, and muscle pierced through to the other side. He coughed up blood, but wore a pained grin. She squeezed her hand and the blade dissipated and the prince fell to the planet's surface.

She only spared Krillin a glance in the midst of his protest, her attention better served monitoring Vegeta. He limped toward Dende who trembled in fear. The Saiyan collapsed and reached a blood-stained out toward the Namekian, but the child remained rooted to the spot.

"Something's wrong." Heart in her throat and stomach in her chest, she descended, landing next to Vegeta.

"This is...our only chance...damn it," Vegeta wheezed. Fingers dug into the dirt and he yanked himself another few inches forward, as far as his remaining strength would allow. "Don't you...get it?"

Dende quivered and tears shone in his eyes. His lip trembled, but his gaze and stance was resolute. And then it hit her: Dende refused to heal Vegeta. Not because he was scared of him, not fully at least. But because of how he murdered his people. How she had done the same.

Their last hope denied. Vegeta would bleed out because of her attack. And she couldn't blame the kid one bit.

"I...I can't do it. I won't do it!"

Nabooru barely noticed him fly off in the other direction as she sank to her knees next to Vegeta. She pressed her hand over the hole in his back and carefully flipped him over onto his back, ignoring his curses and protests. She held her hand over the other hole in his abdomen, applying pressure to both sides, resting his head in her lap.

"Don't you dare die on me," she hissed, crimson staining her ivory gloves. Unshorn tears blurred her vision and she blinked them away. She wasn't sure if they were for him or their overall defeat after a hard fought battle. "Not like this…"

He snorted. "Funny coming from the woman who just stabbed me and has been waiting to since I told you about Nappa…" He chuckled and immediately winced. "At least you had the courtesy to not literally stab me in the back this time…"

"That did make it easier. And the fact that you're still delusional enough to believe I wanted to work with Frieza over you is pathetic." Krillin floating downward flicked her gaze upward for a second, but no more. She stared into his face, his heavy lidded eyes, brow furrowed and frown deep from his pain and annoyance. "The ship's not far. If I hurry, I can get you into the tank before Frieza finishes."

She started to lift him, but he growled, "Stop. It's hopeless, woman. We're done for." He clicked his tongue and tried to push himself up on his elbows only for his arms to give out beneath his weight and his head to collapse back into her lap.

"It's not! You can heal and--"

"And what? What do you plan to do in the meantime? You were far less a match for him than me."

She swallowed a sob and brushed away a fresh wave of frustrated tears. Blood smeared her cheek. "Shut up. You're wasting your energy. I'm taking you to the ship and that's final!"

"Tch...so...damn stupid…"

If he had anything else to say, his loss of consciousness stopped him. Nabooru moved to lift him once more only to pause when Krillin, Dende, Gohan, and a newly-healed Piccolo landed near them. She stared them down, a wounded animal cornered and desperate. Unsure if they came to further harm them or aid.

"Please…" She bit her lip and her head drooped, feeling her pride rage against the idea of remotely begging, especially on behalf of the proud Saiyan prince, but she had to try to appeal to them. For now they had a common enemy that needed to be stopped, and the enslaved Saiyan prince not only deserved his vengeance, but was their final hope of defeating him.

Nabooru lifted her head again. "I know I'm in no position to ask you anything. Neither of us are nor do we deserve your help. We murdered your people and you are well within your rights to deny us." She glanced to Krillin and then locked her gaze with Dende's. "If you heal him, he'll be stronger when he wakes up. Possibly strong enough to finish Frieza off for good. This is our last chance. Not only for us but for the universe…"

Dende squeezed his eyes shut and looked up to Krillin. "I know I've asked a lot of you today, but she's right, Dende." He glanced to the pair of them with a slight grimace. "I know these two are rotten, but Frieza makes them look like a couple of bunny rabbits. You...you saw what he did to me. What he and his men did to your village."

"It's alright, kid," Piccolo rumbled, voice different than she remembered. "They may be scum, but we need Vegeta if we hope to win this."

Seconds passed and Dende finally left Krillin's side to trudge over to him. Nabooru removed her shaking hands and Dende rested both of his on Vegeta's chest. A warm, orange glow emanated from them and encompassed Vegeta's body. The hole in his abdomen mended itself, and any other scrapes and bruises disappeared. His eyes fluttered open, and he stared first up at the amazed Gerudo and then glanced to the child.

He pushed himself up to a seated position, observing his hands. Tightening them into fists and flexing his fingers again. The corner of his lip tilted upward as he rose to his feet. "It's about damn time, brat." He kicked Dende away from him and walked away, frame shaking with his laughter. "You’re lucky I’m in a good mood. Now that I’ve finally ascended to the legendary status of Super Saiyan."

"Super jerk is more like it," Nabooru heard Krillin mutter as she, too, rose to her feet again and strode over to Dende. Gentle as she could manage, gentler than perhaps she had been in the greater portion of her life, she lifted the child by his waist and set him back on his feet. He wiped tears from his face with his sleeve and refused to look at her.

"Thank you, Dende."

He refused to meet her gaze but captured one of her hands in his. "I should heal you, too. Just in case."

Nabooru nodded and kept still. His hand warmed and she felt the aches and pains subside, the wounds she sustained beginning to mend. Only for it all to halt with a suddenness she couldn't fathom. Dende's already light grip went limp and his tiny hand slipped from hers. His body slumped to the ground, motionless.

Then she felt it. That steadily rising energy had leveled off at a gargantuan height, the pressure of it enough to make her nauseous. She turned slowly, catching the same confusion written on the Earthlings' visages as her own, until she spotted the tyrant newly transformed, a finger raised and aimed where the fallen child once stood. Though the most unassuming of each of his forms--shorter in stature, sleeker, unadorned with the thick plating or horns of the others--this form struck her deeper than even the one that she became accustomed to throughout her service, that plagued her nightmares.

Enraged, Gohan wasted no time springing to action. Piccolo and Krillin followed suit. Unable to sit back and watch herself, she powered up and dashed forward. Despite the four of them fighting in tandem with every ounce of power and skill they had, none of their blows landed, each one dodged by immeasurable speed. Even when they pulled back and each fired a ki-based attack, the smoke cleared to reveal an unfazed Frieza, smirking in the face of their ill-fated attempt to bring him down and avenge Dende. Nabooru had to fight the slump of her shoulders as she fought to regain her breath, the sting of tears as her heart began to break for their failure.

"Look out!"

She saw nothing but the explosion of rock and debris of an island across the way, and Vegeta shoving Gohan from what she could only assume was a second attack akin to the one that killed Dende. Sure enough, Freiza's fingers aimed where Gohan once stood. Vegeta picked the boy back up by his armor and shoved him back toward the others. "Pay attention, idiots!"

"I...I didn't even see…"

Piccolo growled. "None of us saw it except Vegeta somehow." He spat. "Maybe he really does have a chance. I can't believe I had to say that…"

Gohan stood again and dusted himself off. “Thank you, Vegeta. You saved us.”

Nabooru only dared glance away from the tyrant when Vegeta responded, answer as cocky as expected. “I didn’t save you. None of you are even worth the effort.” His smirk returned. “I merely need witnesses to my new power.”

A crimson brow twitched, and the Gerudo fought the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes. The only fact that stopped her was that there was truth to it all: he didn’t care for any of them and would likely kill them all once he finished with Frieza, and he proved he was indeed stronger after taking her ki blade to the gut as the only one to take note of Frieza’s attempt on Gohan’s life. Though he still repressed his energy, she could feel the pulse of it beating against its cage’s walls as he struggled to maintain that control in the wake of his own excitement.

“Just make him pay, Vegeta,” she said with dark conviction, slowing his forward momentum a step or two and earning her a sidelong glance. “You deserve it more than anyone I know, and he deserves to die. For all that he’s done.”

So you can be free. So I can go home or die with some semblance of peace.

“Hmpt...you’re right about the first part.” He chuckled. “But I don’t care about the rest. It’s time to exact the revenge I promised myself since I was a child.”

"Such big talk, but I wonder if you can back it up, Vegeta.” Frieza interrupted. All eyes snapped to him. “I had no intentions of killing you first and hoped to save the best for last, but since you have the strongest desire for the embrace of death, I’ll grant it to you as a final gift from me.”

"We'll see who dies here, Frieza." Unlike her and the others, Vegeta wore a triumphant smirk as he approached his adversary, and his eyes gleamed with glee and malice. "You're about to face the legend you've feared for so long. Introducing for the first time, Super Saiyan Vegeta!”

There was no denying the shock that crossed the emperor’s features, but it quickly shifted to a coy and taunting chuckle. “Oh? Well forgive me for not trembling where I stand, Super Saiyan, but I fail to be impressed thus far.”

“Then witness what true power looks like!”

Power finally unleashed in the wake of raging lightning and the blinding flare of his blue-white aura, flickering with gold. Nabooru ascended with the others for his opening attack, flaring that energy out toward Frieza in an explosion. It left him unmarred but the Saiyan remained undeterred. He shot forward with an onslaught of ruthless attacks, forcing Frieza on the defensive and raising the spirits of Krillin and Gohan for a swift victory. The Gerudo, however, chewed her lip as each blow failed to find a mark, and Frieza showed little concern no matter how close a fist or kick came to slamming into his person. As they took to the air for the continuation of the fight, she could only silently and begrudgingly agree with Piccolo: Vegeta did not have the upper hand. Frieza’s speed proved far superior, exemplified by how evaded their perception so easily, leaving Vegeta searching helplessly for him until the tyrant made himself known.

Switching tactics and declaring that the battle was far from over, Vegeta fired a barrage of ki blasts in pursuit of Frieza, each exploding in fiery chaos. Though, no matter how deadly accurate his aim, Frieza evaded each blast by a slim but enough of a margin to escape. In a blink, he appeared before the four of them. Nabooru shook off her stunned paralysis and realized his strategy of placing them in the line of fire. Piccolo noted the same and, grabbing the other two Earthlings, they darted out of the blasts’ range. A glance over her shoulder and she saw Frieza dodge and a series of explosions where the four of them once hovered.

Another island served as their temporary sanctuary. She could feel the Saiyan’s aggravation and shock from the distance as another attack failed to leave even a scratch on his enemy. Heart pounding and sweat beading on her forehead around her headpiece, she willed him to keep fighting, that this couldn’t be all he had in him. She only wished she could do more than plant herself on the sidelines. She wanted nothing more than to fight and help topple Frieza once and for all. Though it killed her to admit, she simply wasn’t strong enough. She had no choice but to leave it to the Saiyan prince.

The sky darkened as Vegeta once more powered up, gold aura shifting to a purple hue and his energy soaring to new heights that shook the planet. The others worried over him destroying it and all of them with it, but the Gerudo continued her silent urging to take whatever steps he needed to ensure Frieza’s demise. He fired the blast toward Frieza who, to Nabooru’s unease, stood still as stone. Only when the full-powered attack inched ever closer did he finally move. He swung his leg back and punted the blast back, narrowly missing the originator. It exploded high in the atmosphere. Power nearly fully drained from the planet-busting attack, Vegeta hung in the air, limbs limp and posture bowed. The picture of absolute defeat.

“No…it can’t be over...” Nabooru breathed, disbelief and frustration with everything--Vegeta’s useless assault no matter his increases in strength, all their effort to secure the dragonballs and immortality, her own helplessness--vocalized. She shook with rage and anguish knowing what came next before Frieza shot into the air again. She growled and shouted to the heavens, “Vegeta, please! Move!”

Whether he heard her pointless plea or not hardly mattered in his state, and Frieza’s cranium connected with his jaw to send him flying upward. The tyrant made chase and sent the prince soaring into the sparkling sea with a devastating whip of his tail. Water cascaded upward where he fell, and Nabooru heard Piccolo reprimand Gohan for attempting a rescue, citing the futility of it. Unable to accept such herself, the Gerudo sprang forward, ready to leap into the depths and yank him from a watery grave only for a flare of light fired in her direction to divert her, forcing her to dive out of its path to avoid her own demise.

“Now, now...” Nabooru pushed herself up onto her elbows from her graceless sprawl to stare over at Frieza, her lip curled upward in a snarl. He perched on a small outcropping jutting from the sea, just over where Vegeta drifted downward toward the seabed. “You’ll get your turn. Have some patience, Nabooru.”

She slammed her fist in the grass with a growl and pushed up to her feet again, watching the emperor pushed the sea outward with a flourish of his arms. He descended downward to where Vegeta lay near unconscious. He lifted him by the hair, and she fought between tearing her eyes from the brutal display and his pained cries with each punch dealt to his low back and springing into action again to put a stop to it. Instead, she did neither, even when he released Vegeta and kicked him back into the air, dropped his elbow into his abdomen multiple time, and dropped him back to the ground in front of her with another punishing kick. She stood frozen to her patch of grass and watched in helpless torment.

Frieza landed next to Vegeta, tail coiling around his neck and squeezing with bone-crunching force that made her stomach lurch. He continued his wanton torture with another round blows to the Saiyan’s back, each one more punishing than the last. Each scream more agonizing and gut-wrenching. It was torture, plain and simple. The tyrant turned Vegeta into his personal punching bag, hoisted by his tail, and the louder Vegeta’s cries, the more he renewed his vigorous punches. Fire flared inside her, orange energy flaring high around her and burning the tears from her eyes and off her cheeks. She roared in fury and shot toward Frieza, arm raised and aimed to strike Frieza in the jaw to end his gleeful torture. No matter his flaws, his crimes, the Saiyan didn’t deserve this and she wouldn’t stand by and watch Frieza take joy in his, of all people’s, torment. If Vegeta deserved punishment for all he did, for the orchestrator of many of those crimes and a tyrant of worse repute to do it was merely a cosmic joke in bad taste. She had witnessed enough of Frieza's ruthless cruelty as his general, and now, with her tyranny revealed, she didn’t feel so keen on letting it continue this time.

He caught her wrist with ease, as if she had attacked in slow motion. His grip tightened, her bones creaking under the pressure, and she bit back a cry, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her pain. Scarlet eyes rested on her as he yanked her forward and gripped her neck in a suffocating chokehold. Onyx nails bit into her flesh, and she felt blood trickle down to her collar.

“You interrupt me again, Nabooru? Don’t tell me you still care for him after all the miserable things he said about you?” Nabooru swung her leg outward, only for Frieza to bat it away with his free hand. He glanced back to Vegeta and clicked his tongue. “Fine, then. Vegeta, if you’re still conscious, know we’ll finish up our little fun once I deal with my pretty little general.”

With his tail, he flung the Saiyan into a nearby plateau, and he crumpled to the ground at its base. A single relief, at least. Whatever torture awaited her, at least Vegeta would get a reprieve. A chance to survive if they were lucky enough and she could keep Frieza's attention long enough. A stupid, optimistic thought in her slowly blacking mind. Luck was not their friend. It never had been.

Her mouth instinctively opened to gulp in lungfuls of fresh air when the grip on her throat loosed and left it. She found her footing for half a second before Frieza's knee buried itself in her abdomen, shattering the armor covering it. Sharp pain to her back--his elbow--drove her face down at his feet, face and body slamming the hard ground. She tasted the copper tang of blood on her tongue.

Nabooru shifted up onto her elbow and lifted her head, only for the force of the emperor's foot on top of it to force her face back into the dirt. "Was it Vegeta who poisoned you against me, or was that your own brand of pride and stupidity?" His toes curled on her scalp, and she heard his tail slither next to her. It slammed down on her outstretched forearm. Nabooru screamed into the dirt as the bone shattered, the eruption of pain adding to the accumulation of it dealt since Dende healed her. "Either way, look where it got you."

She tried to spit out the cocktail of blood and dirt from her mouth but found little room to do so. She idly considered how shameful it was to choke on her own blood and spit and some mud.

Finally, the pressure on her head subsided. She coughed and shakily pushed herself up on her good arm, the other dangling at her side. She didn't dare look at it, already feeling its unnatural angle. Her weight felt too heavy, but she refused to wallow in the dirt before him if she could help it. She would stand again if she could manage and die on her feet.

"I did not intend to divulge this tidbit of information I've been sitting on for a while now; I wanted to save it for the most opportune moment. But since you're going to die...well, there's no sense not to." The tip of his tail glided along her cheek, and a chill of disgust coursed through her body. She wanted to tear the damn thing off of him.

He clicked his tongue. "Oh, but how best to say this? I've never been great at delivering such wretched news. I lack that gentle touch." Nabooru pushed herself up to one knee then to her feet. Hunched over and cradling her broken arm but upright. "No use sugar-coating, I suppose. Your planet was destroyed, Nabooru, and your entire race went with it."

The universe screeched to a halt around her. It felt as though Frieza had driven both hands into her chest and wrenched it open. Her knees threatened to give out on her in the quivering, and she had to cover her mouth to stifle a sob.

"No...no you're lying...you're just…" She swallowed hard and wished she hadn't looked into his face, the self-satisfied smirk on his face all too proud. "They can't be…"

"Why would I lie about such a tragic occurrence?" Frieza nodded to Vegeta, who managed to push himself up and support his weight on a shaky elbow. "He witnessed the whole thing. Did the job himself, in fact."

Blood-stained lips parted with her dropped jaw, and her eyes widened and shifted to the prince. He stared at the pair of them, eyes half closed in his exhaustion but conscious enough to show his own shock. Nabooru couldn't tell if it was for being outed or it was somehow news to him, too. She stuttered through another half coherent interrogation as she struggled to catch up, to make sense of it all, the tempest of rage, despair, and both physical and emotional pain making it difficult to process much of anything. But all she could fathom with certainty was that her home and people had all been destroyed. How long had she been playing Frieza's game, following his orders and committing heinous acts to protect them in vain? How much blood had she spilled with the intent of holding up her end of the deal he made with Ganondorf and her race as a whole only for it to be broken anyway? What happened? Where had she failed? How did Vegeta play into this? Why couldn't she do the one thing she devoted her whole life to?

Frieza scoffed and rolled his eyes. "As expected. This wasn't nearly as exciting when you're both half dead. I was hoping to use that someday to set you both at each other's throats for a little entertainment when things grew too dull." He waved a hand as Nabooru finally managed to straighten up to some degree, panting with the effort. "Since you'll both die, I suppose I can allow you to perish hating each other a little less: he did it on my orders and without knowledge of what planet he destroyed. I suppose the ill will and distrust I planted within the two of you when I made you a general will have to suffice when I look back with disgust on these last few years."

The nonchalance with which he spoke, as if he detailed the plot of a book he read, prodded the rage building inside her. Her fingers curled into her palm, the nails on her exposed index and middle fingers puncturing leather and biting into her flesh. Frieza played them. Used them for his own entertainment. Tore her from the team she found her only minimal solace in as her soul was slowly ripped to shreds and she found difficulty in continuing on more often than not. Unsurprising, but on top of promoting her for her appearance rather than her merit as a warrior, that burning slight to her pride, her hatred for him soared to new heights.

"In your babbling I believe I heard you ask why I killed your people." Burning gold met smug crimson when he spoke again. "I thought when I told Vegeta, it would serve as a cautionary tale for him moving forward to not cross me. But monkeys truly cannot be taught. If you wish to divert blame from yourself, place it solely on the shoulders of your former king. A fool who thought he could attain the power of some mystical relic to overthrow me. I applaud his ambitions but I owned that planet, I owned him and the rest of your pathetic excuse of a race. If anyone was to be granted such power through a relic on one of my planet's, it should be me. And, as you are witnessing here, I do not take kindly to willfully keeping extravagant secrets of power from me, especially when one plans to use it to unseat me from my undisputed throne."

She wanted to be angry with the Gerudo king. Beyond irritated that Ganondorf did not abandon his search for the Triforce despite their victory over Hyrule. But her rage found purchase on another foothold in Frieza and how he murdered her people and spoke ill of them after the fact. Rage burned hotter in the near hollowed out shell the news of their fate left her as. Power and rage rising and rising, bursting forth from her body. Concentrated to her hand and shot with a roar toward Frieza. Every ounce of ki in her fired in a devastating swath, tearing into the earth and bursting through the sea. Her body shook with the effort once the orange flare subsided. Her vision doubled as she searched for the corpse in the deep divot her attack created. Waited for the waves to wash him up on shore. Nothing. All that. And she missed.

She sensed him behind her a moment too late. His hand tangled into her ponytail and he yanked her backward, straight into the fist aimed for the small of her back. Her cry was cut short by a swift roundhouse to her side, sending her flying into the plateau. She sank to the ground a few meters away from where Vegeta lay, catching herself on her shaking good arm.

Frieza's feet appeared in front of her. "With that business out of the way, I suppose we should finish up here. I've kept poor Vegeta waiting long enough."

Nabooru began another grueling attempt to stand, her energy all but tapped and pain rippling through her with even the most minute movements. She pushed up to one knee and nearly toppled onto her side. She grit her teeth and tried again. "I see your potential, Nabooru, and, considering I have awarded Vegeta with chance after chance to prove his usefulness and loyalty to me, it is only fair I do the same for you." He grasped her ponytail again and gave it another harsh tug and she bit her lip to stifle her whimper. Her head fell limp when he released it, her body doubling over her knee. "Pledge your allegiance to me and beg for forgiveness before these witnesses. Look upon your one true ruler to whom you pledge your undying loyalty and I will spare your miserable life and allow you to continue serving me."

Even if she trusted Frieza's word, even if she could return to her duties on the force without issue once Namek was behind them, everything in her screamed its refusal. She had no reason to comply. He obliterated the one tie keeping her loyal and obedient to his wishes no matter how his orders grated against the fragile morality she tried to maintain. He likely knew that, and potentially expected her to refuse. Hoped she would. And maybe in the grand scheme of it all, she never had to. She could have succumbed to an "accident" as she fantasized about with each mission she was sent on. If it would always amount to her beloved home being destroyed no matter her efforts, no matter how well she followed orders, how efficiently she killed and conquered, what use was agreeing to that stupid deal, anyway? At least she would have died alongside her people, surrounded by the beautiful, golden sands she adored and the heat of the sun beating down and warming her skin. Instead, she would die amongst mostly strangers and in a land she did not know. Broken and beaten, but maintaining the only shred of pride and dignity she managed to nurture and keep alive over the last several years of her life.

She always had a bit of rebellious streak, one that she quashed more often than not during her service in the force and only allowed to shine through in a sassy comment or prodding an argument with her former captain. Once promoted, she had to dim it further, constantly curb her sharp tongue, laugh at racist or degrading jokes she didn't think were funny, and agree to every one of the tyrants whims without question no matter how horrific or frivolous. A final act of defiance. One she hoped would sting, if only for a moment. A final, if not small comfort in all this, in facing a less than glamorous death. She would go down fighting. Perhaps not in the physical way she always assumed, always wanted as a proud Gerudo warrior, but fighting nonetheless.

A fresh wave of tears streamed down her face and a half sob, half laugh tore at her raw throat. Her lips curved upward. She let her other knee join its mate and turned her head away from Freiza. Toward Vegeta to her side. He stared at her, unblinking and so motionless she thought he had succumbed to his injuries after all. It hurt to see the proud prince of all Saiyans in such a state, wounded to the point of near paralysis. Beaten down by the very abuser he sought to exact revenge on his whole life. A tenacious and steadfast warrior, patient in waiting for his time to strike no matter the crimes against him, the slurs and humiliation heaped on him and his cohorts. She had never seen anyone or anything deter Vegeta so completely and drive him to such a deep hopelessness that he refused to continue fighting. But considering his history with Frieza, his firsthand knowledge of what horrors Frieza was capable of enacting both on him and others, ran deep, all the way down to the roots of his childhood. Despite how everything went, how his best laid plans were foiled time and again since arriving on this planet and how it would end in death for him, she admired him for trying. For wanting to take back his life and agency from an unstoppable force like Frieza when so many others lacked the fortitude and drive to even try.

Maybe it had always been a fever dream to believe they could achieve victory and topple Frieza on their own. There was no happy ending here. Not for her. Not for him. There was no tidy vengeance for the fates of their respective races. And maybe that's because neither of them really deserved one. If the universe hadn’t made that glaringly obvious before Namek, before Freiza even, these last few minutes proved it. Her last hope was simply that her final message to the emperor and the prince rang loud and clear. Frieza asked her to look to the one she would swear loyalty to, so that's exactly what she did.

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

Vegeta

Vegeta was no stranger to violence. To the sight of it or inflicting it himself. But even he flinched at the strike of Frieza's tail on the back of her neck. The snap of her spine. That eerily calm smile on her lips faded, bloodied mouth parting in a shocked O. The light, that fire, faded from her eyes. Her body slumped to the side only to halt halfway to the ground, a pale hand tipped with pitch talons wrapped around the strap of her armor and keeping her from falling over. Her head lolled back with an unnatural lack of support.

"Perhaps this can be a lesson to all of you." Frieza tossed Nabooru's body next to him. Her head fell to the side, her sightless gaze resting on him. "Never choose a weak and foolish monkey to place your loyalty and trust in."

He wanted to belittle her, call her an idiot for interfering, for not just taking the damn offer from Frieza, to shake her back to life just so he could tell her all these things and more. But all he felt was the burn of those shameful tears again. Her dying here like this reflected his own failure to stop Frieza himself. Whether or not he would let her live himself he could never decide with certainty. He convinced himself she wanted the promotion, painted it as treachery and a betrayal of the ounce of trust he had in her, to make it easier on himself. A lie he forced himself to believe to the point he didn't question it. He knew deep down it wasn't true, seeing her in the flesh after over a year an unforgiving reminder. But rage was easier to stomach and understand than the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him when Frieza shared the news of her new position. Rage didn't hurt. Rage reminded him he planned to dole out the same fate to her once he tore Frieza from his lofty throne, but the strange clarity that came with facing one's demise whispered that it wasn't true. Another lie he told himself, perhaps, because it felt like the right thing to do. The just thing in a mind so warped and confused no matter the evidence that pushed back on such a permanent punishment for the Gerudo.

All or it to drive a wedge between them and make their already miserable lives even more unbearable. All for his amusement. How deep did that plot run? All the way back when he placed her on his team? With what happened on Trimbon? When he asked Vegeta to destroy a planet he never named because its people had grown too troublesome, and one he never thought to ask the name of? Perhaps even when he recruited her in the first place. He said from the beginning her people reminded him of the Saiyans, so did he assume Vegeta would begin to respect her as a warrior for it? That he would learn to trust her as even a slight bit more than his subordinate? The rookie placed on his team with an obnoxious righteousness when it came to the slaughter they carried out on every job and homesickness she could never quite shake? How she fought all of it to fruitlessly protect her home and people from the wrath of a liar, not unlike how he fought his own nature and pride to bide his time before striking out for revenge?

Power flickered inside him, latched on to his fury and frothing at the mouth. Begging to be unleashed. But it faded as quick as it surged, snuffed by a broken and tapped out body and the hopelessness of his situation. The yawning mouth of death inching ever closer, salivating all the more with each thought of his shameful doom.

Pain in his abdomen forced his attention back on the task at hand. Whatever Frieza said was drowned out by his miserable groans choked by sobs, the cracking of the stone he squashed into his abdomen. His hand rose. Vegeta could just feel the surge of energy meant to do him in. But then another power arrived on the battlefield, the rush of wind resulting from his swift arrival diverting Frieza's attention.

Vegeta snorted and fell back on the ground. "Kakarot...it's about damn time," he wheezed, listening as his son and friends cheered over his recovery. Amidst the torture, the fleeting high from his power skyrocketing and his belief that he had ascended to that legendary status, in surviving one transformation after another, the prince had forgotten about the low-class warrior healing in the ship. For a moment, resentment frothed back to the surface at the memory of his humiliation on Earth at his hands. But then he remembered how easily he dealt with Recoome and Burter, how Ginyu would have followed the same formula had he not employed his cheap body snatching trick. His gut rolled at the thought, the same he had on that battlefield: had Kakarot done it? Had he become the legendary Super Saiyan?

He pushed himself back up onto his elbows with a pained grunt. After healing and his own power surging again, he ripped up such insecure thoughts with his usual bravado. No, obviously it was he who had become a Super Saiyan. His birthright as an elite Saiyan warrior, as royalty destined to conquer the universe. Frieza would fall to his might, and immortality would serve as the icing on the cake.

Kakarot challenged Frieza. Stupid in his opinion. Until the emperor raised his finger and fired a deadly shot of ki at Kakarot's chest. Vegeta inwardly groaned, the fight already concluded. Until the lightning quick swat of Kakarot's hand batted the attack away with the ease of someone fending off a flying pest rather than a deadly attack. Vegeta's jaw went slack. Another rapid-fire barrage of pink laser shots zipped toward the Saiyan, each dodged without issue. Frieza's surprise mirrored his own in that moment.

On top of his sound beating after claiming the have reached legendary status, after once more witnessing Kakarot display power and speed beyond his own reach, Vegeta was forced to contend with the reality that Kakarot might have done it. He should have felt humbled, enraged even. Instead, his frame quivered with mirthful giggles that exploded into full bodied and crazed laughter.

"This is too rich. Frieza, do you have any idea what you're up against?" Through doubling vision, he noted the twitch of Freiza's eye, the corners of his lips as his calm facade began to crack. "Kakarot...he's done it! Truly done it! He's become a Super Saiyan! You...you really are going to be killed by the legend you feared! You...you're going to pay!"

A fresh wave of painful laughter ripped from his throat, shortened by a shot of ki blasted straight through his chest. His eyes widened and he coughed up blood. His arms gave beneath his weight and he crashed to the ground. Consciousness drifted in and out in spurts, the voice of Kakarot reprimanding Frieza for his callousness in attacking a man unable to defend himself. Vegeta could have laughed again at such honor, such softness unfitting of a Saiyan warrior. But just breathing had become a task, the air filling his lungs escaping just as fast. Heart slowing. Blood soaking into the grass. No, he had to save his breath for something else. A damn reality check for Kakarot and his naivety.

"Kakarot, listen to me…"

Vegeta coughed again and Kakarot winced. "Vegeta, please. Save your strength."

"Shut up. Shut up and...listen to me." He stared straight up into the third-class warrior's face, his eyes, even as his own filled with tears. Of shame. Of regret. For the race he refused to mourn for so long. His mother. His father. Nappa and Raditz. All written off as weak for their deaths. So what did that make him?

"You have to let go of your foolish emotions, Kakarot. They're going to get you killed. Can't be...so soft..."

"Vegeta…."

"No! You can't bother with your idiotic ideals here! Mercy, compassion...Frieza won't show you either no matter how much you show him! You need...need to forget all of that and fight him with everything you have! Kill him before he kills you!"

Vegeta paused for another futile attempt at catching his breath. The world darkened along the edges of his vision. His eyes, his body felt heavy. He caught a glimpse of Nabooru's dead, gold eyes. Remembered her smile in her last moments. Her silent rebellion against Frieza and a final attempt to reassure him she had been on his side to her death. No, he had more to say. More that Kakarot needed to hear.

"Kakarot…Frieza. Frieza killed our people. My parents and yours. Every last Saiyan he obliterated because he was afraid we would rise up against him. And after we served him and his family loyally for years, did everything they asked and more! Only to be put down like...like a pack of dogs!" Vegeta coughed up more blood and choked on a sob. "He took me from my father as a child. Said he would kill him if I didn't do everything he said...and then he did it anyway. He murdered my father. He...Frieza made me who I am, Kakarot!"

Admitting it aloud stung more than the hole in his chest. A fact he knew all along but refused to contend with or truly fight. More compliance he could not opt out of if he valued his life. He hadn't understood Nabooru's ravings on the ship before, about figuring out who he really was after all this, but now...now he thought he might. Not that it mattered; death had come to claim him.

He dug his fingers into the dirt, clinging to the planet as adamantly as he clung to the last dregs of his life. "Nabooru…she's just like us. He did the same to her, took her...threatened her planet and people…killed them anyway." Another wheeze. "Avenge us, Kakarot. Avenge our race. Make...make him pay for everything he's done to us."

Gloved fingers unfurled, leaving behind ruts in the soil. Obsidian eyes slipped closed, forcing out the last of the years of tears he had been too proud to shed. His heart shuddered to a halt, and Prince Vegeta breathed his last breath.

#fic: recruited #:: nabooru ☀#// vegeta ♅

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thegoodomensdumpster · 4 years

Text

I WATCHED GOOD OMENS IN FRENCH SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO

and it wasn’t that bad. Here are my thoughts, barely edited as I wrote most of them while watching the show.

EP 1

OK i like god’s voice so far

possibilité d’embarras gastrique is a good formulation, I wonder if it’s the same in the book ( I think I kinda need to read it in french now...)

aghghdhgs « primo-délinquants »

of course subtitles don’t match the audio for a variety of technical reasons but when you get things that have very different underlying meanings i find it… not good This one about Crowley being evil / a demon : subtitles : « c’est ton travail » - « it’s your job » audio : « c’est dans ta nature » - « it’s in your nature » i mean dang

crowley sounds like a little shit asking az about his sword

« T’AS FAIT QUOUA » - he just loses his shit (kinda giving me some le coeur a ses raisons vibe)

ok crowley sounds very nerdy when he tries to explain that he took down the phone network, i think i actually like this voice acting

ligur sounds… very suave (im a little ill at ease)

crowley getting called mon chou by satan freddie mercury is a thumb up from me

i see the part where aziraphale speaks japanese wasn’t dubbed over and we can still hear michael sheen. it’s a bit disturbing considering french aziraphale has a higher pitched voice (and he sounds soooo much more anxious than sheen, give this angel a xanax )

“sandwich bœuf cresson” ( beef and cress sandwich ) deirdre really who makes this kind of sandwiches

im being reminded that the chattering nuns prepared little cut outs for their explanation about the antichrist switch… such dedication to useless crafts (it made me laugh on my first viewing and it’s still funny to imagine that some of them either ordered or built these things themselves just so they could make this two minutes long presentation for the most important act of their satanic nun careers)

retire-toi vil démon infernal, créature des abysses XD i swear az doesn’t sound even remotely convinced when he is saying the « get thee behind me foul fiend » line in french, it’s just too over the top for credibility, it sounds like it’s straight out of some super intense dnd session

they still can’t say bouillabaisse (which, like, weird because french, but still valid). nice touch is crowley couldn’t say soupe de poisson (fish stew) either and said poupe de soisson (sish ftew)

warlock mah boy how can you be a teenager and not like dinosaurs

c’est un dinosaure un nullosaure plutôt - apply burn heal

La façon dont warlock s’est exclamé « C’EST NUL » m’a fait penser au nain de naheulbeuk

the english version has nothing on french speaking aziraphale for the second hand embarrassement during the magic tour. it’s over 9000 i literally hid my head in my jumper when he was presenting harry the bunny. Horrible experience, 0/20, would not recommend

EP 2

oooh agnes has a lovely voice !

why is young newton having such a quality dub for the three sentences he has to say

dick turpin’s name is jesse james (tbf dick turpin is not known AT ALL in france, i discovered him reading good omens)

shadwell is pure chaos (as expected). No particular accent for him though, the chaotic energy was probably enough. Would have made me laugh if he had like, a chti or a marseilles accent.

aziraphale is so fucking stressed out by crowley’s driving i thought he was gonna explode

« tu es un gentil garçon » => « you’re a nice boy » said az to crowley DANG THAT’S SO INFANTILIZING AZIRAPHALE YOU’RE TALKING TO A DEMON FROM HELL NOT TO PINOCCHIO

ARGH FIRST MON ANGE OF THE SERIES i’m hit straight in the heart

anathema’s mom doesn’t have a spanish / latino accent at all when talking in spanish…. why...

dog being called toutou is definitely adorable (it’s basically « doggy » but way cuter imo)

tickety-boo has become ça gaze. that’s valid. it’s corny but i still use it unironically from time to time so ... i stan

EP 3

« je répands la fomentation » « i’m here spreading foment » « quoi tu fais des crêpes au froment ?????? » « what you’re making crêpes with wheat ??? » love the fact that we shoehorned in one more ref to crêpes

az called crowley mon cher camarade, unintentionnal communist propaganda ftw

« pas de repos pour les… bah, pour les bons » « no rest for the… good » – az was so deflated about the ineptitude he realized he was saying, he felt zero percent commited to his sentence

i was wondering how they would play aziraphale not being able to speak french in the bastille and they opted to have him stutter a bit and say to his executionner « excuse me i’m anxious » XD

« vous êtes le 999e aristo à mourir par mes soins. Mais vous êtes le premier en costume beige » « you’re the 999th aristocrat I’m going to kill, but the first one in beige attire » yeah i guess now that az isn’t english anymore his most noticeable feature is his cream aesthetic

« c’est au cas où ça tournerait en eau de boudin » « j’ADORE le boudin » => « in case it all goes pear shape » - the literal translation featuring food in french is « turning into black sausage water ». I don’t know what pear shaped inspires to english native speakers but the mere mention of boudin always make me giggle, it’s such a funny word and such a funny food

OH !!! no terrence rampa for the tv series, we’ve got anthony J. rampa. Rip terrence petit démon parti trop tôt :’(

« tu roules trop vite pour moi rampa » SERIOUSLY i know we can still infer « rouler » (here as in driving, but literally rolling) as a metaphor for their relationship but you could have said TU VAS TROP VITE that would have been so much better argh

has anathema got an emergency stock of potteries to break in case of emotionnal crisis ?

« Rampa, un démon très futé, il m’oblige à redoubler d’effort » « crowley, a very clever demon, he forces me to make double the amount of effort » oh so admitting you’re making an effort there aziraphale ? :))))))

dang i really want to know how shadwell said that major milk bottle died because not only did he die in combat but aziraphale’s reaction is a bit intense, it must have been quite a tale (this could be a crack fic prompt : «The Epic Tale of the Death Of Major Witchfinder Milk Bottle, by Sargent Witchfinder Shadwell» )

des sorcières et des phénomènes sorciéreux x)

CROWLEY CALLED AZIRAPHALE DUCON ?????? EXCUSE ME ????? #NotMyCrowley #CrowleyWouldNeverDoThat #CancelAnthonyJRampa2K20 => ducon would be an insult, the gathering of du and con, con being a very nasty but common swear word, and associating it with du- makes it extremely patronizing. it’s like « absolute pathetic digraceful moron +++ ». thanks i hate it *frowny face *

EP 4

l’apocalypse c’est pour aujourd’hui juste après le goûter : it could be translated as « apocalypse is scheduled for today right after tea time » except that « goûter » is not quite tea time but rather the little sugary snack kids take when they come back from school and that most adults drop out of (i haven’t and i’m sure az hasn’t either). thanks aziraphale for having exclusively food related notion of the time because tbh same

ligur has no right to be this sexy between ariyon bakare and his french voice actor that’s just not allowed

radio crowley’s voice vs french ligur’s voice, who has the sexiest voice : FIGHT

(jk french agnes nutter’s voice is by far the sexiest)

gender neutral doesn’t ‘quite’ exist in french but pollution has been assigned a female voice actress and masculine pronouns (i’m saying it doesn’t quite exist because officially we have no gender neutral, but it’s a serious wip among lgbt+ circles to the point where it’s started being used in a few medias)

hastur « en attendant qu’un plombier vienne » / « while waiting for a plumber to come » does hell have a special plumber unit or do demons have to call on human plumbers for their pipes damages ? Dang hastur having to call a human plumber for hell’s plumbery is another damn good writing prompt for a crack fic

Michael is called Michel in the subtitles but Michael in the audio *shrug emoji*

EP 5

to get a wiggle on has become « il faut qu’on se remue les fesses », literally « we need to shake our butts » like, yes, se remuer les fesses is a common expression to say « we need to act in order to get things done » but it really casts the image of people shaking their booty to some music and obviously crowley thinks the same Weirdly enough I have almost nothing to say for that episode. Sorry. But we’ve discovered most voice actors and actresses so far and no bit of dialogue really struck me as worth discussing or pointing fingers to mock it.

EP 6

« on va BROUTER quelques derrières » - « we’re gonna lick some butts » OK THIS IS UNQUESTIONNABLY FAR SUPERIOR IN FRENCH THAN IN ENGLISH you thought LICKING butts was good ??? you really thought that ???? AZIRAPHALE HERE SUGGESTS TO GRAZE BUTTS. TO NIBBLE THEM. TO EAT THEM. TO. MUNCH. ON. THOSE. BUTTS!!!! not just licking, guys. This is as serious step beyond licking. (oh yeah he should have said « botter » instead of brouter btw, which is really just kicking, fyi)

« moi je crois en la paix, pétasse ! » wow, language, pepper (fyi i think « pétasse » is far far worse than « bitch » even if it means roughly the same, pétasse is almost never used while bitch is rather common, so it’s a swear word +++)

Dagon sounds like she’s got a nasty cold. #GetDagonIbuprofen2K20

I can confirm that Crowley offers Aziraphale to not just stay at his place, but to move in with him. « tu peux t’installer chez moi si tu veux ». omg they were roommates.

Bad translation strikes again : i don’t know why, but the french dub doesn’t have the « tickety-boo » / « ça gaze » being referenced as Rampa / Aziraphale is being knocked down, which is… a real mistep. It was narratively significant and I’m quite mad the translators missed it.

The Jesse James explanation from Newt has become very nonsensical, instead of the neat and to the point pun « wherever I go I hold up trafic » we’re getting a circonvoluted « because it’s a crime to mechanic’s diligence ». I’m not judging that one too hard, I have no idea how to make it better, and that’s probably how it was translated in the book as well thirty years ago, but it definitely doesn’t have the same impact. On the other hand, it definitely IS a very bad joke that doesn’t even deserve a chuckle, so Anathema’s embarassement really matches the audience’s (aka mine).

OVERALL :

I wasn’t convinced by Crowley… I mean, Rampa’s voice at first, but as the nerdiness showed up it really grew on me. I still think that french dubs have often problems with some voice inflexions every here and there, and for instance in Rampa’s case it was when he was annoyed or frustrated ( at the Globe when complaining about horses and Shakespeare’s plays that aren’t comedies, and also when discussing Azirphale’s magic tricks, it’s like… there is a step between having the right amount of grumpy complaining and overdoing it that is overlooked. It’s overacted, it should have been a bit quieter imo. I don’t mean to criticize voice actors too hard either but as an audience watching french dubs this is a very recurring problem and it always feels off to me. It’s actually one of the main reasons I avoid french dubs whenever possible.)

I have a hard time judging Aziraphale’s voice dub because it clashes so much with both the idea I had formed with it when I read the book and Sheen’s delivery that I just… kinda filtered it. It was too high pitched for me, and too anxious (though for this last point I must admit it could be funny at times, but I’m not fond of this character portrayal). The rest of the cast was rather good, nothing to complain about. There wasn’t anything stellar either, but everything that needed to be conveyed was and it was professionnal. It was also very homogeneous, no voice really struck me as being way too bad or way too good compared to the others, so it was really consistant.

So I don’t have much to complain about overall despite a few wonky translations here and there, BUT there is one thing I felt very robbed of : Crowley calling Aziraphale « mon ange » happens only once, when giving a lift to Anathema, and I’m almost certain they translated it that way because otherwise the joke about Anathama mistaking them for a couple wouldn’t work. So, they were forced to make it that way. The rest of the time Crowley calls Aziraphale « l’angelot », and despite being literally translated by « little angel », it feels sarcastic more than anything else ( the « L’ » in front of « angelot » is part of the reason why, it creates some distance, the other reason being that this word in itself has a very corny vibe and people being affectionnate to each other wouldn’t use it as a term of endearment). So, that’s a shame.

I like the English dub much much MUCH better than the French, but the french wasn’t nearly as bad as I was expecting it to be. The voice actors and actresses were quite good, the dialogues mostly faithful and endearing despite a few really missed steps. It really had its moments. Props to brouter des derrières, that one was fantastic.

#good omens #french #french omens #tv omens #my stuff #meta #review #long post #text post #i hope you found this entertaining :)

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aliciameade · 4 years

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Ready Or Not

Title: Ready Or Not Author: aliciameade Rating: E for Every Lady Gets an Orgasm Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: AND THEY WERE QUARANTINED.

Also on AO3

It’s funny, Beca thinks, how you can live with someone for years going about your separate but intertwined lives that when your government tells you to stay inside, to only socialize with the people you share a home with, how quickly things can change.

“Chloe, will you please turn off the news? I can’t listen to that idiot anymore.”

“Sorry; it’s like a train wreck. I can’t look away.” Chloe finds the remote in the cushions of the couch and changes the channel to the E! Network.

The news isn’t much different there; they’re showing videos celebrities have posted on social media about how bored they are or singing off-key versions of ‘Imagine’ to try to uplift the public only for the anchors, two of them standing six-feet apart, to debate whether or not such things are in poor taste.

“Are we supposed to feel bad for these multi-millionaires being stuck in their mansions with their huge yards and private swimming pools?” is the point being argued.

“Yeah, boohoo,” Beca says as she drops onto the couch next to Chloe. She’d gone to the kitchen to get a new bag of chips but managed to make a healthier decision and came back with a bowl of grapes instead. “We don’t even have a pool.”

“But at least we don’t have a bathtub in our kitchen anymore,” Chloe says as she helps herself to a few of Beca’s grapes.

Beca nods in response. This whole social distancing thing would have been a lot more irritating if it had happened last year when she and Chloe shared an impossibly small studio apartment (if you could even call it that) with Fat Amy. The thought of being locked in that space for weeks makes Beca’s skin crawl. She loves Amy, but she is not the tidiest or quietest of roommates.

She glances at Chloe, fresh-faced and hair damp after the shower she just took, tucked into her couch-nest with a fuzzy blanket and thinks there are about a million worse scenarios she could be stuck in than this one.

It had been nice to get that paycheck from Khaled’s record label. It had been just as nice for Amy to get access to the hundred-plus million dollars she somehow had. They were able to part ways without the guilt and drama Amy was prone to when asked to take responsibility for something. She’d been eager to drop a cool ten million on a house in the South of France. It made Beca’s job of breaking the news that she wouldn’t be renewing their lease a lot easier.

She’s still not quite sure how it happened, though. Maybe it was because Chloe was the only one who didn’t suddenly have an unnecessary amount of money at her disposal. Maybe it was because their orbits were always drawn to one another.

But when Beca moved to Los Angeles and bought a house, Chloe rush-applied to area veterinary schools to beat the looming application deadlines and managed to get into one.

They hadn’t even really discussed it. “Beca moving to LA” was inclusive of “Chloe moving to LA to live with Beca.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t post that video of us playing catch out back,” Beca says as they watch the debate about people who are privileged and whether they are out of touch with reality or if hardship and inconvenience is relative.

“Maybe not,” Chloe agrees.

It’s not that Beca thinks she’d ever show up as a debate topic on tabloid television, but she’d rather not risk it.

“What do you want to do today? And don’t say Monopoly,” she adds as soon as Chloe’s mouth opens to answer.

Chloe immediately whines. “But I want us to play!”

“And I want us to still be friends when this is over,” Beca says with a biting, sarcastic smile.

“Ooh, I know!” Chloe says, unfazed by Beca’s rejection. “Let’s get drunk!”

“That’s not really an activity…” Beca says but she knows she’s going to lose this debate.

Chloe’s already detangling herself from her blanket and heading toward the kitchen. “If getting drunk at 3:00 in the afternoon isn’t acceptable during a viral pandemic, then when is it?”

Beca just shakes her head. She’s opposed to the idea, it’s just that Chloe is so...Chloe.

Chloe who usually gets her way, not because she’s a good negotiator but because Beca finds it almost impossible to tell her ‘no.’ (Activities that would lead to contempt and arguing like a game of Monopoly are exceptions.)

“Beer or wine?” Chloe calls from the other room.

“I don’t care,” Beca yells back. If there’s one thing they stocked up on far more than she knows was necessary, it was alcohol.

She should have made a choice. She knows better. When Chloe returns, she’s holding a bottle of expensive tequila, a shot glass nestled in one of two tumblers, and a plastic bowl of ice.

“Oh, whoa, seriously?” she says as Chloe sets her wares down on the smooth black coffee table with a smile. Shots of tequila weren’t exactly what Beca had in mind.

“Calm down, I have to make another trip. I’m making margaritas.”

Not that she wouldn’t have done them if that had been Chloe’s intention.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“You know what we should do?”

Beca looks down at Chloe who’s using Beca’s leg as a pillow. “Hmm?”

“We should play hide-and-seek!”

Beca’s not sure what she expected Chloe to propose, but it definitely wasn’t that. “Dude, what?”

“Yeah!” Chloe says, suddenly full of energy after dozing on the couch for a few minutes. She scrambles to sit up. “Come on; it’ll be fun!”

All she can do is stare at her and her dumb, pretty face. “Fine,” she relents (much too easily).

Chloe squeals and immediately covers her eyes with her hands. “I’ll count to 100. Go.”

Beca’s reluctant agreement morphs into nervous adrenaline as soon as Chloe begins counting and she leaps off the couch, stumbling when her foot gets caught in Chloe’s blanket.

She hears Chloe laugh through her numbers and realizes Chloe can hear her route. She mutes her steps, creeping quickly but quietly away as her mind races for the optimal hiding spot.

Then she’s got it.

She walks as lightly as she can through the house until she’s taking the stairs two at a time to get to what will eventually be an office or study (she hates herself a little that she bought a house that will have a study in it). It’s still empty save for a few dozen books on the shelves, some of them novels, some of them old textbooks. The room has a closet and when Beca had been scoping out good storage spots in the house for things like seasonal decorations, she’d found what was arguably a creepy-as-fuck hidden door in the wall of the closet.

She never got around to telling Chloe about it; she’d been at a day-long lab that Beca didn’t want to interrupt with a text and then she promptly forgot about it.

Until now.

She creeps through the second floor, wincing when she hits a squeaky floorboard in the hallway. The rest of her journey is silent, though, and she pops open the push-latch door to slip inside and close it behind her.

She can hear Chloe’s voice faintly yelling, “Ready or not, here I come!” and regrets not bringing her phone with her.

There’s no way Chloe’s going to find her any time soon. Plus, it’s pitch-dark.

Chloe’s voice echoes around the house, taunting Beca as she searches downstairs. It makes Beca snicker because Chloe is way, way off until she can tell she’s making her way up the stairs.

“You could at least make it difficult for me,” Chloe says somewhere in the hallway, still taunting as if it will goad Beca into revealing herself.

She can hear her opening and closing closet doors in the hall and the other rooms but she remains confident even when she can hear Chloe’s voice quite clearly from the study a few feet away.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Chloe sing-songs and Beca hates that it makes her anxious. Her voice is louder like she’s just outside the door that Chloe doesn’t even know exists when it suddenly pops open, blinding Beca with a flood of light.

“Gotcha!” Chloe says with a jump of victory but Beca’s too quick for her, something her petite stature is good for.

She scrambles out of the closet and past Chloe. “You didn’t tag me!” she yells, grinning as she launches into a full sprint, nearly sliding down the stairs to make it back to the couch in time.

“We didn’t declare a home base!” Chloe shrieks behind her and Beca can hear her running, too.

“It’s the couch!”

“Not fair!” Chloe yells and Beca hears her on the steps.

It makes her launch herself onto the couch, right over the arm of it and she scrambles for the blanket to hide under even though she’s already safe; it’s silly adrenaline and she can’t stop smiling as she hears Chloe in a full-out run through the living room.

“No!” Her cry of defeat is nearly a wail and Beca’s still savoring victory when the wind is nearly knocked out of her.

“Dude!” she says when Chloe lands right on top of her. “I made it back, you can’t tag me!”

She fights to hang on to the blanket as Chloe tugs it away until it’s off her face, leaving Beca to sputter and try to blow hair out of her eyes. She stops when she sees Chloe above her, face flushed from excitement and exertion smiling down at her. But the smile is fading, bit by bit, into something else and it feels like the air around them shifts.

“You cheated,” Chloe says.

Beca has to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. “Not my fault you don’t know the rules.”

She keeps waiting for Chloe to move off her and let her up, to tell her it’s Beca’s turn to count and Chloe’s turn to hide, but instead, Chloe seems to get heavier, to press Beca further into the couch beneath her.

An eternity seems to pass. She struggles to keep her gaze steady; it’s hard to hold eye contact with Chloe in a normal setting: they’re so bright and full of life. It’s a relief when Chloe’s are the first to break eye contact but only until Beca realizes Chloe’s focus shifted, albeit briefly, to her lips.

Her heart had been racing from the excitement of the game and the thrill of the win but suddenly it’s for an entirely different reason.

When Chloe looks up again Beca can’t help but let her own eyes flick down, almost feeling like if Chloe was allowed to, Beca should be allowed to, too. It’s subconscious for Beca to wet her lips when she sees the way Chloe’s are parted the tiniest bit.

Her mind races as quickly as her heart. She’s thought about this so many times over their decade of friendship. The way they’ve always danced around each other (while still dancing with each other all the time). How it wasn’t even up for debate that Chloe would move to Los Angeles, too. How she didn’t hesitate to put the house in both their names, not just her own. How she’s been a little bit (a lot) in love with her friend for so many years.

She wonders if Chloe’s moving closer or if it’s her imagination. If she is, she’s moving so slowly it’s almost indiscernible, but her eyes keep flicking down and back up. It’s excruciating to wait to find out what is about to happen. What Beca thinks is about to happen.

What Beca decides to make happen as she lifts her head and presses her lips to Chloe’s.

It’s another eternal moment but it passes in the blink of an eye.

There’s some kind of sound from Chloe, maybe a whimper?, and Beca’s not quite finished regretting her actions that will surely make things super weird between them when Chloe’s tongue slips across her lips and into Beca’s mouth.

It shouldn’t happen so fast. It shouldn’t be so natural for Beca to tilt her head to the left just as Chloe tilts hers. She shouldn’t feel so hot so quickly; Chloe helps as much as she contributes to it, suddenly tugging at the blanket between them to let it fall to the floor. It gives Beca a second of cool air before Chloe’s body is on her instead. It shouldn’t be so mindless for her to twist her hips and part her knees so Chloe can fit against her more comfortably.

It shouldn’t be a lot of things, but Beca stops listing off all the things it shouldn’t be in favor of all the things it is.

Like how desperate and heated their kiss has become. How Chloe doesn’t seem to know what to do with her hands since this began in a slightly awkward position but doesn’t quite want to stop to rearrange herself so instead her fingers bury themselves in Beca’s hair.

Beca doesn’t have the same problem. Her hands are free to roam, and she lets them roam.

Chloe’s back is solid beneath her hands. She can feel it every time Chloe takes a breath. They’re uneven and deep and in synch with Beca’s because the only chance they have to take in air is when Chloe lifts her mouth from Beca’s. Even the few seconds they spare for oxygen feel like too much time apart for Beca and she finds herself chasing Chloe’s lips even though they’re both breathing hard.

She catches Chloe off-guard, cutting into their oxygen break with her tongue. She’s thought endlessly of what it would be like to frame Chloe’s perfect face with her hands, tilt it to the angle she wants, and keep her there to make her submit to whatever Beca wants to do to her mouth.

The moan that escapes Chloe when Beca does just that, tongue pushing far into Chloe’s mouth to explore before retreating to start licking over Chloe’s makes a sound escape Beca, too.

It’s as though the mutual audible release is gasoline to a lit match.

Chloe’s entire body shifts forward into Beca and it makes Beca moan again and give up the brief control she had as Chloe kisses her so hard her head presses uncomfortably against the arm of the couch. Her neck is going to be killing her tomorrow but she doesn’t care. There’s only one thing aching right now and it’s between her legs where Chloe’s hips are resting, though they’re hardly at rest.

Beca doesn’t know at what point they started moving together but her hips are lifting to meet Chloe’s every time Chloe’s rock forward into her.

She parts her knees further until she finally just gives in and hooks her left leg, the one not pinned against the back of the couch, around Chloe’s waist.

She hears her name on Chloe’s lips, an exhale between kisses that somehow keep getting hotter and wetter...just like she is elsewhere. Chloe’s hips shift their angle; it’s subtle but the difference is immense and the moan that escapes Beca when Chloe rocks into her in the exact right place is almost embarrassing.

She doesn’t have time for embarrassment, though. Not when Chloe pulls back from the kiss to look down at her. Her slow, steady pace doesn’t let up, though, and Beca knows she just wants to see Beca’s face while she does it. She knows because if their roles were reversed, she’d want to see Chloe’s reaction, too.

It’s intense to be watched this way. She wonders if Chloe is fully aware of just how much she’s affecting Beca, if she’s thinking about how far this could go or how quickly. If she wants it to.

The way she’s looking down at Beca, though, her eyes dark as she finally starts to adjust herself so her arms aren’t trapped, tell Beca Chloe isn’t thinking about stopping.

Beca’s fine with that.

She moves with Chloe, both of them shifting down on the couch so Beca’s neck isn’t stuck at a terrible angle and so Chloe can finally prop herself up on an elbow. She watches—and feels—Chloe’s hand ease out of her hair, fingertips drifting along Beca’s cheek and jawline to her neck. They stroke softly there, along her throat and Beca swallows. Chloe’s watching so intently, both where her fingers travel and how Beca responds to them.

She wants to ask for more but isn’t quite sure. Isn’t quite sure if this is cabin fever and a brief (it has been anything but brief) make-out session between bored, tipsy close friends. Isn’t quite sure what it will mean for them if she lets go of what little self-control she’s maintaining and rocks herself into Chloe until she comes.

She lets her own hands roam again, beyond Chloe’s back and neck and shoulders and hair to her throat, mirroring with both hands how Chloe’s fingers are touching her. Her skin is hot beneath Beca’s fingers and she can feel under her jaw the way her heart is pounding. She can feel how she swallows when Beca’s fingers find the dip between her clavicles and how her breathing speeds up after easing during their momentary break from kissing as Beca’s fingernails trace along the smooth skin along her décolletage. There’s so much of it on display.

Chloe’s touch is now following Beca’s, drawing lines and circles along the edge of her V-neck tee.

Beca gets stuck, though; Chloe’s skin feels so nice under her fingers and she’s never touched her, not like this, along the lines of her collar bones and the tendons in her neck and the slight dip that will give way to cleavage if she were to follow it. She gets stuck but Chloe doesn’t. Chloe’s touch finally breaks past the collar of Beca’s shirt to travel lower, over the thin material. It only takes a second or two before her fingers are grazing over the curve of Beca’s left breast.

Beca’s entire body tries to arch into it, a reaction that makes Chloe’s jaw drop, which is the last thing Beca sees before her eyes close when Chloe leans down to start kissing her again.

She whines a little, starting to feel desperate (an understatement) for release.

The sound seems to spur Chloe on, her kiss quickly returning to the deep, passionate exchanges they’ve been sharing. The hand at Beca’s breast gets more daring, more exploratory and Beca knows when Chloe finds its peak, not because she feels it (God, she feels it) but because Chloe’s touch slows, circling the surely visible rise.

Beca’s hands just fall away from Chloe, not because she doesn’t want to touch her but because her brain’s ability to do more than one thing at a time is being reduced. Meeting Chloe’s tongue and lips and pushing her hips into her, again and again, is about all she can manage.

Chloe must read her mini-collapse as further surrender (it was, really) because her exploratory touch, circling Beca’s nipple again and again with the edge of her fingernail, suddenly changes. Her fingers close against it and Beca’s thin bra and shirt might as well be nonexistent for as much as she feels it. Beca groans and her hips throw themselves up into Chloe with needy force and Chloe echoes her, pushing into Beca harder, her pace suddenly increasing.

It’s so difficult to breathe with Chloe’s tongue filling her mouth again and again but Beca’s ready to suffocate before she gives it up.

She also knows she’s going to come. Soon. She’s resigned herself to it and will deal with the consequences later; she feels she has a solid defense: Chloe tonguefucking her mouth the way she has been is a pretty stellar excuse.

She doesn’t know where the fuck she learned to kiss like this, but Beca is so, so grateful.

She can hear herself moaning, can hear how often it’s happening. She can hear Chloe, too, and the sound is turning Beca on almost as much as the way Chloe’s touching her.

The incessant attention to her nipple disappears and she whines in protest but all Chloe does is shush her and then kiss her more deeply. She feels Chloe’s hand on her stomach and sucks it in not out of vanity but because it almost tickles. But her hand is steady; it doesn’t linger to risk bumping into what are Beca’s few ticklish spots (Chloe knows them well). It moves confidently lower and Beca gasps when she feels her fingertips move over the waistband of her leggings because there’s only one reason Chloe’s hand would be moving in that direction.

The sound she makes when Chloe’s fingers graze between her legs, over the thin, form-fitting material of her pants, is obscene.

It makes Chloe’s mouth rip away from hers. “Fuck, Bec, you’re so wet.”

Beca hadn’t thought of that; she hadn’t thought about the fact that she was in leggings and nothing else because why did she need to be for a day of lounging around and what would happen if she ended up grinding with Chloe on the couch.

If Chloe means for her to respond she doesn’t give her enough time to do so. Her mouth is on Beca’s again to swallow Beca’s pitiful groan as fingers press down firmly against her. Now she can feel what Chloe felt, the soaked fabric slipping against her body with every lift of her hips.

As suddenly as Chloe cut her off her kiss ends again and Beca watches her lift herself a little higher; she wonders what she’s doing until she realizes Chloe’s not looking at her.

Well, not looking at her face, anyway.

Her focus now is between their bodies, specifically between Beca’s legs where her fingers are starting to rub and stroke, cutting the time Beca knows she has to wait to come in half, if not more.

She tries to say Chloe’s name but it gets caught in her throat when Chloe shifts from watching, awestruck, as her fingers touch Beca to dropping her hips to pin her hand between them and against Beca.

She moans in Beca’s ear, not quite making it back to her mouth. Beca knows her supporting arm has to be tired but Chloe not stopping is so hot and sexy. Her own arms finally work and she yanks them out from between their bodies to wrap them around Chloe, to run them up her back and into her hair to hold on.

She has to hold on because Chloe’s hips are bucking into her like she’s really fucking her (and she is really fucking her) and the urgency of her moans and gasping breaths in Beca’s ear make it register that not only is she fucking Beca now, with her hand where it is, she’s fucking herself, rutting against the back of her own hand.

It’s hard and fast now; there’s no teasing or precision touching. It’s contact and friction and neither of them need more than that.

Beca’s first to slip, the nonstop assault on her senses becoming too overwhelming. Chloe moaning in her ear on the verge of ecstasy. Chloe’s hips and Chloe’s fingers grinding and rocking against her. The now phantom memories of Chloe’s tongue twisting around Beca’s and fingertips pinching and rubbing her nipple.

She holds on, not thinking about whether or not her fingernails are scratching Chloe’s shoulders or if she’s pulling too hard on her hair, as her body rocks into an orgasm she’s been waiting to experience for ten years.

She hears Chloe and knows they’re coming together, an uncoordinated yet simultaneous release of energy and stress and tension that somehow increases in intensity as it unfurls between them until there’s what could be a sob in her ear. It’s not, though; it’s just Chloe coming down from her orgasm.

Something Beca never, ever thought she would actually bear witness to.

Chloe’s body is heavy on hers, no longer holding herself up at all but Beca doesn’t care. She just pushes Chloe’s hair out of her face and over Chloe’s shoulder so she can turn her head and put her mouth on Chloe’s heated neck, immediately sucking a mark into it. Everything feels so primal, so raw, even in the increasing afterglow but she’s spent.

She’s so, so spent.

If Chloe’s delay in moving at all, in any way other than her fingers which are still rubbing against Beca, is any indicator, she’s spent, too.

There’s a long, heavy sigh in her ear and Beca releases freshly purpled skin and feels her body fully sag into the couch, Chloe’s pleasant weight keeping her from floating away.

Chloe does start to move after a few minutes of quiet sighs and slow, sometimes chaste, sometimes sensual kisses and when she finally removes her hand its absence leaves Beca feeling cold and needy, despite what just happened.

“Bec—” Chloe starts and something about her faces tells Beca she’s about to apologize or in some way dismiss what just happened.

“That was amazing,” Beca says to interrupt whatever Chloe might have been thinking about saying.

A smile of relief breaks on Chloe’s flushed face and she drops down to kiss Beca again, hard and happy before she’s pulling away with finality. They’re a fair bit entangled and they’re both laughing by the time Chloe tiredly gets back onto her knees to fall back onto her ass at the other end of the couch.

She doesn’t offer Beca a helping hand to sit up, but Beca honestly doesn’t blame her. Chloe just did all the work; it’s the least she can do to push herself up until they’re sitting, both still red-faced and not quite breathing normally, on opposite ends of the couch.

“Just...give me a minute,” Chloe says before her head lolls back to rest on the couch and her eyes close.

Beca gives her the minute and uses it to take in her appearance: the flush of pink on her chest, the hardness of her nipples, the (Beca can’t help but look with curiosity) obvious dark patch between her legs on the gray sweatpants she’s wearing.

The need to touch—and taste—Chloe is suddenly overwhelming. She’s about to make her move when Chloe lifts her head, eyes sparkling and clear and a smile starts spreading across her features. There’s tension in her limbs and Beca wonders if Chloe is still as turned on as she is.

“Tag,” Chloe says, suddenly reaching out to slap her hand against Beca’s foot before bolting off the couch and heading for the stairs. “You’re it!”

Beca’s dumbfounded for several seconds until she bursts out laughing. It’s a different kind of release than she just experienced, one of pure joy. “I’m giving you 60 seconds!”

“I gave you 100!” echoes back to her.

“I can’t wait that long,” she says to herself. She hopes Chloe’s not actually hiding; she hopes she’s going to one of their bedrooms so they can keep doing what they’ve started.

She knows their future is unknown in many ways, what this means for their friendship, for their relationship with one another. She doesn’t know how much longer they’ll be required to spend all day, every day inside together.

But, she thinks as she finally makes it to the top of the stairs and to her room to find Chloe sitting in the middle of her bed half-naked in only a bra and panties, they have plenty of activities to pass the time.

The End

#bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch perfect #bechloe fic #fanfic #coronavirus #yep it's a quarantine fic

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kessielrg · 3 years

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[Dragon Age] Oreos

Summary: In which Varric teaches his kid the proper way to dunk an Oreo. Hawke is there to be an as-…sistant. [oneshot][female humorous Hawke][modern AU]

Rating: K+

Word Count: 1,971 words

If you liked this story, please reblog!

---

“Now where did I put them?” Varric mumbled to himself as he looked through the pantry. He cursed to himself when he tried to reach a bit higher up. Curse the Maker for making him vertically challenged. Had to use a stool in his own home and still couldn’t reach the top shelf. Go figure.

“Got it!” the dwarf exclaimed as his hand got a firm hold of the plastic packaging. After a very careful extraction, Varric held the Oreo package close as he then moved the stool to its rightful corner. He placed the Oreos on a serving tray he had arranged on the kitchen counter. Humming some Kidz Bop song he heard earlier, he then went into the fridge to pull out the milk.

As he poured the milk into three glasses, Varric kept an ear out for the living room. The sounds of a young voice were easy to make out, but was she talking to someone else or just herself again? As he put the milk back in the fridge, Varric really wished that Hawke kept her medicine in the kitchen instead of the bathroom. The last time he checked, her prescription needed to be filled again, and Hawke had yet to do so. It worried him. It worried him a lot more than he was willing to admit.

Varric let out a sigh before taking the tray and heading into the living room. Varric had his own kid to tend to, and it wasn’t Hawke. Still didn’t stop him from letting out a sigh of relief in seeing both Hawke and Hana sitting at the living room coffee table. He wouldn’t have to force her out of bed today. Good. Not that the promise of deliciously nasty cookies was anything to ignore. Hawke was a sucker for sweets whether she was aware of it or not.

Hana seemed rather chipper though. Actively serving as the only genuine energy in the room, Varric’s daughter had her straw yellow hair pulled into two low pigtails today. She was gladly going on about some topic that Hawke couldn’t feign actual interest in. Was she going on about how pretty Selena Gomez was again, or that game that her birth giver introduced her to a few weeks back? Oh well, it didn’t matter now. Now that Varric had gotten everything ready, it was time for the main event.

“We have gathered here today for a very momentous occasion.” Varric announced, striding over to the girls and effectively earning their attention. “Today is the day that we teach 7 year old Hana Tethras how to properly dunk, and eat, Oreos.”

Hana put on a wide smile. Hawke even gave a rather generous round of applause. She even peppered it with a few “That’s our girl!” and “She’s getting so big!” cheers for extra effect. It only helped the younger girl beam with pride. Even Varric gave a light smirk of appreciation.

“Now teenybopper,” he said as he took a place across from the girls, placing the tray right in the middle of the coffee table. “How do you feel? You nervous? Already got a preemptive tummy ache from all the sugar your old man is going to let you consume?”

“Nope!” Hana told him with a firm shake of her head. She then slammed her hands down with determination before saying, “Bring it, Papa!”

“Rein it back kid,” Varric laughed, “Don’t want to get the milk all over the coffee table, do we?”

“Sorry.” Hana sheepishly apologized. She carefully took her milk glass from her father and placed it to her left. She even gave it a good, hard stare, as if she was pressuring it into not falling over later. Varric snorted before handing Hawke her glass as well, then went about divvying up the cookies.

“Ah, Oreos,” Hawke thinly mused as Varric gave her share. “The only cure for my depression.”

He tried to hold it back, Varric scoffed. “They are not. That’s what your medication is for.”

“Well, you don’t have to act so sure about it,” Hawke frowned. “Give me my delusions and plausible deniability, Varric. It’s all I got in this world.”

“You have me Hawke!” Hana quickly chirped. “And Papa too!”

Hawke gave Hana a rather tired look, not quite intended for the child to see. The woman absently placed a hand on Hana’s head. She then gently stroked the top of Hana’s head as if it were a calming mechanism. Maybe it was; something about little Hana did give off a rather comforting aura. But Hawke would be damned if she knew just what it was.

“I do.” Hawke carefully agreed- although the sentence came out more as a question. Seeing Hana’s bright smile only made Hawke a bit more dazed. Varric looked on with a rather concerned expression on his face. He gently coughed into his hand, leading the ladies’ attention back to him.

“Now, for your first proper lesson, I’ve decided to go the easy route. I’m not training my young’in with the normal Oreos- that would be an exercise and a half not to break them. No, we’re going to use double stuffed Oreos. The best kind.”

“Naw, what about the triple stuffed Oreos, Varric?” Hawke whined. “Why can’t we use them instead?”

“Too much stuff.” came the rather firm answer. “I am a man of correcting my previous mistakes, and I’m not taking that road again.”

Hawke gave a badly exaggerated groan before telling him, “Having a kid really ruined your sense of fun.”

“No,” the man asserted. “Having a kid gave me a greater sense of avoiding 3 AM puke fests because someone decided to eat too much cookie cream.”

“It was one time!” Hawke argued, despite the rather amused look she had- Hana was stifling a cute little laughter beside her. “Everyone was black-out drunk anyway, and it was the perfect prank.”

“I don’t think Sebastian would say the same.”

“Since when were you ever one for accurate reaccountments, hmm?”

“You know he’s a dunker, Hawke. It gives him a sense of purpose.”

“Was he? Always seemed more like a licker.”

“Anyway…!” Varric then loudly proclaimed. “We’re getting off topic.”

Hawke and Hana exchanged a look before erupting into a set of bemused giggles. Varric rolled his eyes. Surround yourself with girls, they said. It would be a joy, they said. At least one of them was directly related to him- he wasn’t sure why he kept the other around.

“Now that I have your attention again,” Varric told them, “Let us first begin by picking up the Oreo itself…”

. . .

In a way, this whole thing was just so Varric could easily say seven year olds had the fine motor movement to carefully manipulate something as delicate as Oreo cookies. Always write what you know, yeah? It was a bit hard to believe that his own spawn actually stuck her tongue out when she was concentrating. She definitely didn’t get that from his side of the family. If anything, it was something he could see Hawke doing…

“I finally got it!” Hana suddenly exclaimed. Varric and Hawke both looked at her at the same time. The girl was proudly showing her two Oreo halves. One side had just the cream, the other was completely clean.

“Great job, teenybopper!” Varric approved. “Hawke, lean over and muss her hair for me. I can’t reach.”

Hawke nodded, but didn’t mess up Hana’s hair. Instead, she gave her a small elbow nudge and said, “Great job, teeny. Now we can audition you for all those Oreo commercials. You’d be a shoo-in.”

Hana’s smile grew even wider at the approval. Oh, to be young and easily proud of your (usually useless) accomplishments.

“Remember to only use your teeth to scrape the cream off if your tongue can’t find a good pocket beforehand.” Varric reminded his kid. Hana gave him a firm nod before returning to the cookie. He gave her a smile as he returned to his own lot as well.

Hawke had also returned to her Oreo dunking. After two cookies, she no longer felt like licking the cream off before dunking, so she just let the Oreo soak for a few moments. It was almost a routine that she zoned out for. Dip the Oreo, wait a bit, then eat it. Nothing to think about. It was a legitimate surprise when half the Oreo fell into the milk as she tried to pull it out. She blinked a few times before looking up at Varric.

“Varrrric,” Hawke whined, “Cookies got lost in milk!”

“That’s because you tried to dunk too much of the Oreo in the milk.” he replied without so much looking at her. “Then you pinched it as you pulled it up, and all your mushy cookie got lost.”

“But I didn’t pinch it!” she went on. A small edge in her voice made Varric look up. For a moment, he wondered if she was legitimately upset about it. “I only had half of it in the milk- you saw it! Tell ‘im, Hana.”

“You’re so funny, Hawke!” Hana laughed. The poor girl obviously not seeing that Hawke wasn’t quite being dramatic on purpose this time. Not that Varric could blame her- he’d bottle that innocence up and repackage it back into Hawke herself if he could.

“A real barrel of monkeys.” Varric mused. He gave a small click of his tongue before asking, “Hawke, did you take your meds today?”

Hawke proceeded to look at him like he was crazy. The dwarf was unrelenting, though. He had full plans of staring her down until Hana interrupted all of their thoughts with a musing;

“What do they make Oreo filling with anyway?”

A silence followed after this. Mostly because Varric didn’t want to stop nonverbally bullying Hawke into confessing she wasn’t taking care of herself again. He had to relent, letting out a defeated sigh before telling Hana, “Dunno, teenybopper. We can look it up later if you want.”

Hana gave a thoughtful hum and a little nod of her head, her attention too focused on staring at the Oreos now. Varric shook his head at her, before trying turning his attention back to Hawke. But Hawke had left the coffee table. She had slunk her way onto the couch, and was now actively trying to find the TV remote. That meant in a few minutes, Hawke would find something on TV that interested Hana, and the Oreo eating portion of their day officially over.

And Varric would be the one cleaning up the mess, because of course he would.

Varric let out a sigh before starting to get up. He made a trip to the kitchen to get a note off the fridge, then went back into the living room and straight to Hawke.

“The pharmacy closes in six hours,” he told her as he handed the note over, “Call them, or I’ll sit on you.”

Hawke looked at him, not sure whether to be amused or angered.

“Having a kid really ruined your sense of privacy.” she said, almost in a grumble

“No,” he told her. “Having a kid gave me a greater sense of caring for others. I’m not asking you twice, Hawke. Call them.”

The corners of Hawke’s mouth twitched as if she wanted to tell him off. He never gave her the chance. Instead, he sat back over with Hana, and quite purposely started to make conversation with her. The girl was rather ignorant of the friction between the two friends. In a way, Varric was grateful for it. She’d know and understand it better when she was older. But for now ignorance was bliss.

He just prayed that every force used to beat Hawke down never reached his own kid.

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #426

“insatiable furnace, burning up our surplus / watching all essential life become another servant”

Are you a brunette? Yep. It is way past due time that I get it dyed... What is your favorite channel on TV? I don't really watch TV, but if I did, I'm pretty sure it'd probably be Discovery. Have you ever been to Chicago, IL? Yes!! It's my only experience with a truly BIG city, and though I'm not a city person, the experience was pretty magical. It was something I wasn't even remotely used to. Just so much life and business and energy to feel there. Who was your first friend? Brianna. She was the sister of my older sister's best friend. What is your favorite holiday? Christmas. :') Do you regret your last kiss? Nope. Have you ever taken a karate class? No. Who was the last person to tell you ‘I love you’? My mom. Have you ever been to the Statue of Liberty? No. Do you live on your own? Noooo. I don't think I ever could. I would have to stay VERY busy, or else the loneliness would kill me. Hell, even if I was very active in stuff, I still don't know if I could. With how bad my depression is capable of being, it doesn't sound smart at all for me to move out unless it was with somebody. Are your the oldest child? No, I'm the middle kid. How many X-rays have you had in the last 2 years? Two, maybe? One for my legs and the other for my teeth. Are you on good terms with your last ex? Yeah, we're best friends. Do you have scars you don’t like to talk about? Nah. Do you freak out if a bee/wasp flies near you? ... yes lol. What subjects in history interest you most? The Holocaust. It's just so... shocking and extreme that it's oddly fascinating, but of course horribly sad. Are you superstitious in any way? Nah. How do you get rid of anxiety? Do what? Are there any items of jewelry you never/rarely take off? Yeah, my two rings, my lip piercing, and tragus piercing. Has a song ever made you cry before? There are many. ^If so, what about it brought you to tears? Again, I said "many," so this would be a horribly long list. There are four though - "Eternally Yours" and "Another Life" by Motionless in White, "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin, and "The Mortician's Daughter" by Black Veil Brides - that I really, really try to avoid, because I WILL cry. They're all associated with Jason for one reason or another. "Stairway to Heaven," especially, is absolutely forbidden for me to listen to. Would you consider yourself open-minded? Very, honestly. Have you ever met someone online that you wanted to meet in real life? I've met Sara! :') There are a handful of others I'd love to meet, too. Tell me about the last thing that made you laugh until it hurt. Wow, I have no idea. I don't remember the last time I laughed THAT hard. When you graduate, what color will your gown be? Ugh, it was this insufferable red. We got to vote on it, and I really wanted navy instead, as it looks more formal and not as obnoxious to me, but red won. Do you own a gun? No. My household legally can't because of my suicidal history. What color of shirt are you wearing? It's a black tank top. Do you use any acne medication? Nah, I don't really get acne anymore. Are you emotional or very stoic? I'm emotional as shit. Have you ever watched an anime series, start to finish? A few. There's Fullmetal Alchemist (as well as the Brotherhood expansion), Deadman Wonderland, and Ginga Densetsu Weed. I've seen bits of others. Which baby animal is your favorite? MEERKATS!!!!!! :') Once they reach three/four weeks, they're fucking precious. I also really like kittens. Do you like jam on your toast and biscuits? Sometimes. Have you ever reread a book? It is very, VERY rare I do this. The only cases I remember are for Because of Winn-Dixie and Meerkat Manor: Flower of the Kalahari. Do you have any religious symbols in your home? I think Mom has some religious quotes on the walls? What religion do you identify with, if any? None. What is you favorite flavor of pudding and/or yogurt? I love chocolate pudding, but I'm not very big on yogurt because of the sourness. I can sometimes eat a cookies 'n cream one, but occasionally I'm like "ew." We’re going to the best amusement park ever, first ride you choose is? One of those water rides where you go down a big slope. Did you have intense night terrors as a child? No. Know anybody who works in a tattoo parlor? No. That'd be dope. Have you ever had a piercing get infected? Ugh, yes. Worst was the first time I got my tongue pierced. It was early into infection though, thank God; I ended up having to take it out and get it re-pierced later. Have you ever shoplifted? No. Do you hate when people say, "Everything’s going to be fine,“ when it’s not? Sometimes. It can feel kinda dismissive of your extreme situation, and sometimes, things simply won't be okay. Like, you can't tell that to someone on their death bed. Do you check your fire alarms when you’re supposed to? No, oops. Are you a shorts-wearing kind of person? Absolutely not. Nobody wants to see my legs, not even me. Is your grandparents’ house obsessively tidy? My grandma's sure as hell was. She was very old-fashioned and "proper" and took cleanliness and manners very seriously. Do you know how to jumpstart a car? Nope. Would you date someone 8 years older than you? Probably. What did you do today? I WENT TO THE GYM AND DID A FULL HOUR OF EXERCISE!!!!! :') For once I am SO fucking proud of myself. I left drenched in sweat, but I also left with a feeling of great accomplishment. I'm going to be going twice a week now with a personal trainer. (: Who was the last person you fell asleep with? Sara. Have you ever punched a hole in the wall? No. People doing that shit terrifies me. Have you ever felt replaced? Sure have. Have you ever kissed someone who was high? No. If you caught your significant other cheating on you what would you do? I don't have a partner, but hypothetically, leave their ass in a blink. I don't fuck with those kind of people. Do you know who Jeffree Star is? Well, yes. I watch him on YT sometimes and (astonishingly) love his music, and I find his work ethic extremely inspiring. That man knows how to hustle. What’s your favourite alcoholic beverage? Probably sangrias. When was the last time you saw a photo of your ex? "The" ex, it's been years. I've removed all pictures I have of him, irl and digitally, because it's triggering for me. How many push-ups can you do? Probably zero. Do you play any games on your phone? There's Pokemon GO, DragonVale, and Dragons of Atlantis that I play semi-regularly. Have you ever received a compliment from a stranger? Yes. Have you ever shaved your face? Just my upper lip to avoid the lady stache, ha ha. What colour is your front door? It’s white. Do you take the stairs or the elevator? If an elevator is available, I will ALWAYS use that. I have an extreeeemely hard time getting up stairs because of having just about no leg muscle. Do you get motion sickness? No. When was the last time you went to your favourite restaurant? Oh man, it's been forever. :/ Olive Garden sounds soooo good right now. Do either of your parents have any tattoos or piercings? No. Well, Mom has her earlobes pierced once, but that's it. Are you desperate for anyone’s approval, in particular? It's funny, even though he hasn't been a part of my life for years, I still desperately crave what I think would make Jason proud. There have been many times where my mind has wondered to what he would think of me now... and I know it's not good. Are there any activities you enjoy doing, but can only do for a short amount of time before you get bored or tired of them? Reading. When was the last time you felt hopeful, and why? Today, after finishing my workout at the gym. I think, finally, that I may be taking another stride forward in life. Do you find yourself asking for the same things for your birthdays and for holidays? Ha, yup: a new tattoo, 100%. What is something someone recommended to you that you disliked/hated? Girt's recommended some music to me before. He loves sharing songs he likes with me. Of course I didn't tell him it sucked, ha ha. What’s a fact about the last person you kissed? She is very passionate about animals, reptiles in particular, and is simply amazing with them. If you had a child, would you rather have a girl or a boy? A girl for sure. Has anybody ever accused you of doing drugs? No. Have you ever fallen asleep with the last person you kissed? Yeah. Honestly, do you think that you will wanna settle down in the same town you’re currently residing in? HELL no. I hate this place. Does anyone call you darling? If so who? Sara does sometimes. Are you close to any of your cousins? No. Are you a romantic person? I think I am. What’s the coolest thing you’ve seen out the window of an airplane? Mountains. Have you ever been in the mountains when the moon and stars were up? NO BUT FUCK I WANT THAT. Just lay in a grassy spot with some s'mores or something and just ~vibe~. Do people like your hair? I get complimented on it a bit. Have you ever held birdseed and a bird came and ate out of your hand? Yeah, at a bird sanctuary. Could you ever live in Alaska? Hell yeah, I'd enjoy that. On the main page on YouTube, what’re the three recommended videos? There's one by a WoW gold maker, a song by 3TEETH, and a video of bullsnakes hatching. Do you really care how many friends you or anyone else has on Myspace/Facebook? Couldn't care less. I only "friend" people I know and care about. Does your significant other have any piercings? I'm single. Do you ever get bored of yourself? Oh, all the time. I feel like I'm extremely dull and plain and, well, boring. How many band shirts do you own? Which? Oh goodness, I have no idea. I own a lot. Do you go to shows mostly for the music, the moshing, or the merchandise? I go for the music. It's nice to buy merch, but it's SO expensive that it's dumb. Moshing, I think is just stupid. Have you ever had anything pierced that you don’t have now? Many places, actually. So many holes closed because piercings had to be taken out when I was in the psych hospital. I was so annoyed. Who were you with the first time you watched the last movie you watched? I was alone. Do you have any twins/multiples in your family? Are they identical or fraternal? No. What is the highest number of jobs you’ve had at one time? One. Is your mom a good mom? She is the actual best. Last thing you threw in the garbage? The crust of some leftover pizza I had this morning. I generally eat the crust, but this time it was WAY too hard.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''altaer" by 3teeth

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need-a-fugue · 3 years

Text

We Grow Together (28)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Tessa Sullivan (OFC)

Chapter Summary: Tessa begins some light undercover work while Bucky pouts in the background... And Clint sheds some light on what happened years ago in Minsk.

Summary: Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist. But hey, every couple has their struggles. Right?

They all agreed – some more begrudgingly than others – that it would be a good idea for Tessa to see what she could find out from Cal before getting in any deeper with Lobe. The ingenious businessman, as he had referred to himself, had invited Tessa to come out to his temporary facility outside of Albany. But try as they might, none of them could find anything about this mysterious site. And – “You’re not going out to some off-the-radar science lab on your own. Not with the current lack of intel we have.” – Steve was the one giving the orders.

Well, if intel is what he wants...

“I’m telling you,” she says, as Natasha hooks up the not-even-remotely-noticeable bug in the hem of her sweater, “He’s not going to help.”

Steve looms in the foreground, arms folded across his chest. “He doesn’t have to help. Just get him talking and we can sift through all of it later.”

“It’s looking like this might be more than we thought,” Clint mumbles from his position at the conference table. He’s busy looking through all of the virtual files that he and Nat had spent the last few days compiling. Swiping through another page on the holoscreen in front of him, he says simply, “Since all of the Terrigenesis stuff started, people have been paying more and more attention to… super people.” He glances up to raise a single eyebrow at Tessa. “Depending on what his end game is, this Lobe guy could be the next big bad.”

“Then by all means, let’s go waste some time grabbing coffee with some crony instead of figuring out what the big bad is up to,” she snarks with a pout.

Natasha triggers the bug to make sure everything is set up and pats Tessa on the shoulder. “You’re good,” she tells her. “Just don’t conveniently spill a drink on it when you two start in about the past.” She shoots her a playful, crooked smile before turning to gather her things.

“Alright,” Steve starts, manner and voice all business. “I’ll be in the back of the café.” He moves over to Tessa and gently reaches out to grab her shoulders. “I know this should go without saying, but do not leave my sight.”

She rolls her eyes. “You really think I’d take off with him?”

“I might,” Nat mutters from across the room.

“That,” Steve intones, pointing at Natasha, “is why you three are all off comms.”

Clint rises and shuts down the computer in front of him. “See? Once again, your sexual appetite has us sidelined.”

Natasha cocks a brow in his direction. “My sexual appetite has gotten us out of more jams than it’s ever gotten us into.”

Steve visibly winces. “Enough. Come on, guys. Can we just… not?”

Natasha shrugs and shoves some equipment into Bucky’s hands. He almost drops it and has to regain his balance as she piles more crap into his arms. “Make yourself useful, Sargent,” she tells him. “You can’t just stand there brooding in silence all day.”

“I don’t know,” Clint says as he takes some of the load off Bucky. “If anybody can do it, he can.” He gives the silent, gloomy looking man a wink and heads for the door.

000

It makes perfect sense, of course, that the three of them would be sequestered in a van down the block. Well, maybe it doesn’t really makes sense why all three of them would be… Natasha was the only one actually needed in here working the recording equipment. But Clint wasn’t about to sit any part of this out. And Bucky was obviously not going to let Tessa go out there without being close by. Even if no one really believed that she was in any danger.

After all, this was just a simple, casual meetup with a potentially knowledgeable contact who might be able to supply some intel on what now seemed to be an ongoing op. Fine. No big deal. His lab rat girl was just now invariably working out in the field. He could handle that.

Well, he’d be able to handle it a lot better if he had her in his sights. And if he had a weapon, some sort of recourse, in case something did go wrong. But no sniper should be needed today – especially not one who admittedly kind of wants to blow off the head of the guy she’s meeting with.

“How you holding up, Barnes?” Clint asks as he bumps Bucky’s shoulder with his.

He sighs, long and loud. “I’m not used to being non-essential.”

“Yeah, well… Think of this,” he says, sweeping his hand across the tight space of the cargo van, “as a chance to play stakeout. It’s like we’re the FBI!”

“Hunting down mob bosses?” Natasha supplies as she hands each of them an earpiece. There won’t be any comms going, so they can’t talk to Tessa. And they’ll only be in contact with Steve if something goes wrong. But thanks to the high-tech bug in Tessa’s sweater, they’ll be able to hear everything going on at the café down the block.

“Exactly.” His smile fades a bit when he looks back over at Bucky and notices the concerned look on his face. “Did you two get a chance to talk?” he asks him in a low tone. Natasha would be able to hear, of course, there’s barely a foot of space between them. But his voice makes it clear that this talk is between just the two of them.

He nods. “Yeah. We’re good.”

“Cause, you know, the other day… we were just joking around. I mean… I was there at the tail end of their thing. It wasn’t anything like what you and Doc have.”

The sincerity in his voice, makes the corners of Bucky’s lips quirk up into a small smile. “I know,” he says. Then, his face transforming into a confused sort of pout. “I forgot you said that you met him. That was when you first met Tessa, right?”

Clint settles back into the cushioned bench that runs the length of the van. “Yep. Minsk.”

“Funny, isn’t it? How we mark moments in our lives by either the name of the op or the location of the mission,” Natasha utters, without turning around. She continues to busy herself with the recording equipment, doing one final test to make sure everything is working as it should.

Clint lets out just the shortest of chuckles. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“So what happened there?” Bucky asks, genuine interest perking his voice.

Clint gives him a suspicious look. “She never told you?”

He shakes his head. “In case you haven’t noticed, Tessa’s not great about sharing things from her past.”

Natasha finally turns and joins the men in the rear of the van, all equipment up and running. “Did you know she graduated from med school when she was 23?” she asks incredulously. “I only found that out last year.”

“How’d she manage that?” Clint asks, taken aback.

She merely shrugs. “That, she did not share.”

He pulls in a deep breath and drops his raised brows. “Well… the thing in Minsk was kind of a shit show.”

“You were sent by Fury, right?”

He nods. “Genetech had a facility on Long Island that was shut down back in the 1980s. SHIELD found out about some nanocontagion they’d let loose, and they moved in and took out the whole operation. Or so they thought,” he says with a glint. “Fury heard rumblings about the company starting up again in Eastern Europe, so he sent a couple of us to go check it out.”

“Who’d you go with?” she asks.

He shrugs. “McAllen.”

“Ugh,” she responds, obviously sharing his less-then-enthused view of whoever Agent McAllen is.

“So Genetech was what?” Bucky inquires. “Some kind of medical lab?”

“Hardly,” Natasha answers. “They were a powerful med firm, specializing in genetic research. They were started by a guy who designed bio-weapons with Howard Stark.”

“Can’t say they were always exactly reputable,” Clint intones. “But they did manage to get a big following in the scientific community. No surprise, really, that some new facility popped up even after the company was supposedly shut down.”

“And no surprise that someone like Tessa would want to work there,” Natasha says simply.

“True,” Clint declares. “But, she knew something was up. And she was the only one there willing to help me figure out what it was.”

“What was it?” Bucky asks.

“Long story short? They were engineering a gene that would mutate when exposed to radioactive energy.” He frowns briefly. “I’m still not really sure about the science of it, but the theory was that, if they could introduce it into a human host, and then expose the host to radioactive material, they could create a… super person.”

Bucky grimaces. “A super soldier?”

He cocks his head as if to say, maybe. “The higherups didn’t really share their plans with Doc… and she was the only one who shared anything with me.”

“So wait,” Natasha interrupts, suddenly onto something. “The radioactive genes, or whatever they were… the samples that Tessa accused Calvin of stealing – ”

“One and the same.” He clears his throat before going on. “I shared some confidential intel with Doc about what Genetech had been up to all those years ago. And she agreed to hand over some files on the work they’d been doing. But before she could get them all copied, the facility went on lockdown – with us trapped in it – because samples of the nearly perfected genes had been stolen. She knew right away who did it. Went on a little tirade in the office while alarms were going off around us. I just wanted to get the hell out of there, and she’s mumbling and yelling about how that son of a bitch had sworn he was there for her and not some damn job.” He smiles and shakes his head. “Whew, she was pissed.”

“How did you get out?” Natasha asks. Her chin rests on her fist as she watches the man, clearly enthralled by his story.

“Right, well. First we got caught. Armed guards rushed the office, saw we were stealing files. Chaos ensues… yada yada yada,” he says, waving his hand in a glib gesture. “I got shot. Doc let loose.”

Bucky frowns. “She used her powers?”

“Yep. Smoked ‘em. All eight of them. They just… dropped.” He takes in a deep breath. “She got us out of there and we holed up in this old factory outside of town while she fixed me up.” He turns to Bucky and says, utter sincerity lacing his words, “That was about two weeks before my daughter was born. If not for Doc, I never would have gotten to know my little girl. Never would’ve even made Nathaniel.” With a small smile, he tells him, “I’m never gonna be able to repay her for that.”

Natasha scoffs. “Sounds like you never would’ve been in that position if it hadn’t been for that asshole Calvin.”

“Oh ho,” Clint says, raising a brow, “So now you agree he’s an asshole? Is your crush fading?”

She shrugs. “He’s still hot as hell. But it sounds like he almost got two of my best friends killed. So if I meet him, I might just have to end him.”

Bucky looks to Clint, curiosity lacing his features. “You said you met him?”

“Ah, yeah,” he breathes out. “During my first meeting with Doc… I showed up a little early at this bar and saw them together. He was laughing and whispering in her ear and shit. And she was looking not amused. I stopped him on his way out of the bar… asked if he was an American… you know, play the whole what a small world card. He told me he was in Minsk on business, but would only be in town a few more days. I asked about the woman he was with at the bar, if she was his girlfriend… small talk,” he says with a wink. “The guy just laughs and says when I want her to be. Prick. Then he lights up a cigarette, shakes my hand, and disappears into the night.”

“And no one ever caught him? After stealing the samples?” Natasha asks.

“Nah. Doc said he was sort of a mercenary… doing whatever needed to be done for whoever was the highest bidder. So it was no surprise he managed to disappear. That guy in Africa, the one that Ultron got the vibranium from? Saw Calvin with him in some photos taken about ten years back. That’s the kind of guy he is. Anyway, it was just a few months after Minsk that he got made by MI-6… doing some kind of dirty deal. But then he conveniently got blown up in a car bomb before they could nail him.”

Bucky lets out an irritated huff from his corner of the van. “Nice,” he says with a nod. “Good story. I feel much better about this guy now.”

Clint laughs and slaps him on the shoulder. “The takeaway from all of this is that Doc’s been done with that guy for years. And she knows who he really is. She’s not gonna get sucked into his lies or manipulation.”

“I never really expected her to,” he mumbles.

Clint takes in the thoughtful expression on Bucky’s face and adds, “She’s grown up a lot since then. I, for one, think she’s been making much better decisions.”

The corner of Natasha’s mouth quirks up. “Yeah, from asshole mercenary to brooding ex-assassin.”

Clint tosses a reproachful look over his shoulder at her. “Even I think that was crass.” He turns back to Bucky. “Sarge, after what she did for me, I’ll have Doc’s back for life. So if I thought she was wasting her time with someone who didn’t deserve her, I’d chase him off in a heartbeat.”

Bucky cocks his head at the man to his right. “You haven’t been trying to chase me off these last couple years?” he asks with a smirk. “You’re saying this is just how you are?”

Clint snorts. “Hilarious. See?” he says, turning to Natasha. “They’re made for each other.”

She throws up a silencing hand and presses the earpiece into her ear. “We’re on,” she says, tone suddenly all business. “The asshole is in the building.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x oc #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky x original female character #marvel fanfic #avengers fanfiction #supernova #artists on tumblr

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sundropscribbles · 4 years

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A Good Nap | Thirteen x Reader | 7.5K

Gosh, hello. It’s been approximately a thousand years since I last posted anything here for real. Quarantine has had me in a whole different realm, if I’m honest. But I miss you guys, and I’m getting back at it, and I’m gonna start with this very sweet request for @gayforthe13th 💕

Your bedroom had been destroyed.

No — destroyed might not have been the right word, because even that implied that there might still have been something left of it to be salvaged, and, well... there wasn’t.

The floor, the walls, all of the furniture, the small bit of clothing you’d had stowed away in the closet... it was gone, all of it, completely obliterated with one devastating crash landing.

The TARDIS had been in crisis, damaged in flight, and her shields had been down. It had been all that she could do to protect the console room ( which you were more than thankful for, as it had, in fact, contained you and The Doctor at the time).

“Oh, darling,” you heard The Doctor murmur as you made your way back into the console room a few minutes following your discovery. You come upon her standing at the console, stroking it gently as she looks over what seems to be a map of some sort. “You took some real damage, didn’t you? I’m so sorry.”

You sigh as you watch her speak to her ship, so softly; it always brings a smile to your face to see it, because it’s one of the softest sides of The Doctor.

“She definitely did,” you pipe up, folding your arms across your chest and making your way toward the console. You stand by The Doctor’s side, sparing a glance at the map that she’d been examining. You wonder where your own room might be on that particular map, but you quickly come to the realization that you wouldn’t have been able to read it properly if you had tried.

The Doctor looks your way, then, and flashes you a smile. She straightens up a moment later and turns toward you, and with a glance between the console and your face, she shakes her head.

“I’m afraid we might need to park someplace for a while,” she says. “The TARDIS will recover — she’s done it before, but it takes her a good bit of time and even more rest.”

You smile and nod at that; it makes enough sense, after all.

“Can’t go hurdling through time and space with a hole in the hardware, can you?” you point out, and she laughs softly.

“Exactly right,” she says. She turns her gaze back on the map, first, and then the console itself, which she pats gently once more. “The old girl probably deserves a good rest every now and again, anyways — if you asked her, she’d probably tell you personally that I mistreat her at least a little bit.”

You don’t even have to ask, in the end; the TARDIS chirps her agreement the moment The a Doctor finishes speaking, and you snort softly at that. The sound of it is a bit tired and a bit insistent, like she’s telling you firmly that it’s definitely more than a little bit.

The Doctor mutters something in response, you think, but you don’t hear it, not really; now that everything has calmed down, you find your brain melting into an all-too familiar fog. It’s the type of daze that comes with potentially life-threatening experiences — the let-down of it all.

Often times, this would be about the time you might head off to bed, or to have a relaxing shower; it was instinct, you thought, to resort to some old-fashioned self-care when you had had a hard day. The instinct came to you all the same, today, but for obvious reasons, you wouldn’t be able to act on it right now.

You must wind up lost in thought about it for a good moment or two, because before you know it, The Doctor has turned her attention on you again. She’s all warmth and kindness and concern as she places both of her hands on your shoulders and turns you to face her, and when you find your focus once more, she smiles at you.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” she asks, and raises one of her hands to touch your cheek gently. You make your best effort not to let it make you blush, obviously, but you’re not entirely sure it’s effective.

“Oh, yeah — I’m fine,” you reassure her with a tired smile. You subtly avoid her gaze as she brushes her thumb across your cheekbone, not looking very convinced.

“Are you certain?” she prods, finally dropping her arms to her sides and withdrawing her gentle touch. “Not injured or anything, are you? You’re looking a bit... spacey.”

You can’t help but laugh softly at her observation, and as you recover from the brief closeness in proximity, you offer her a much more genuine smile.

“Spacey?” you ask, eyebrows raised. She scoffs and rolls her eyes at the bit of teasing, but she stays close nonetheless, arms folded across her chest as she eyes you.

“Yes, spacey — a bit loopy, out-of-it, zoned-out, blank-faced... d’you need anymore synonyms? I’ve got a thesaurus full of ‘em,” she retorts, smiling as she proceeds to poke fun right back at you.

“Alright, alright,” you sigh, raising both of your hands in surrender. She raises an eyebrow at that, watching you closely as you go on to explain yourself. “I am a little spacey, I suppose. Not anymore than normal, though — it’s just...”

You pause momentarily, considering how you might explain to her that your bedroom had been one of the many pieces of the TARDIS destroyed in the midst of all of the chaos. Had she already noticed? Did she even know where your bedroom was?

“It’s just..?” she urges you on, and when you meet her gaze again and notice the way that her smile has faded into concern once more, you sigh.

“Well, my bedroom was destroyed. Along with all of my things,” you say, and she blinks, definitely looking rather surprised. “So more than anything I’m just... thinking about where I’m going to be lying down for the nap that I very much need.”

“Oh, no — oh, stupid me, I didn’t even realize!” she says, and in the next moment her hands are on your shoulders once more. “I’m so sorry, Y/N! I really hope you didn’t lose anything important.”

You make a face and shrug your shoulders in response to that, taking a moment to consider what you had actually lost along with your room — apart from the room itself.

“I mean — not really. Not apart from my clothes, anyways,” you tell her. “Might have lost a souvenir or two — and definitely my favorite jumper — but nothing valuable.”

She softens at that, making one of those faces that clearly says “alright, I’ll take it, but I’m still not happy.” You offer her a smile, regardless — it’s not like it had been her fault, anyways. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault but the rogue ship who had seen you in their flight path, apparently, and decided to move you out of it. Forcefully.

“If I had my way, we’d go and confront those lot,” she mumbles, returning once again to touching the TARDIS’s console gently. “Not very often I let anyone get away with using my ship for target practice.”

You laugh softly as you watch her, looking thoroughly offended on behalf of her TARDIS. You give the console a pat or two of your own, and you sigh softly when you here her respond with a soft hum, sounding just as tired as you feel.

“I don’t think I’d mind giving them a good telling off,” you say. You allow your full weight to rest against the TARDIS, finally, as you close your eyes for a split second. The energy she’s giving off now seems to be equal parts apologetic and relaxing, and the moment it hits you, your exhaustion seems to increase tenfold. “But I think what I might like most right now is a good nap.”

The Doctor looks your way again, then, and the thoughtful upset on her face fades into concern once more.

“You do look absolutely knackered, Y/N,” she says with a shrug. “No offense.”

You snort, responding first with a shake of your head as you absentmindedly rub at one of your eyes. “None taken,” you muse, smiling at her a moment later. “I’m feeling it.”

She mirrors your smile, looking thoughtful for a a brief moment. She seems to mull over something for a good moment or two, glancing between your very tired-looking face and the map of the ship that she had been focused on earlier.

“You know...” she begins, seeming to wait for your acknowledgement before she goes on. “My bedroom wasn’t destroyed in all of the wreckage.”

Your eyes narrow at that — at the hesitant way that she looks at you as she talks about her own room. You cock your head curiously to one side as you consider what she might be implying.

“Rather lucky, that,” you say, as nonchalant as you can manage. You’ve got to admit, you’re rather intrigued even at the idea of seeing The Doctor’s bedroom; you’ve always known she had one, and that — like you — she was a bit of a comfort napper. You had never seen her room, however, no matter how many times she had mentioned it.

“Right — lucky, yeah,” she agrees, and you smile — you can’t help it. “But, what I was getting it was — well. You could always kip off to my room for a nap, couldn’t you?”

Your smile grew.

“The shape that the TARDIS is in, it’ll be some time before she can repair yours, and I can’t leave you without a place to sleep, can I?”

The laughter that escapes you in response to that is soft, and amused, and rather unavoidable. It’s just... funny, is all, how flighty The Doctor is when it comes to anything even remotely intimate. You’ve always liked to toe those boundaries a bit — to flirt, as it were, with every intention of making The Doctor blush a bit.

But even so, you don’t want her to feel uncomfortable, because she is your closest friend, after all.

“Oh, Doc — honestly, I don’t want to go imposing like that,” you insist. As difficult as it proves to be, you right yourself and turn to face her properly. “I don’t want to invade your space.”

She mumbles and grumbles for a moment at that, but the next time she meets your eyes, she’s shrugging her shoulders and smiling.

“Strictly speaking, you wouldn’t be invading my space,” she points out, dragging a hand through her mess of blonde hair. “Not really. It’s sharing a room and a bed and all, sure, but... my bed is big enough for both of us, you know.”

Your only reaction to that is a rather startled blink.

It’s not that you’re put off by the idea — you aren’t, not in the least. It’s rather more that you’re surprised that The Doctor isn’t put off by the idea.

You certainly enjoyed flirting with her a bit every now and again, just to see her go red and hear her stammer for a good minute, but you had never imagined it would go anywhere. Not in a real way, anyhow. And — and not that this was what that meant, either, because it surely wasn’t, it was just —

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” The Doctor says, effectively breaking your train of thought. The tone of her voice clearly conveys a bit of a tease, and as your focus returns to the immediate conversation, you snort softly.

“No, no — I’m not shocked,” you explain, happy to backtrack a bit. “Well, not really, i just — I didn’t quite expect you to be so willing to share.”

She cocks her head to one side at that, folding her arms over her chest as she gazes expectantly at you. “And why not?”

You shrug your shoulders, then, not entirely sure how to respond for a good handful of seconds.

“Well, it’s your bed, innit?” you say — a bit dumbly, you’ll admit. “And you do love your naps.”

The Doctor snorts at that, still smiling at you even though she definitely looks at least mildly offended.

“Oh, don’t be absurd,” she argues, and you snort. It’s not all that absurd — not as far as you’re concerned, at least. “I do love a nap — didn’t let myself have nearly enough of them, the first thousand-and-some years of my life, mind you — but I can still have a good night’s sleep with you there next to me.”

You watch her carefully as she makes her point, gesturing animatedly with her hands as she so often does when she feels particularly strongly about something. The Doctor is a good liar, but you’re also rather good at detecting it. And looking into her eyes now as she waits for your response, there doesn’t seem to be anything there but honesty.

“Well, alright,” you begin, cautious, still. “If you say so.”

“I do!” she insists. You grin.

“I don’t think I’d even mind if you changed your mind later, so long as I could have a good, long sleep now,” you comment, breaking eye contact, finally, as you drag a hand through your disarrayed hair once more. You hear her laugh at that, soft and amused, and next thing you know, there’s a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Well m’not planning on it, am I?” she says. You feel her thumb brush across your shoulder blade, then, and it’s a real struggle for you to keep from piling yourself into her arms and demanding a cuddle. “Anyways — you know where my room is, don’t you?”

You shake your head.

“I’ve never been in your room before, Doctor,” you point out with a smile and a shrug. She looks a bit surprised at that — why, you’re not entirely sure.

“Oh,” she says quite simply. “Well, in that case — it’s up the stairs and down that hallway there. You’ll take a left near the end, and my bedroom will be the second door on the right. You go on and have yourself a nap while the TARDIS and I figure out the rest.”

You sigh at that — perhaps a little bit too relieved — and nod your head. Before you turn to make your way up the stairs, you make a point of taking half a step closer to The Doctor and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

There isn’t any intention behind it — not really, not apart from expressing your gratitude — but she blushes anyhow, and you can’t help but smile at that.

You leave the room without another word, content with you goal to seek out The Doctor’s bedroom and kip in for a nap. It takes you a moment, admittedly, to remember the exact directions you had been given, but you get there in the end. And as it turns out, it’s terribly obvious which door leads to The Doctor’s room.

The doors are grand in comparison to all the rest, large and wooden and very french-looking in style. Even the handles are quite elaborate looking, all old-worn bronze, and you smile at that; you can’t help but wonder what the inside of the room is like in comparison.

To no one’s surprise, everything inside is rather magnificent as well. Or, no — perhaps eccentric would have been a better word. The furniture, the decoration, the room itself... if anyone had asked you, you’d have said it was a rather good reflection of The Doctor herself.

All in all, none of it quite looked like it belonged together; not exactly. Apart from the bed and the room itself, which you had to assume had been put together by the TARDIS as a baseline, everything was quite mismatched. For instance, there was a night table in one corner that looked like it might have come out of early, early times, with chipped wood and rickety looking drawers and legs that looked like they were only just holding the thing up. But to the same tune, there was a massive armoire on one wall — or what you assumed was an armoire, anyways — that looked like it could have been picked up from an IKEA store in modern times.

There was so much to look at that you spent a good handful of moments just standing in the doorway, admiring each individual item. It was lost in translation sometimes, how much time The Doctor had really spent traveling here and there and seeing this and that and the other, but her bedroom and all of the things inside of it gave every bit of that away at a mere glance.

Eventually, you gather your bearings and round back on your original plan to tuck yourself straight into bed, but even that proves to be a something of a challenge.

The bed may not have been one of the most eye-catching things in the room, but even it, in it’s own very, very unique way, had The Doctor written all over it. The sheets were rumpled and purple and soft, and immediately upon toeing out of your shoes and lying down amongst the (abundance) of pillows, you notice that they smell like her, as well. A bit like amber, a bit like clove, and a lot like some unidentifiable spacey thing that you’ve always liked to think of as moon-dust.

You’re grateful for it, for the touch of familiarity; you’ve always had a bit of trouble sleeping in rooms that weren’t your own, but wrapping yourself in the sheets of The Doctor’s bed feels a whole lot like wrapping yourself up in The Doctor herself, and if you were honest? She had always felt more like home to you than any old room could ever have.

Even despite the fact that you’re fully clothed, it doesn’t take you very long to begin drifting off; your eyelids had been heavy to start, and as you make yourself comfortable, the feeling only grows tenfold. With a a deep sigh and a final tug at the bedsheets, you allow sleep to overcome your exhausted body. You had come here with the intention of resting, after all, and you’d be damned if resting wasn’t just what you were going to do.

✦

In the end, you must wind up sleeping much, much longer than you might have initially planned, because when you do wake, it’s not of your own accord.

What initially rouses you is a soft touch at your shoulder - nothing urgent nor insistent, but firm enough to wake you from your nap. You roll onto your back with a soft groan, quite unwilling to come to at first; you toss one arm over your face stubbornly and sigh, certainly not ready to face the waking world just yet. That touch at your shoulder becomes a firm grip, then, and a gentle shake within another few moments.

“Y/N,” a soft, familiar voice — quite close to your ear — says. “Y/N, wake up.”

There’s a rather insistent noise to accompany the voice that must come from the TARDIS, and you mutter an unintelligible complaint under your breath at that. You’re pouting as you drop your arm back to your side and submit to the idea that you might not be able to get back to sleep right here and now, and with a deep sigh, you give your legs a stretch.

It’s only when you finally open up your eyes that you come to remember that you aren’t, in fact, in your own bedroom. You’re still very much in The Doctor’s room, surrounded by her things and sleeping in her bed, and as it turns out, the soft voice that had been attempting to wake you had been hers, too.

Your cheeks flush as your eyes fall upon her face.

“Oh, Doctor,” you mumble, still very much half asleep. “Sorry.“

She smiles at you, looking… rather fond? You blink, wondering offhandedly if your tired eyes are playing tricks on you.

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “Must have been a good nap, eh?”

You respond with a soft snort, closing your eyes for a brief moment and nodding your head.

“It was,” you say with a smile, combing a hand through your knotted hair and wriggling a bit until you’re a sitting a tad more upright. “Thanks. But I can definitely leave now, if you want the room—“

You don’t have the opportunity to finish your sentence before The Doctor is shaking her head at you, murmuring a little string of “no, no, no’s” and looking quite a lot like she’s the one invading your space.

“You don’t have to leave,” she insists. She sits back on her heels, and you realize for the first time that she’s knelt down beside the bed, at your side. “In fact, I wasn’t going to wake you at all — it was just…”

You raise an eyebrow, watching her closely as she explains herself. She’s looking almost bashful, now, and altogether it has you feeling curious.

“What? Was I snoring or something?” you ask her, only half-joking. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been known to snore a bit boarishly in the past.

She shakes her head at that, laughing softly and fiddling with her hair somewhat nervously.

“No, no. Nothing like that,” she reassures you. A handful of seconds later she looks you in the eye once more and smiles kindly. “I came in to check on you, that’s all. And found you fully clothed.”

You spare a glance down at yourself and your rumpled clothing, taking in the state of yourself for a moment before you offer up a shrug in response.

“I didn’t have anything else,” you explain. “Everything but what I’m wearing was in my bedroom when we crash-landed.”

She nods.

“No, I know,” she responds. You tilt your head expectantly, then, and she averts her gaze. “I just wandered in to check on you — to make sure you were alright, yeah? Crash-landings can be tough on a human person, and I just wanted to make sure — never mind. Not the point. Anyways…”

You don’t take your eyes off of her as she continues to waffle on for a moment, and you’re just about to pipe up and ask her where, exactly, she’s going with all of this when she finally reaches her point.

“You looked comfortable enough when I came in, but I just thought — I don’t know, I got the idea in my head that you might like to borrow some of my clothes,” she says. She gestures offhandedly to the armoire that you had caught a glimpse of earlier as she says the words, and you spare a glance in its direction before looking back at her. “Just for now — so you have some proper sleepwear, right?”

There’s no holding back the fond smile that plays on your lips as she explains herself. You don’t think that you’d have been able to withhold it if you had tried, because it’s just so sweet, the way that The Doctor seems to be doting on you. It’s not exactly a common thing — she cares for you, and you care for her (to say the very, very least), but it’s never gone beyond that; not before now.

It makes you wonder — it does — but you keep your curiosity to yourself for the time being.

“That would be really nice, Doctor,” you say simply. It’s a stark contrast to her rambled explanation, and she seems to flounder for a moment before she smiles brightly and makes for the armoire.

“Brilliant! In that case —“ she starts, opening up a door here and a drawer there and pulling out a couple of soft-looking pieces of clothing. None of it looks terribly a lot like her everyday clothing, but it all looks quite comfortable. “These ought to do nicely, eh? You can take your pick, Y/N — whatever you like.”

You flash her a smile as she tosses the garments your way, and as you pick through them, you hum quite happily. Most all of them are as soft as they look, and you’d be willing to bet that they’re just as comfortable, too.

“You do know how to pick out pajamas,” you comment, and she snorts. After a bit of sifting, you settle on an oversized, button-up sleep shirt and a nice, loose pair of shorts. She’s looking rather smug when your gaze finds its way back to her, and you laugh softly as you set the remaining clothing aside.

“What’s a good nap without some extra-comfortable sleepers?” she says, perhaps a little too proud of herself.

“Not a good nap at all,” you agree, regardless, and brush a few stray hairs out from in front of your eyes. You are grateful, genuinely, for her generosity with both her clothing and her space, because if you’re honest? You still feel a right mess, and having these few comforts makes you feel just a little more human.

You’re quiet for a moment (and so is she, oddly enough) before you look The Doctor’s way once more, a curious gleam in your eyes.

“I don’t suppose you would mind if I used your shower as well, then?” you ask, not quite as hesitantly as you might have at the beginning of this day. You might have felt a bit worse about it had you actually asked for everything that The Doctor had given you, but… well, you hadn’t. And honestly, if there was anything in the world that you might just have done anything for, it was a good, hot shower.

“‘Course you can, Y/N,” she responds without hesitation. There’s something a bit softer in her voice, and it prompts you to study her for a long moment as she stands there. It’s only fifteen seconds or so, but she must begin to feel the scrutiny rather quickly, because it’s not very long afterwards that she turns her gaze away and makes for the door. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I’m in the console room if you need me!” she calls to you as she goes, and you laugh softly as you look after her for a moment.

With a stretch and a yawn and a creak of your bones, you crawl out of the bed and go about finding your way into the shower — into the bathroom that branches off of her bedroom, just like your own little ensuite had done.

No use wasting any time.

✦

“Oh, shut it,” The Doctor says, firm, but without much fight. She’s standing at the console in the control room, and she’s just left her own bedroom in a ridiculous hurry, because she just... couldn’t seem to collect herself, as it were. She was usually rather good at it, if she did say so herself; she had been doing it for such a long time, now, that it didn’t tend to be such a bother for her to keep her guard up around you. Today, though — today, it seemed that something had slipped. And it had been a rather significant something, if her current, flustered state was anything to go by.

Maybe it had been your peacefully slumbering face. She had only seen you in such a state a handful of times, after all, and you had just looked so... so... content. Serene, even. And you’d been in herbed, for crying out loud —

She groans. Her head drops into her hands as she props herself against the console, and she sighs thickly as she thinks it over. You had never so much as been in her room before (which she had less than gracefully forgotten, earlier), and now you were in her room, her bed, her space — and sooner than later, you would be in her clothes, too. All of it, as a whole, had her feeling rather flustered.

“Then go on and do something about it, would you?” she catches the TARDIS insisting. It’s a tug at the corner of her mind, her ship’s intention, but it’s there, and she rolls her eyes, choosing not to dignify the demand with a verbal response.

The TARDIS doesn’t stop there, though, no — she continues to niggle at The Doctor’s mind, each and every suggestion coming across her consciousness like an insistent child jabbing a finger into their sibling’s shoulder to catch their attention.

“It’s been months, Doctor. Months!”

“Are you just going to sit by and stare at them forever?”

“If you paid attention you’d notice that they stare at you, too.”

“Constantly.”

“Doctor!”

The frustrated yelp that she had been valiantly suppressing breaks free, eventually, and she straightens up, staring pointedly up at the TARDIS’s dimly glowing crystals.

“What do you suggest I do, eh?” she demands, and the TARDIS gives a dissatisfied vworp. “They don’t know. I can’t — ! I can’t just waltz into the room and, what — ask them for a cuddle? Tell them how astounding I think they are?”

Her words start out just as sharp as she’d meant them to, but the fire in her outburst dwindles rather quickly the moment she really hears herself.

It’s... different, saying these things out loud. Very different, and the weight of it all seems to bear down on her very suddenly. The TARDIS appears to catch onto this, and adjusts the lighting in the control room to reflect the abrupt shift in The Doctor’s mood.

With her features now cast in a delicate, fuchsia light, she shakes her head. Shadows dance across her face as she turns away from the console and makes for a way to distract herself once more.

“I know your intentions are good, love,” she says, and the light in the room begins to sink into a deep purple as she speaks. “But it’s not realistic.”

The TARDIS wants to argue the point further — she really, genuinely does. She can, after all, see you in her pilot’s room, fresh out of the shower and wearing her clothing, ever-so-gently perusing the room with that special sort of awe in your eyes.

But she also knows The Doctor, and she knows better than to force the issue with her. She had never been one to have any issue forced upon her — thus the ship’s roundabout way of wordlessly guiding her where she needed to go most. It was almost always better (where it wasn’t exactly possible to coax her) to let The Doctor come around on her on, and, with an exasperated thunk of her engines, the TARDIS supposed that that was what she would have to do.

✦

In the hours following her confrontation with her ship, The Doctor made every effort she could to keep herself occupied.

She cleaned, she tidied, she repaired what she could; she tinkered with everything that she could tinker with, and read through a solid three-and-a-half six-hundred-and-something page books, and paced metaphorical ruts into the floor. She was doing anything and everything she could think of to keep busy, to keep herself distracted while you rested, but in the end, her efforts didn’t make the kind of difference that she might have hoped they would.

No matter how much she paced, she still paused every so often to ponder whether there might be something more she could be doing for you. No matter how deeply she buried herself in thick books written on the most wildly obscure topics, she still found herself distracted at the thought of you sleeping in her bed.

You had been resting for quite some time, now, hadn’t you? It had been hours. Did you typically nap for this long? Was she overthinking it? Were you okay? Why couldn’t she just stop thinking about it?

The TARDIS would nip in every now and then, too, much to The Doctor’s frustration. She would mumble and grumble at the back of her mind that she knew bloody well what was going on in her own head — that she had simply refused to acknowledge it.

“You can only do this for so long, Doctor,” she had sighed at one point. It had also been at that point that The Doctor had pushed the thick book she’d been thumbing through aside and groaned out loud.

She was utterly exhausted.

She hadn’t actually rested since well before the incident with the TARDIS, and the whirlwind of emotions that she was currently experiencing wasn’t doing very much to help her case. She could hardly focus, anymore, and that — that wouldn’t do.

It was usually right around this point that she would sneak off to her bedroom for a nap, but — well.

“You told Y/N that your bed was big enough for the both of you. That hasn’t changed,” the TARDIS pipes up, conveniently.

“Get out of my head,” The Doctor mutters, dropping into her seat beside the console and burying her face in her hands.

“You know full well that I can’t do that.”

She grumbles once more, dragging her clammy palms across her face as she sits up. She couldn’t lie in this bed that she had made for herself forever, could she? Not unless you came waltzing out of her room in the next few moments (unlikely), or the TARDIS suddenly announced that she had been able to pop up a spare bedroom (even more unlikely), she was doomed. Completely and utterly doomed.

“That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it? Y/N might be offended.”

The Doctor snorts at that, in part because you absolutely would be offended at the phrasing. No doubt.

She also recognized, however, that it is a bit dramatic. She was tired — so, so bloody tired, and upon further consideration, the strange way that she had been acting would likely only succeed in raising your suspicions.

She had to sleep sometime, and tonight, she supposed... tonight, awkward as it may or may not have turned out to be, it would have to be next to you.

✦

As it happened, you had only just fallen asleep by the time The Doctor came creeping into the room. And — quite unfortunately for you — you hadn’t even fallen asleep on purpose.

You had spent a long, long while after your shower perusing The Doctor’s room, and all of the delightful treasures that it had been hiding. Well, you thought — not hiding. Not really. You had been careful not to be too invasive in your curiosity. Your intention hadn’t been to dig up anything terribly personal, after all, and when it came right down to it, you had only bothered with the things that had been in plain sight; out on bookshelves, lying across an oddly-shaped chair in the corner, that sort of thing.

And, in the end, that had been more than enough. Hours had passed, and by the time you had worn yourself out, there had been books and trinkets and clothing strewn around you. The mess was primarily confined to the bed, where you had propped yourself against the pillows to read through an old, dog-eared book that looked like it had come from a time not so far off of when books had been carved into stone rather than printed onto paper.

You had fallen asleep not more than a hundred-or-so pages into the story, book in hand and sheets only half-covering your tightly-curled form.

This was the sight that The Doctor came upon, as she so-stealthily crept into her bedroom.

Her first reaction was open-mouthed shock, of course. She had expected to find you asleep, yes, but not like this — not quite literally surrounded by her very own belongings, from the lovely, color-changing crystal necklace she’d nicked from Planet Steppes to a bundle of tapestries and odds and ends she’d gathered from an obscure civilization on the outskirts of Andromeda.

She very likely should have been much more upset than she was — it was her room, it was, and you had gone and made quite the mess of it. But regardless of what she should or shouldn’t have been feeling as she stood, gobsmacked in the doorway, she could hardly help but smile.

You were just so cute.

She stifled soft laughter into one hand as she proceeded to tiptoe into the room, sidestepping a jacket, which looked to have been tried on and then discarded.

The situation at hand slips her mind as she spends a good few moments tidying the bed around you, and all she can think about is the wonder that must have shone in your eyes as you had inspected all of her favorite trinkets. She considers it, and the sweet smile that never failed to accompany it when you were especially enthralled, and it warms her heart.

There’s certainly a small part of her that’s hesitant, still, about the situation as whole. There’s not going to be any changing that. A good amount of that hesitance certainly dwindles, though, when she gets all of the non-essential things cleared from the bed, gets changed into her own set of comfies, and pulls back the bedsheets just in time to get a full view of your face as you begin to mumble something in your sleep. She grins — she can’t help it. She grins, and she sighs in a distinctly lovesick manner as she shakes herself from her trance and goes about wedging herself into the bed beside you.

It’s not a tight fit, not in the least; The Doctor had always been a fussy sleeper, even when she slept on her own, and she had been sure to accommodate herself with a bed big enough to support that. All roominess aside, though, she still finds herself hyper aware of your presence beside her; your warmth, your soft mumbling, the sound of your breath, every tiny movement — she couldn’t help but be aware of it, and while she tried her damndest to tune it out (she did, honestly), she couldn’t help but gravitate towards it.

The moment her eyelids began to droop, she became keenly aware of every little noise you made — every hum, every murmur, every stray word. When she allowed herself to sink into the mattress, even just a little bit, she found herself lolling towards the heat of your body.

It’s somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark (and her third bout of shaking herself away from the edge of sleep — from you), that you begin to stir. You’re not aware of her presence immediately; you were only just coming back from a very good nap, after all. You couldn’t be blamed. It’s not long before you do become aware of her, though, because you’ve only just woken up, and the first thing you hear is the sound of her grumbling softly.

“Blimey — “ you hear her mumble as she wriggles, trying (again) to get comfortable in her own space. It doesn’t seem that she’s successful, though, because she stretches out again not a moment later, mumbling something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like “not getting any bloody sleep tonight”.

Your eyelashes flutter as you process the words, and there’s a crease in your brow as her frustrated expression comes into focus.

“Wh’not?” you ask on the cusp of a yawn, dropping the old book that you’d been holding, still, in favor of rubbing at one of your eyes. She doesn’t respond to the question for a handful of seconds; she’s quiet for a spell, and then she begins to shuffle, again. You’re just about ready to repeat yourself when she looks your way and finds your eyes on her.

“Y/N!” she says, soft. Your name comes out sounding more like a surprised squeak than much anything else, and you snort softly.

“Doctor,” you murmur, taking a quick moment to stretch the sleep out of your own muscles. You get comfortable again not a moment later, though, and you level her with a curious gaze. “Why can’t you sleep?”

The Doctor looks somewhat startled at the question. She avoids your eyes, looking this way and that and blushing in a rather guilty fashion as she rummages for an excuse.

“Ah, no, I’m alright — really, it’s just — I don’t—” she stammers. She bites her lip to quiet herself a second later, though, apparently collecting her thoughts. “I suppose I’m just not used to sharing a bed, s’all.”

It was close enough to the truth, anyways.

The face you make, though… the startled blink, the furrow in your brow, the hesitation in your eyes — it still catches her off guard.

“Oh,” you say. You’re the one averting your gaze, now, and it sends her backpedalling rapidly. “D’you want me to leave, then? I can leave.”

She doesn’t think before she speaks.

“No!” she exclaims, propping herself up on one elbow and looking squarely at you. She seems to realize the abruptness of her response a moment later, however, because her cheeks flush and she makes a soft, frustrated sound. “You don’t have to go, Y/N. Really.”

“Oh,” you say again, a touch baffled. “Alright.”

The Doctor sighs softly, feeling quite sheepish. Your response hadn’t been negative, but it was still clipped, still confused. Clearly you were beginning to notice her odd behavior, and she didn’t want you feeling like you weren’t welcome, did she? She thinks about it for a moment, about all of the TARDIS’s scolding and about her own racing mind. And she decides to tell the truth.

“I’ve been more worried that I would make you uncomfortable,” she admits. Her voice is soft, and she doesn’t quite meet your eyes at first, but you hear her nonetheless.

“What, me?” you say. There’s laughter and disbelief in the tone of your voice, and when The Doctor does look at you again, her worry ebbs, if only a little bit. “Doctor, this is your room, and I’ve had a good sleep already. You don’t need to worry about me.”

She laughs softly at that, watching you closely as you readjust once more, picking up the book that you’d been reading and searching out the spot where you’d left off.

“And besides,” you say, glancing at her overtop the pages and smiling somewhat mischievously. “I don’t mind sharing space with you. So if that’s what you’re worrying about… don’t.”

If her cheeks hadn’t been red before, they definitely are, now. Had that been… a hint of flirtation? Surely she was imagining things, wasn’t she?

Right on cue, the TARDIS begins to grumble at the edge of her mind, as if telling her to knock it off. She can’t help but smile.

“Alright then,” she says, as noncommittally as she can manage. There’s a bit of residual nervousness, of course, but the look of you, the smile on your face and your content posture… it puts her at ease.

It’s uncharacteristically quiet for a moment afterwards, as she makes herself comfortable and you settle back into your reading. It’s not a terribly long time before she begins to feel sleep settle over her once again, and she breathes a soft sigh as she nestles against the pillows beside you.

“Thanks, Y/N,” she mutters, as she allows herself to drift. The last thing she hears before she falls asleep is your soft laughter.

“Don’t thank me,” you say, and inch just a little bit closer to her as you settle in.

✦

Sometime later, The Doctor wakes slowly. Her hair is a terrible mess, the sheets around her have been kicked into disarray, and there’s a crusty bit of sleep clouding her eyes, still. Clearly, it had been a good nap.

It’s only as she makes an attempt to turn over, however, that she realizes why, exactly, that is.

Beside her, you’re still reading intently. Your eyes are bleary, your head is propped a bit awkwardly against a couple of pillows, and in the midst of your fascination with the story, you’ve slunk down beneath the covers beside her.

That’s not what catches her attention, though. It’s all captivating, obviously, all on its own, but what really holds her interest is the arm you’ve got curled around her shoulders. Her head is resting comfortably near your collarbone, and as she comes to recognize her surroundings fully, she can feel every inch of your body, too, pressed warmly against her own.

Her cheeks flush bright red in an instant, and she doesn’t move another inch.

She doesn’t let herself tense, though, no — she doesn’t want to soil the moment. The warmth, the closeness, your arm wrapped almost protectively around her… it’s nice. More than nice. It’s comforting. She’s craved it, and she’s not about to cut it short.

Instead of addressing it, she lets out a soft breath and very, very carefully, she turns closer to you. She lays her arm across your stomach and closes her eyes once more, nestling close.

She’s not sure whether you realize that she’s woken up or not, but all the same, you sigh, too, and press a sweet kiss to her temple, and that seals it. She’s not moving anytime soon.

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magic-and-moonlit-wings · 4 years

Text

Chapter 50: Insecurity Abounds

Becoming The Mask

Why wasn't it working?!

Jim ducked the fire jets and somersaulted out of their path.

The Forge floor tilted, sending him sliding back to where he’d started from. He braced his feet against the pop-up turret that spewed fire and launched himself up to grab the next turret, the one that shot darts. He used the higher turret to swing himself back to level ground. Jim blocked the darts that followed him with his sword.

Gunmar’s Eye hadn’t had any noticeable effect on the Amulet yet.

Jim wove through and around the pendulum axes.

When he’d put the Heartstone chip in the Amulet, he’d been able to summon a knife in minutes.

He threw several knives at a target and used his sword to cut another in half.

Of course, he’d been actively hoping for a knife when he’d cleaved that stone, and he didn’t have any solid idea what this new one was supposed to do.

Jim made it to the Soothscryer and inserted his hand.

The Forge’s mechanisms shut down. The past Trollhunters did not draw him into the Void to advise him on how to find out the properties of a newly cleaved stone.

“Okay, let’s break down the possibilities,” Jim said out loud, in case the Ghost Council decided to chime in after all. He paced around the Soothscryer. “It’s supposed to help defeat Gunmar. It’s an eye, so … insight to his strategies? Can I spy on him through it somehow?”

Except, hadn’t Vendel said there was a stone for that already? A glimpse into your enemy’s mind …

Well, a backup would be helpful to have if it turned out they did the same thing.

“Or is it like those old superstitions where you can use a piece of somebody to harm them remotely?”

Some human cultures advised caution in disposing of one’s shed hair and nail clippings for that reason. Jim didn’t know if any other trolls had analogous beliefs, but since stone flesh was literally magical it did come up among Changelings sometimes.

“Or like magnets. Can he not touch me if I armour up with the Eye in the Amulet? Not like I can test that, or like it’ll be any use in letting me kill him.” And the Triumbric Stones were supposed to be key to defeating Gunmar, not having a stalemate with Gunmar.

“Or is the legend just inaccurate?”

Not the most appealing thought, but now that it had occurred to him it would be stressing Jim out. What if they put all that time and energy into tracking down and cleaving the Triumbric Stones and they didn’t even turn out to do anything?

“Any time you guys wanna weigh in on this,” he hinted at the previous Trollhunters.

Jim sat on the Forge floor, leaned back against the Soothscryer, and closed his eyes. The Soothscryer dropped into the floor, sending Jim sprawling back with a yelp.

“… Very funny.”

“Jim?” AAARRRGGHH entered the Forge. His steps were slow at first, and then Jim heard him hurrying across the bridge. “Jim okay?”

“Yeah, just, aggravated.” He knocked on his breastplate beside the Amulet. “Stricklander got Gunmar’s Eye for me, and Vendel taught me how to cleave it, but I – I can’t figure out what it does. I thought it would – would make me stronger, or tougher, or give me a new weapon, but – nothing! I’ve been training for hours and, and I haven’t been able to do anything I couldn’t before, and apparently the Ghost Council wants me to figure this out on my own, so they’re no help.”

“AAARRRGGHH help,” said the bigger troll decisively. He picked up the human-shaped Changeling and plopped him on his shoulders. “Jim tired. Sore. Anger-vated. Hard to think. Need rest.”

And he started carrying Jim out of the Forge.

“… Where are we going?”

“Library. Quiet there.”

AAARRRGGHH was tall, and his fur was thick. Jim was mostly hidden by it. He wasn’t sure anyone noticed him as AAARRRGGHH walked through Trollmarket.

Why was AAARRRGGHH carrying him? Jim had been sure AAARRRGGHH no longer trusted him that much, but here he was, giving Jim easy access to his scruff, his neck, all the vulnerable spots on his back …

Inside the library, AAARRRGGHH did not shrug Jim off. He simply settled into his usual corner – a space relatively clear of shelves, so AAARRRGGHH wouldn’t block access to anything important if he dozed off – and opened one of the larger, less delicate books to where it was bookmarked.

“Rest,” he said. “Talk when ready.”

It was always sort of comical to see AAARRRGGHH reading. Even the tallest and widest volumes, books that the humans had to leave on tables and turn pages of both-handed, looked small in his hands.

Jim climbed further up AAARRRGGHH’s back to read over his shoulder. AAARRRGGHH noticed, and repositioned the book so they could both see it better.

It was one that Blinky had written. Possibly one he’d written for AAARRRGGHH, considering the dimensions. It was about Blinky’s observations of human culture. The current chapter was about different gardens Blinky had seen around human homes, identifying some plants that were beneficial or harmful to trolls, and speculating on the purpose of the others.

They read in silence for a while.

“It’s just,” said Jim, when they reached the end of the chapter, “I can’t afford to mess this up.”

AAARRRGGHH moved the flattened strip of braided leather to its new place and closed the book.

“I can’t take Gunmar in a straight fight, which leaves assassination. So if there’s a specific weapon I need to kill him for real, and nothing else is gonna work, then I have to know how to use it. And I have to get it right the first time, because I probably won’t get a second shot.”

And because, if Jim failed and Gunmar realized a Changeling was behind the assassination attempt, then all the other Changelings still trapped in the Darklands were as good as dead.

“And … and if I can’t unlock the first Triumbric Stone, what does that say about my chances with the other two? And what if I messed up cleaving the Eye, so now I can’t unlock that stone, and Gunmar’s gonna live forever and it’s my fault?”

“He won’t,” said AAARRRGGHH. “Wizards live long, age slow, but can die.”

“… I don’t suppose you know any weaknesses of his?”

“Hm … Not good at trusting, so won’t have guards to sleep.”

“Huh. You know, I honestly never realized he slept? Like, logically he has to, but I’d never thought about it. I’ve only ever seen him on his throne or leading hunting parties. If the stones really do give me a new weapon, that would probably be my best shot at him.” Jim sighed and sagged. “If.”

“Maybe stones only work with all three,” AAARRRGGHH suggested.

“That could be it. I hope so.” Jim drummed his fingers against the Amulet. “I’m going to take the Eye out and train some more without it. Just in case it’s messing with my head. Would you hold onto it for me?”

“I help.” AAARRRGGHH shrugged. Jim nearly fell off his shoulder. “But Eye very small. Might leave with Blinky instead.”

“Where is Blinky, anyway?”

“Doing errands,” said AAARRRGGHH in trollish. “Haggling takes time.”

+=+

Tobias Domzalski, ‘Toby’, age 16, sophomore student at Arcadia Oaks Public High School. Orphaned age two, raised by paternal grandmother Nancy.

Closest friend, boy from across the street, Jim Lake; no close friends besides that, though occasional mentions of friendly acquaintanceship with classmate Eli Pepperjack.

Fond of geology, video games, stage magic. Natural predisposition to showmanship.

Family history of clinical depression. Personal history of emotional eating, being mocked by peers for braces and weight. Probable fear of rejection/abandonment.

Next appointment rescheduled to earlier date for unclarified reasons, severe enough for guardian to call in at 5:30 in the morning but not severe enough for guardian to feel immediate emergency response was needed.

“Good afternoon, Toby. Come on in.”

“Hi, Doctor A.”

He wandered over to the window first. There was a tree between the building and the parking lot. She wasn’t sure which, if either, he looked at. He sat in the squashy armchair.

Dr Tiffany Archenn had three chairs in her office besides her desk chair, with various degrees of softness. There was a well-stuffed armchair that the sitter noticeably sank into, a stiffer but still upholstered one, and a sturdy wooden armchair that patients with joint problems invariably chose because it was the easiest to get up from.

“Anything in particular you’d like to start with today?” she asked, in her cultivated gentle tone.

“Well, I’ve made some new friends.” He smiled, showing a glint of metal. “Some girls from school decided to start hanging out with me and Jimbo. One of them, Claire, had a crush on him at first, but they kept having lunch with us after he turned her down. They’re a lot of fun.”

Tiffany nodded. After centuries of practice, writing notes was like knitting for her; she no longer needed to look at what she was doing, though sometimes she did anyway if a patient was bothered by prolonged eye contact.

“What sorts of things have you been doing together?”

“Well, lunch, like I said, and Darci and I have been playing Mobile Go-Go Sushi. Sometimes we all go out and explore – uh, the trails around town, or the museum, or, like, little stores we’ve never been in before. And we’ve been … LARPing. That’s ‘live-action role play’.”

She knew that already, but she just nodded.

“It’s a fantasy game. Jim’s the most into it. He was actually doing it solo for a while before we found out, but now we’re all involved.”

‘Before we found out’. Not ‘before he told us’ or ‘invited us’. Now that was interesting.

How was Toby handling his closest friend having done something alone instead of sharing it with him, until Toby and the new additions to their social circle became involved all at once? How was he handling suddenly having to share his friend?

“Are you enjoying this game?” she asked leadingly.

“… Mostly. It can get pretty intense sometimes.”

“How do you mean?”

Toby twisted his hands in his lap. There were some fidgets on the windowsill and the side of the desk her patients sat on, but he didn’t use them often anymore.

“A couple weeks ago, we had a school play,” he said. “Claire and Mary were in it. Claire’s character died. Seeing that was like – like the stakes of, of the game, just got real. I had a nightmare that she died for real. It shook me up a lot. That’s when Nana called you.”

“I can see why that would be distressing.”

Emotional conflation was different from delusion, so this was probably not a sign that Toby was beginning to struggle with telling fiction from reality. Fearing for a friend’s wellbeing in a play or game and having that spill over into genuine concern for that friend’s safety was more likely related to Toby’s fear of abandonment.

She was surprised the fear was centred around one of the new friends rather than around his friend of longest standing, but it sounded like the death scene in the play had been the tipping point.

“Has this changed how you’ve been acting in your game?” Dr Archenn asked. “Or how you’ve interacted with your friends in general?”

“I’ve been more careful. Taken my training more seriously. I switched weapons – picked one I could actually use now instead of just the one I thought was coolest.”

“Has that helped?”

“A little.”

“Would you prefer a different game?”

“I couldn’t!” He shook his head. “Jimbo’s gonna do this with or without us – I can’t just leave him.”

Okay, now Tiffany was wondering if ‘LARPing’ was really a cover for some illegal activity these kids had stumbled into. Stupid Walter, leaving town right before she needed intel on some of his students.

“You don’t feel able to change overall aspects of this … game, only how you play?”

“… Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”

“And you’re confident that your friends wouldn’t” – or can’t – “drop it to play something else?”

“Jim’s committed.” Tobias’ eyes widened at his own words. “I mean, he’s like, really emotionally invested in this fantasy world, you know? He’d feel really bad about giving it up. I can’t ask him to do that.”

Okay, so clearly Tobias’ friend Jim was the key to all of this. Considering the boys had been each other’s only friend for ten years, it was unlikely Tobias would be easily convinced to let go to save himself. He’d said twice in five minutes that he could not abandon Jim to whatever they were really doing, nor extract Jim from it.

She might be reading too much into this, Tiffany reminded herself. Toby might be being entirely literal, especially since he’d already volunteered so much information with so little prompting.

“Tell me some more about this game you’ve been playing.”

“Uh … well … it kind of started as Jim trying to write a fantasy novel, I think. He’s, like, this destined hero, a magical knight chosen to defeat an evil troll king. The rest of us are, um, fellow questers who’ve joined up with him. He wants to protect us by fighting alone, but …” he trailed off.

But you don’t want to be left behind by being cut out of something your friend is investing time in? Tiffany did not suggest. It would distort the accuracy of her analysis if she put words in her patient’s mouth.

“But none of us want to give it up,” Toby settled on.

He didn’t say more. Maybe the tension between Jim and Toby was because Jim had wanted to write this story alone and resented his friends inserting themselves into the narrative? Tiffany set out another prompt.

“You mentioned you chose a new weapon recently. Do you all have weapons?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a warhammer. I had one to start with, I just, switched to a lighter one. Because, um, my character stats meant I couldn’t lift the first one yet. Jim and Mary both have swords, Claire’s got a spear, Darci has a crossbow.”

“No spellcasters in your party?”

Toby laughed nervously. “Sometimes there’s magic artifacts, but, no, no spellcasters.”

+=+

Claire got her bleach and developer out of the cupboard, adding them to the rest of her materials.

“Whatcha doin’?” Not Enrique asked her.

“Seriously? Do you have no concept of privacy? I’m in the bathroom right now!”

“You didn’t shut the door.” He tapped the join between the hardwood floor he was standing on and the bathroom tiles.

Okay, fair point, not that she’d being saying so to him.

“I’m touching up my roots.”

“I got no idea what that means.” He stood up on his back legs (or just ‘legs’? He went on all fours most of the time, like AAARRRGGHH, but most trolls Claire had seen were bipeds) and squinted past her. “You got a plant in there?”

“No, I mean my hair.” She crouched on the floor and tugged her blue streak. “It’s growing out, so I have to dye the parts that don’t have colour yet.”

Not Enrique just blinked at her. “You … kill your hair to change its colour? But, Ma and Pa take me with ’em to the hairdressers sometimes, and none of the stuff on the floor turns different colours.”

Claire grit her teeth at hearing him refer to her and Enrique’s parents like they were his too.

“It’s not that kind of dye. Dee-why-ee, not dee-eye-ee. It’s like a paint.” She sighed. “Look, I’ll show you.”

She pulled on her rubber gloves and separated her dyed streak from the rest of her hair with foil.

“I’m just bleaching it today. I have to do that a couple of days in a row, because it takes a while to get it light enough for the colour to show up.”

She mixed the bleach with the developer, which helped bleach to penetrate hair, and some red-gold corrector, which made it more effective on dark hair. Claire carefully painted the goop into her hair.

“In about half an hour, I’ll wash this off, and the hair it was in will be lighter brown instead of black.”

“Wild.”

“So, what, did you think some of my hair was just naturally blue?”

“Yeah? I’ve seen lots of humans around with more than one hair colour.”

“… Fair point,” she admitted. Between the people with hair streaks like her, and anyone starting to go grey, and people with fully-dyed hair whose roots were showing, not to mention how technicolour troll hair could be, he’d have no reason to suspect some human hair colours or patterns were unnatural.

Claire folded the foil around her hair and carefully clipped it so it wouldn’t slip off. She wiped out the bowl she’d mixed the bleach in using paper towels and wrapped them in a bag to throw in the trash, rather than dumping bleach down the drain. It wasn’t good for the local water table. Claire took off her gloves and tidied everything else away. She set her phone timer so she wouldn’t damage her hair by leaving the bleach in for too long.

“What was that you were saying earlier?” asked Not Enrique. “Bout the different kinds of die. Dee-why-dee-eye?”

“They’re spelled differently,” said Claire. “So if you see it written down, you can tell which kind somebody means. It’s called a homophone when a word’s like that,” she remembered from an elementary school grammar class on the different kinds of words.

Claire left the bathroom. “Come on.” She went to their – her – mother’s home office, and took a sheet of paper and a pen. She wrote ‘die’ and ‘dye’ on the paper and handed it to Not Enrique, who held the page upside down. “Other way up. See the difference?”

He flipped the page. “Which one’s for hair and which is for killing?”

“D-Y-E is for recolouring stuff. It’s not just hair, you can do with cloth too.”

He pointed at the correct word. “That one’s the Y? Like in the alphabet videos.”

“Yeah. You know what?” Claire decided. “I’m gonna teach you to read. I know, I know, you’re picking it up,” seeing his insulted look, “but you’ll learn faster with a teacher.”

“You just wanna use me to spell-check the trollish homework Blinkous gives you.”

“Like you’d be useful for that when I’m the one teaching you.”

+=+

Previous Chapter (Jim gets and cleaves the Eye of Gunmar)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (Visiting the Quagawumps to ask for the Killstone)

I learned how to dye hair streaks for this chapter! I’ve been thinking about doing them in my hair for a long time but never bothered because my hair’s really dark brown and all the bleaching sounded like a nuisance. Now that I’ve looked into how it’s done, it still sounds like a nuisance, but I might try it.

Dr Archenn does not suspect Toby knows about real trolls yet, because ‘fighting an evil troll’ is pretty standard fantasy fodder. Even if he’d mentioned Jim being ‘the Trollhunter’, that sounds like a generic term, so she wouldn’t get truly suspicious without further evidence. If he’d mentioned Gunmar by name, on the other hand, that would have been enough for her to call in some favours and put this kid under surveillance.

So, how about Wizards, huh? Deya’s portrayal gave me a bunch of ideas for her portrayal in this fic! Since I am not going with the idea of her being the first Trollhunter, I’ve also developed a whole bunch of backstory that will be revealed later about the Trollhunter job’s origins in this timeline. I’ll be sticking with some plans I already had as to the timing and motives of Morgana inventing Changelings.

#Trollhunters #Tales of Arcadia #Becoming The Mask chapters #Changeling Jim #Amulet of Daylight #AAARRRGGHH #rocks minerals crystals and gemstones #Tobias Domzalski #Changelings #original character #role-playing game #lies #Claire Nuñez #Not Enrique #Hair #colours #My Fanfiction #Monday is fanfic day!

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