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#he does look quite dastardly

shadowandlightt · 3 months

Text

Of Nightmares and Memories /four/ Azriel x reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

A/N: We're getting closer to her returning to the IC and I'm so happy about that. I also had a lot of fun writing this part, so I hope you enjoy!

Part One Part Two Part Three

The following days were much the same, watching from a distance as Tamlin worked hard to woo the young Feyre. Your eyes rolled every time he tried to complement her. She didn’t belong here. Just like you didn’t belong here. She was too much of a dreamer to become a High Lord’s wife, or little play thing. Too much of a dreamer to be held down by his endless rules and customs.

She deserved so much more. You deserved more.

Imagines of wings and starlight fill your head every time you close your eyes. You could see all of them, laughing at The House of Wind over dinner, having a grand time without you. They moved on, you know they had. But you couldn’t move on from them, no matter how hard you tried. You yearned for them.

You yearned for Cassian and his brutish humor, the kind that always got him in trouble with your mother, but always made you laugh harder than you should. You yearned for Morrigan and her never ending support when your father was being particularly dastardly. And Azriel….oh how you longed for him. The gentle touches of his shadows, the shy smiles, and rare bouts of laughter. Besides your brother, you missed Azriel most of all.

He was your Az, and yet you had no claim to him. But he seemed to understand that you belonged to one another. Maybe that’s why you made the promises you did.

Where you go I go, but whatever we do we do it together.

You made that promise before you flew for the first time. You were too afraid to fly as a child, but when Azriel came along and had to learn so late in life….well you got over your fear for him. You grasped his scarred hand in your tiny one and led him to the edge of the House of Wind. Why they decided that was the best place to learn to fly, you’ll never quite understand.

But it was then that you looked up at him, tears in your eyes due to fear, that you spoke, “Where you go I go.”

He nodded slowly, hair blowing in the wind, “But we do it together.”

“Together,” You agreed, holding his hand tighter.

And together you leapt from the ledge and let the wind take hold of your wings. Together you wobbled, but still stayed afloat. Together you figured it out, never once letting go of the other. And when you landed back on the roof, you held him so tightly as he laughed. And it was then that you decided that was the most beautiful sound you ever heard. It was then that you decided you would do anything to hear that laugh and see that smile as much as possible.

And it was then that he decided he would always protect you, because you were his just as much as he was yours.

“He’s sending her back,” Lucien’s voice drew you from your thoughts.

“He’s what?”

“Your brother came,” Lucien says, face pale, “Took her mind, threatened to crush it. It isn’t safe for her here anymore, time is almost up. So Tam is sending her back.”

“He’s a damned fool,” you hiss, “She’s in love with him, it’s plain as day to see! All he has to do is get her to admit it, but he can’t do that, can he? He’s giving up, all because my brother decided to come and scare him?”

“You weren’t there.”

“No, I wasn’t, but when does the brutality of the Night Court surprise Tamlin?” You question, “He’s seen it first hand, he knows what we’ll do to him. Why do you think he keeps me full of Faebane? Huh?”

“Y/N-”

“He knows I could shred all of your minds so easily,” You nearly laugh, “I could make Rhys look like child’s play if I really wanted to. You think he is vile and violent? See what happens when I have all of my powers, Lucien. There’ll be nothing left to bury. I could raze the Spring Court to the ground and not feel a thing about it.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I’m a prisoner here, don’t think that I wouldn’t take the first chance to escape,” You shake your head, “No matter who I have to kill. I might still be a child compared to the rest of you but I’m a child of the Night. Brutality is in my blood.”

“You aren’t like them-”

“Oh? Am I not? Just because I’ve been docile so far doesn’t mean it isn’t inside of me. I am a wolf in sheep's clothing. I always have been, dear Lucien. I am the most dangerous person in this manor, and he’s a fool to forget it.”

His face contorts into something that you aren’t quite able to read. Pride wells in your chest knowing you’re doing your job. You want to feel sick about it, want to feel sick about the role you’re playing. But if it brings you one step closer to your brother then you can’t bring yourself to feel bad about it. All you want is to go home again. You just want Rhys to hold you and tell you everything is going to be alright again.

“Tamlin deserves what's coming to him,” you hiss, “You all do.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Oh but I do. I hope Rhys enjoys breaking every single one of you. And if he doesn’t, I will,” You take a step closer to Lucien, “By the cauldron I promise you, I will break this court apart piece by piece and I will laugh as I do it. And I won’t stop until he’s the only one left standing, and all he has to claim is rubble.”

It rises up in your chest, and you feel it escaping through your fingertips, the darkness you used to run from long ago. You smile at it, feeling it wrap up your arms and cascade down towards the floor. It took a lot of energy to conjure it. You would be exhausted afterwards. But it would be worth it.

Lucien took a step back, and then another. Head shaking. You knew what you looked like. A vile smile on your face, darkness twirling all around you. You looked like your big brother. You felt the power flowing through your veins, what little you had left of it anyway.

“Don’t underestimate me, Lucien.”

Tamlin sent Feyre back to the human lands the following day. You watched from your window with a scowl on your face as the carriage took her away. Tamlin was giving up and damning all of you in the process. Amerantha would come for him soon enough, and then there would be nothing left for you but to run.

Maybe you could make it to the Night Court, maybe you would be lucky.

“Once she comes, you’re free,” Tamlin spoke over dinner that night.

“Perhaps,” You do your best to sound bored.

You had to control your heart, so you didn’t give away how scared you truly were. If she found you, you would be dead in an instant. Or maybe she’d use you as a toy to get Rhys to do her bidding some more. He was already her whore, but perhaps she wanted more. She wanted him on his knees for her. And even you knew that he bowed before no one but his court.

“Maybe I’ll stay here, I’ve grown quite fond of this place.”

“Liar.” Lucien bites out.

One look from you though and he stands down. What he doesn’t know is you slept for almost twelve hours after your little display earlier. It took everything you had, all of your energy and what power you had. But it was worth every second to see the look on Lucien’s face. To know that you were still able to scare him enough.

“Something you add, Lucien?” You question, venom dripping from your words.

His head shakes, swallowing deeply. It only makes you smirk. You were so close to going home, to any semblance of home. Maybe your brother wouldn’t be there, but you’d be free. The Court of Nightmares had to be better than living here.

“You should hide,” Tamlin says slowly, “They’re coming.”

“Now?”

He only nods, and reaches for more wine. He seems too calm. But then again he’s already given up. He gave up the second he sent Feyre back across the wall to her family. You can’t help but scoff as you rise to your feet. You expected him to fight back, maybe even for Lucien to fight. But you didn’t expect them to just lay down and roll over and let Amerantha march her cronies in here and take everyone.

“You’re a coward, Tamlin.”

“So you’ve been saying for hundreds of years.”

“You should have just killed me.”

“Heard that too.”

Your eyes roll, “I hope you have fun as her dog.”

“Enjoy your freedom, Y/N.”

You scoff again, “You best hope I never get the chance to kill you, Tamlin. I won’t make it as quick as my brother made your family's death.”

Tag List

@historygeekqueen @wallacewillow0773638 @sstrohma @saltedcoffeescotch @hnyclover @thelov3lybookworm @queerqueenlynn @minnieoo @maddybraps @mariahoedt @witchymomfrien

#acomaf #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar fic #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger

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shanastoryteller · 3 months

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Happy Holidays! I hope yours are peaceful and joyous.

I would do dastardly things for more identity/porn/gender-is-a-side-dish WWX like the Lady MO story (omg or time travel!!!), but I also love love love your story about Zag and the Prince's court and him helping people 😍 (living blood?). And I also want to read more of FMA Ed in the desert evacuating people (?) and Roy expecting him to be a monster. Ugh and I was just going back through your masterlist and forgot about the series about Godric, but I can't find the name and don't want to run out of time!!! If the untamed still sparks joy, I would love to read a continuation of one of those stories!! If not... dealers choice? Thank you so much for sharing your writing with us!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4

Salazar hasn't had much interaction with the Ravenclaws. His father considers them to be old fashioned, which is the nicest way he's ever called someone poor. Salazar doesn't think the family is particularly poor, even for their status, except perhaps in relation to the level of wealth that marrying his mother gave his father access to.

Or it could be the way certain members of that family never seem to quite manage to give his mother the respect she deserves. Salazar isn't particularly inclined to judge the lot of them based on the actions of a few, but that's not a trait that he got from either of his parents.

Rowena could go either way, considering she's burst down their door and is looking to curse his best friend inside out for the great sin of giving in to his mother's desire to arrange his marriage.

As if he could have stopped her. Salazar wouldn't cross Lady Gryffindor for all the gold in his vault. Godric does it occasionally, as he is the favored son, but certainly not over something like his marriage.

He can tell by Helga's grin that she's far less wary of Rowena, but that's probably because she's delighted when someone manages to take Godric down in a fight. She's disinclined to do it herself unless he really irritates her - beating respect into him is apparently not sustainable.

Personally, Salazar has found it the quickest way to get Godric's head of his ass, but playing mediator between Godric and Helga just ends up with the both of them pissed at him. He's learned to leave them to it.

"Slytherin," Rowena says slowly and Salazar tenses, readying himself for a comment about his father and his choices, then she says, "You've been traveling with him. You know where he is then?"

If anything, Godric's been traveling with him. There are idiots looking to die on his friend's sword everywhere and the books he and Helga are hunting down are significantly harder to find.

"He's at the tournament now," Helga says. Salazar rolls his eyes. "You can probably petition to swap in for his next opponent if you have a personal grievance."

Rowena's eyes narrow. At him, for some reason, even though he hasn't even said anything. "I thought you were his second?"

"I am," he says, then waits for the comment about his scholarly reputation and lack of public duels.

"He's at the tournament," she says slowly, "and you're here."

Salazar tries to think of a way to put this delicately.

"Have you seen the idiots that live around here?" Helga scoffs. "He's not going to need a second. Frankly, he could win with only using his wand or his sword. Subjecting them to both almost seems cruel."

Ah, Helga. A lack of growing up among nobility has left her with all the subtlety of a curse between the eyes.

He wishes he didn't find it endearing, but he wouldn't get along so well with Godric or Helga otherwise.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #uggabuggawugga #harry potter

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humbletumblecrudi · 2 years

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Ghost Bride, Formal Wear Flirting → House Wardens × Reader, GN!Reader, insinuation a tuxedo is worn by Reader but Reader can be wearing a dress or other wear as well.

𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 is very pleased by your attire. He doesn't touch your formal attire unless it's messed up or you're unsure how to fasten pieces up. He's very happy to be a part of your team and going in to help the fools inside, and happy you're doing this as a team. "Please, after all this and Cater's repayment, allow me one dance? I do adore your seriousness, compared to a certain complaining Dormmate…"

𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐚 doesn't care about your suit, but does care about your opinion of him after the event. He does growl if you mess with him, and he's not above yanking you by the collar to shut you up. He's angry, yes, but he's not going to ruin your fancy clothes just yet. "Listen, I'm not above ripping your clothes a bit to shut ya up, sweetheart. Actually… keep talking, it'll be a win for me either way."

𝐀𝐳𝐮𝐥 tried to ignore anything about being rejected for Idia and complemented how nicely you cleaned up. Oh, you're so dashing and you're so daring to come save them from the dastardly ghost army of Eliza's! He does eye up the formal wear and might circle you like a shark in warm water. "Oh, I do enjoy this look you have going… if Sam has any more clothes like this, I might have to pay him a visit for you."

𝐊𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐦 is just happy you're safe and sound, as well as everyone else! Definitely was crying before, on Jamil's shoulder, and definitely cried as he hugged you in greeting. After calming down quite quickly, he does notice your outfit and practically glows as he examines you. He thinks it's cute, but it's missing some gold! "Do you need anything else? I could throw in some jewelry and maybe some nicer shoes!"

𝐕𝐢𝐥 didn't want to hear a yap out of you about his behavior with the Ghosts, even if you understand why he did so. Acting is acting, and yet he was the villain to Eliza in the end (he's a little bitter). So he'll make sure you're okay and brush dirt/soot from your face, cleaning you up gently as he quietly takes you in. He clicks his tongue at you, "Not my favorite attire of yours, dearest… but Sam has an eye for the alluring. And you are alluring."

𝐈𝐝𝐢𝐚 is so stunned you don't know what to do with him on the floor. Ortho had burned the chains off of him and Idia had simply slid down to the floor like he was made of gelatin. Idia was laying down on his back and just staring up at you and Ortho from his place on the floor, and he blushes as he blows some hair from his face. "The ring of green lights makes you look ghastly handsome… I'm actually a bit doki-doki down here…"

𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐮𝐬 is quite satisfied with the outcome. Standing far off from the cleaning up and leaving of upperclassmen, Malleus stops you as you pass by his dark corner. He's smug and pushes the streamers from your arms so he can see your formal wear in full. "Ah, dearest, you're looking ravishing…" He brushes some ash from your shoulder ironically. "And you impressed me tonight; very, very much."

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skinks · 5 months

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SPOILERS FOR SALTBURN

I haven’t seen Promising Young Woman but I did just see Saltburn and now I’m so dubious about Fennell’s politics that I’m basically obligated to see PYW to confirm my suspicions. It’s not that I think she’s conservative necessarily, but more that she’s so upper class London nepo baby rich that she could aspire to socialist feminism as much as she likes but it’ll never land because her background precludes her from ever having anything relevant to say about class.

There were things I liked about Saltburn. The editing, performances, black humour, costumes, sets, cinematography (NOT the aspect ratio - will explain) and the ballsiness of certain “transgressive” scenes I did appreciate. This is what makes it so frustrating and disappointing as a film. If you turn your brain off, it’s a wild ride, quite hypnotic and lovely to look at in that specific dreamy way that the dark, cool interiors of a house get on the hottest days of the summer. I hated the 4:3 aspect ratio though, it was POINTLESS. Why was it used? Surely it would have made more sense to capture the grand expansiveness of the titular estate in widescreen? It just felt twee for twee’s sake, like it was shot to produce compositions ready-cropped for big gifs on tumblr.

The “shocking” “transgressive” “erotic” stuff is not particularly any of those things. I mean, for me anyway. It might titillate the type of new-puritan gen z-ers who self censor it to “seggs”, but there was only one sequence that felt really “wow, I haven’t seen that in movie before!” levels of Going There. And even then these scenes always felt self-consciously affected, like Fennell only included them because she wanted to write a movie with fReAkY stuff, as opposed to the freaky stuff coming organically from the characters. I remember sitting in the cinema to see Call Me By Your Name feeling like I was burning to a crisp at the scene where Elio huffs a pair of a man’s used swim trunks - because it felt so authentic to this expression of a character who is at critical levels of desperate teenage horniness. In Saltburn, when Oliver gets down on his knees and slurps Felix’s jizzy bath water, it’s like… okay? Why? What does he want? We saw him lie about knowledge of the fancy plates to ingratiate himself to the dad, we already have reason to distrust anything he says, so it’s hard to believe he has any authentic desire for Felix. And that’s the main problem with the whole movie - the writing is fairly atrocious.

There’s no mystery. There’s no ANYTHING. There’s a tiny quick-cut flash montage of future events in the movie right at the start of the thing, so already we’re going in with no doubts that Oliver is gonna go nuts. So we know that bad shit is gonna happen, and yet the movie pulls out a big Twist Ending reveal like we… weren’t supposed to know that he’s been bad from the beginning? We don’t need all these flashbacks to show us he’d planned his dastardly deeds offscreen the whole time when we’ve already seen him commit OTHER dastardly deeds ONSCREEN. He’s given zero motivation. He tells us he did what he did because he hates this rich family, starting with Jacob Elordi’s Felix, but he had planned the whole thing from before they ever even met, or saw how the family treats the other two main victims of class in the film, Pamela and Farleigh. When Oliver starts spinning his web, Felix has never been anything but genuinely kind to him. Felix never did him any personal wrong except being born handsome, popular, and rich.

That’s the other glaring issue. Fennell has said this is supposed be another one of these “eat the rich” satires, but…. beyond the usual foot-in-mouth clueless social blunders, the movie portrays none of the rich family as even all that bad. Oliver isn’t even all that poor! His family are revealed to be extremely comfortably upper-middle class! This is not Parasite!!! The worst ethical thing they do is cut off Farleigh from family money - but it’s obvious to the audience that this is actually Oliver’s fault. So all we’re left with is this main character who’s the worst of the lot, with no reason to do what he’s doing except for being an asocial loser creep. If you’re making a class satire in Britain and your message at the end of the film is “those creepy disgusting middle class will pervert and mutate themselves to have what the beautiful victimised rich people do” you’ve… uhh. Failed. Somewhere along the line.

It wants to be The Talented Mr Ripley, but it is confused and stupid. Given Fennell’s background and social circle, is it any wonder? It’s like she’s looked around at her fellow Eton Oxford lot and thought “so the poors hate us because we’re a bit silly and old fashioned, right? no wonder they’re jealous, we’re all so sexy and our houses are so nice! Of course they’d do anything to have this!” She hasn’t seemed to conceive of the fact that the working class in Britain hate the upper class because millions live in genuine poverty while they get to obstruct social change because of archaic birthright. That many people in Britain don’t actually want to be the upper class, they want an end to them.

The thing is, I had fun watching it. I laughed a lot, and then left the cinema distinctly unimpressed, as one often does after interacting with people who go to private school and are perfectly charming but clearly still think they’re better/smarter than you because they have generational land, or multiple houses. I worked for 6 years as the stable groom for the heiress to a publishing fortune, I’ve met plenty of these people, believe me. All this to say, that this is deeply frustrating because I would like to turn my brain off from the dodgy politics and just appreciate a movie that goes out of its way to be visually stylish and includes a scene where a sobbing Barry Keoghan gets naked and fucks the fresh grave of his boy best friend. Now that’s entertainment

#I love freaky weird stuff in movies that’s my favourite stuff #but not when it thinks it’s cool and clever for being freaky and weird #that’s being a tryhard #your movie should be freaky and weird because you are freaky and weird

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quesadillayuri · 5 months

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do u guys ever think about how the partners of those on the qsmp are gods and/or godesses in the lore. unrelated did u know that tommyinnit and tubbo underscore are legally married. just thought that was interesting.

Tubbo is, admittedly, not the best person.

He’s kind of a bit of a dick. He’s reckless, doesn’t have much regard for his own personal safety, let alone others, and he can be callous and rude and prickly and blunt. He’s not afraid to push buttons, literally or metaphorically, and he can be... explosive. Destructive, even. To say the least.

On further introspection, Tubbo realizes that he’s actually a lot more than a bit of a dick.

He doesn’t deserve this though. Probably.

Tubbo can’t remember much, but he’s almost entirely sure that he’s done nothing to deserve this. Literally no crime ever committed, ever, is worth this punishment.

“I hate you,” Tubbo sighs, for the ninetieth time in the past four minutes, “I hate you so much.” He pulls off his jacket, slipping his arms out of the sleeves and tossing the jacket in the general direction of the prick that can’t quite leave him alone. Tommy recoils at the jacket thrown across his face suddently, letting out a —incredibly cathartic for Tubbo— squak of surprise. Tubbo stomps away, leaving Tommy to reel away in his overblown, exaggerated horror at Tubbo’s dastardly actions, or whatever.

“This is, quite literally, very homophobic of you, Toby,” Tommy says, all faux-shock and concern, like Tubbo will believe him for a second. “Truly just so homophobic, I’m writing a twitlonger as we speak because Jesus, Toby—”

“You’re not even gay!” Tubbo bites out, left eye twitching. He stomps away, leaviTommy gasps at this, and Tubbo reminds himself that wringing his neck is not an option, despite it looking more and more appealing by the second.

“Oh, and how do you know that?” Tommy argues, walking right on Tubbo’s heels, “You really can’t base things on stereotypes, Toby, it’s incredibly offensive, you know? Just because I look straight and sound straight and act straight and— Oh, hi Em— say I’m straight doesn’t mean I am. What about me is straight to you?”

“Well, maybe the girlfriend, if I had to hazard a guess,” Tubbo says sarcastically, “Although I suppose that’s not relevant right now?”

He’s joking, obviously, because it’s very relevant.

“Oh Toby— Toby, Toby, Toby. Sweet, young Toby,” Tommy starts, and Tubbo knows he is not planning on stopping, “Of course, that’s not relevant. I’m talking about our marriage!”

“We’re not married,” Tubbo says, for the one-hundred ninetieth time in the last five minutes.

“Oh, ho-ho, but we are!” Tommy says, and Tubbo weighs the pros and cons of killing himself rapidly and graphically by throwing himself out of the nearest possible window. The pros are not currently outweighing the cons, but with how this conversation is going, they probably will soon.

“Sign the fucking divorce papers, Tommy,” Tubbo sighs, a little angry about how long this has been going on for, but mostly tired and resigned. And angry, because Tommy’s neck is looking so, so wringable right now, but mostly tired.

Tommy just laughs, and disappears in that frustrating, echoey way they all do. Em’s never far behind him, but Tubbo dispairingly turns to her at the kitchen counter anyway, for his own comfort. To her credit, she does offer him a smile, but at best it’s pitying, and at worst it’s amused. Tubbo thinks it might be both.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I think we both know it’s going to take more than that to get him to sign those papers,” Em says, and Tubbo groans.

“Why don’t you tell him?” Tubbo asks, desperate, but knowing the answer anyway.

“Because this way, it’s—”

“One thousand times funnier,” Tubbo finishes for her. He lacks the energy to even attempt to mock Tommy’s tone, but Tubbo hears his voice ringing in his head anyway. Em laughs, and then she disappears too. Tubbo squints at the place where they both were, like if he stares for long enough they will both reappear as reasonable, normal, willing-to-sign-the-divorce-papers sort of people. They don’t, because God hates Tubbo, and the world hates Tubbo, and the universe hates Tubbo.

The only thing that the universe did right was make sure that Tommy didn’t have the foresight to make him sign a prenup. At least Tubbo can get Tommy’s money when he finally signs the divorce papers.

If he ever signs the divorce papers.

Tubbo slams his head against the wall again.

Tubbo_: never get married

pactw: ?

Tubbo_: dont do it pac

pactw: ???????

#sorry i think im Really funny #also this has been stuck in my head all day bc i think marriage fraud tommy & tubbo is so fucking funny to me #like yea. tommy conned that man into getting married.#nothing better than that #tommyinnit #tubbo #qsmp #clingy duo #fanfic #fanfiction #.writing

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merakiui · 1 year

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imagine being a god who scaramouche worships and respects and admires greatly (to the point of unhealthy obsession). he is so devoted to you because you’ve been with him throughout every stage of his life. he met you as kabukimono, and you were a guiding light amidst all of the gloom that soon befell him. you showed him beauty amidst death and despair. you smiled at him when others looked upon him with fear and horror. you extended your kind hands in forgiveness, washing away bloodshed and grime, informing him of the worth of a mortal’s life. a fleeting, precious span of time in which they exist as flesh and blood—moments that are easily snuffed. you tell him, wise and understanding as ever, that he is not truly bad. that is he simply grappling with difficult concepts he can’t yet comprehend. that his mourning does not make him monstrous.

though this doesn’t justify all the villainous deeds he has done as kabukimono, it does leave quite the impact on him. and for once he thinks the gods are not so bad. you aren’t so bad. but then, when he was kabukimono, he was always so willing to explore, to trust and learn, to see and taste. to live unapologetically.

when he’s scaramouche, he hunts you down and captures you for himself. time has not been kind to a god such as yourself. you’ve grown weaker and are hardly worth any devotion now, which makes it quite easy to confine a poor, defenseless god such as yourself. but like you, time has also not been well to scaramouche. he is cruel and cold, hardened by the passage of decades. he is shattered glass that has been repaired with the glue of fallen enemies. he has no true allies—only fatui allies by circumstance, but even then these allies are not to be trusted or relied on. he is all alone, a being without hope. a being who shrouds himself in hatred and darkness so that he will never look or feel weak or “human” again.

he constantly reminds you that you are nothing. that your era has long since faded and that there’s no one left (aside from himself) who will remember you. even when he’s scaramouche, you still treat him kindly. even when he cuts into you with harsh remarks and insults, you smile at him. even when he tells you he could end your pitiful existence right here and now, you hold your hands out and ask for his permission to sing a lullaby. if his mood happens to be good, he may allow it. the first time you sung him a lullaby was your last. you’ll never know why, but scaramouche does. it’s because your sweet voice and the stories you weaved into song were enough to bring forth buried emotions. it was enough to make him feel human. it was enough to bring him to tears.

as shouki no kami, he requests that you be present for when he finally becomes a true god. he will never admit to it, but one of his reasons for seeking godhood was so that he could be closer to you. or perhaps even above you as a being of divine power. maybe then he could restore some of your weakened powers so that he could ensure you would never wither away into nothing. shouki no kami does not seem to hate you as he did when he was scaramouche. rather, he seems confident in himself and his abilities. he will sculpt a new era with you at his side. when he’s a god, perhaps you will finally recognize him as someone worthy of disapproval and frowns, for you’ve only ever shown him sweetness and smiles, even when he was at his most dastardly. for once, he seeks not your love but your scrutiny.

when he emerges into the world as wanderer, he meets you once more. this time you greet him with a smile, but you can’t recognize him. you don’t recall the bloodstained history you’ve shared with him, for it no longer exists. yet you still smile. the one who subjected you to such cruelty stands before you and even though you don’t recall him you still smile. you take his hands in your warm ones as you had done in the past and you smile.

wanderer isn’t sure why this is enough to have tears forming at the corners of his eyes, but oddly enough he lowers to his knees, pulls your hands closer to where his vision rests against his chest, and he asks you to sing him a lullaby. you have always been a selfless, caring god, so you lower into the grass with him, embrace him firmly, and you sing a familiar melody.

lesser lord kusanali has told him that all beings are worthy of second chances. wanderer thinks this is both a second chance and a punishment, for the emotions that overwhelm him hurt. but it’s a pain that’s special. it’s a pain that reminds him of his sordid past.

it reminds him that even he, a wanderer without a name or a background or a home, is worthy of divine acceptance.

#meraki mumbles #yandere scaramouche

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nichenarratives · 8 months

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Asymmetrical Atrocity

An Obscure Oneshot

Inspiration Art by Tracy J Butler

Mordecai Heller has done a lot of dastardly things in his line of work. He murdered the competition, tortured information from the mouths of gangsters and threw numerous bodies into both rivers surrounding Saint Louis, all at the behest of his savior turned employer. Atlas May is a discerning man of many accomplishments, one who knows when to conduct a business intervention to protect his investments, and when a massacre is the only way to send a message, which is what Mordecai manages alongside Viktor, his cohort.

The tom tuxedo appreciates swift, decisive action as much as the entrepreneur who owns the Lackadaisy Speakeasy. As such, he rarely finds grievance with expectation, carrying out every assignment with extreme prejudice and efficiency. Alongside Viktor's sheer strength and bulk, they form a formidable partnership that's seen the underground liquor spring swell in popularity, creating quite the business for the ever-ambitious Atlas May.

This is work Mordecai excels at, even prefers despite the moral ambiguity most would consider troubling. What he doesn't enjoy are the languid, supposedly quiet stretches of time between jobs, where he is forced to attend Mrs May's exhaustingly raucous parties. Sometimes, he can convince Atlas to let him work instead and buries his nose in the Little Daisy Cafe's books, changing expenses and stock to hide their underground extracurriculars.

But not tonight.

Atlas is out of town collecting his goddaughter - why anyone would want responsibility for a child that isn't even theirs is beyond Mordecai - and taken Viktor with him, meaning other than the band and Horatio, everyone to step foot inside the Lackadaisy that evening would be a potential threat to his wife's life. Atlas has specifically ordered his sharpshooter to stay close to her all evening, so there is no escaping it.

Tonight, he's Mitzi May's bodyguard.

While he never needs an excuse to dress properly, the tom had taken time to dress correctly for tonight; a black three piece suit over a crisp, white shirt, his trademark blood red tie pressed and carefully secured about his neck before it's tucked into his waistcoat and secured with a silver pin, a holster on each shoulder each containing loaded pistols (obscured under his jacket, for security), a knife in each garter beneath his slacks and of course, the piece de resistance - a pocket square matching his tie.

His wayward hair carefully smoothed down and pince-nez shined to perfection, he'd reported to Mrs May's rooms at precisely six, as requested. He at least feels at home dressed up - poor Viktor always looks ridiculously uncomfortable in a suit - even if he's dreading the actual party. He takes a moment to check his pocket square is properly placed before rapping his knuckles on her door.

"Come in, door's open."

The reply is immediate, but Mordecai hesitates on the threshold, hand still curled and raised uselessly in the air. He assumed she'd be ready on time. As such, the possibility of entering her room was not considered. He hangs in purgatory for a long moment, trapped between refusal and potential repercussions should anything happen to her in the next few seconds, then sighs and pushes the door open.

"Good evening, Mrs May," he greets upon entry, closing the door behind him before surveying the room. Not one to keep a clean house but hardly a slob either, Mitzi's room is clean but in general disarray; her bed isn't made, the closet hangs open, and her vanity table is cluttered with numerous vials, pots, lipsticks and more he doesn't care to identify. "It's time to welcome your esteemed guests into the Lackadaisy Speakeasy."

Mitzi sits at her vanity, leaning close to finish her makeup. She doesn't look over when Mordecai walks in, but an eye does track his reflection. "Of course," she says, pausing to dab her finest brush into the liquid eyeliner bottle. Satisfied it's sufficiently soaked, she raises it back to her face and returns her gaze to the ceiling. "I'm just finishing up, sweetie. Take a seat if you like."

Pale lips curl into a grimace. "No, thank you," he refuses, as politely as he can manage. Mordecai has no idea when she last changed the sheets - he prefers to change his weekly, when possible - nor if she's ever dusted. He doesn't intend to find out by coating his pristine suit in dust. His tail flicks slightly in agitation as he stays by the door. "I'll wait here."

"Suit yourself," Mitzi responds, accustomed to the odd tom after years of his service. She once tried to loosen the man up by asking about his family, but that only seemed to make him more distant. Since then, she's left Mordecai to his own devices, allowing Atlas to handle his peculiarities. Her own interactions with the tuxedo cat are more for entertainment than friendship now. "Are you going to dance tonight? I've invited plenty of young ladies who'd love to-"

"I'd rather not be in attendance," Mordecai answers flatly, his chin lifted very slightly as he grimaces. Mitzi suppresses a sigh as she sits back and studies her eyeliner. Makeup is such a chore sometimes, but a necessity when you have an image to keep. Satisfied, she screws the cap back on the bottle and wipes the brush off on cotton wool, an ear turned to her bodyguard as he continues. "However, Mr May has requested my attendance, therefore it is unavoidable."

The dolled-up feline hums in agreement; Mordecai isn't an enthralling party guest, unless you wish to listen to a man describe the main differences between monocotyledons and dicotyledons in excruciating detail, all in a flat monotone. If she had a choice, she'd have kept Viktor. At least could be loosened up with a drink or ten. "Well, I'm ready. Why don't we take our delightful conversation down to the-"

Glancing at Mordecai's reflection, she sees his eyes narrow, and Mitzi releases a tired huff. "What?" She asks as she turns around to face the pedantic accountant. An ear twitch and a deeper frown is the only response she gets, to which Mitzi glares right back. Atlas might enjoy his nonverbal communication, but she finds it irritating. "Come on, spit it out, Mordecai. The guests aren't getting any younger."

"Your eyeliner," the tom responds flatly. Mrs May turns back to the mirror and scrutinizes her reflection closely, checking for drips and smudges, or misplaced drops on her otherwise flawless skin and outfit. She's practically going insane trying to find the problem when Mordecai finally finished speaking. "Is asymmetrical."

She almost groans. Almost. Why does the man have to be so peculiar? "Is that all?" She asks, waving off his concern to instead fluff up her hair some more, running fingers through the freshly washed waves. They slide effortlessly from root to tip, as perfect as Mitzi planned. "No one will care if it's a little crooked once they taste the liquor, sweetie. My darling Atlas secured the best from Canada in our last shipment. They won't be sober long enough to notice."

"I've noticed," Mordecai asserts, finally stepping away from the door to approach his employer's wife. "Respectfully, should I spend the majority of your precious event distracted by symmetrical sacrilege, my efficacy will be compromised."

Mitzi turns in her seat and regards her employee tiredly, only to shrug a moment later. "Eyeliner is a fine art, sweetie. It could take hours to get it entirely even on both sides. We can't leave our guests waiting that long, can we?" Thinking she has him dead to rights, the feline woman opens both eyes and smirks at her husband's golden boy confidently. "Unless you can fix them in five minutes, it'll have to do."

If she's expecting some kind of emotional reaction, Mitzi is sorely mistaken. Mordecai glances at the discarded brush on the vanity, then the uneven lines framing her upper lids. He's fairly sure a child could do better, but for once, the tom decides to keep that thought to himself and instead looks around the room. Locating a small chaise, he pulls it over to the vanity - much to Mitzi's dismay. "What are you-"

Turning over the seat cushion before sitting down to avoid the dust, he then raises his hands, palms open expectantly. "Your brush and face paint," he requests with his expression set seriously, flexing his fingers for emphasis. "And erase your attempts of both eyes entirely. I prefer a blank canvas."

For the next seven minutes, Mordecai leans towards the other feline, coaching her which eye to close, where to look and sometimes, informing minor technique corrections he suggests for the future. Mitzi stays quiet and complies with his requests, mostly from pure curiosity if he'll be able to paint eyeliner as cleanly as he aims a pistol. She's not met a man who can frame an eye right yet, so she might even forgive his arrogance if he does a good enough job.

The few times she does look at Mordecai directly, his gaze is intense and focused, fine lips pressed into a finer line in the depths of focus. Mitzi isn't sure he's ever been so close before - even when she was having him tailored for fresh, tidy suits and had to measure his neck ad-hoc for the collar. It's honestly disconcerting and she quickly looks away.

"There," he finally states after what feels like a year. Entirely uninvited, Mordecai takes a gentle hold of her chin and turns her head from side to side to inspect his handiwork. Taken by surprise, Mitzi allows him to do so until he hums in approval and releases her, only to grimace at the powder residue now on his fingers. "I will never understand the need to slather your face in chemicals, but it is now symmetrical, at least. I'll wash my hands, then we can go."

Taking the brush and pot when they're offered, Mitzi turns to the mirror to inspect his work and is pleasantly surprised to find he's framed her eyes beautifully. He even added a small whisper of eyeliner off the lid and extended it slightly to her cheek, giving the impression of fuller lashes when her eyes are open. Mrs May blinks, tilting her head from side to side, marveling at how fine it is and indeed, how symmetrical the quiet sharpshooter has managed to make them.

"Let's get this over with," Mordecai mutters as he re-enters the room, adjusting the cufflinks beneath his suit jacket. His eyes land on Mitzi, once again staring in the mirror, and an irritated murr slips through pursed lips. "Mrs May, while I admire your devotion to setting an immaculate visage in your husband's absence, there is only so much superficial modification careful artistry can achieve. Let's go."

It was in that moment, as Mordecai stalked for the door to hold it open like the gentlemanly type he certainly had not just spoken like, Mitzi decided she'd convinced the girls that dancing with her reclusatory bodyguard was the pinnacle of high society.

Insert the ficus comic here…

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randomfoggytiger · 3 months

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Mulder's Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part V): The Mutual Pain of Reconnection

As established previously in Part IV, Mulder switched from apathetically observant to actively distrustful: while he was gone, Scully partnered up with a new guy on Kersh’s say-so, didn’t bother to relay this information, and spoke highly of him after working a mere six months alongside him. Mulder's trust cracked, misconstruing her silence as a tell of her kneejerk “what does it matter?” denial. Doggett then became a convenient target, the representation of the shadowy men that caused him to lose six irrecoverable months of his life. Scully and Skinner, he thinks, were too caught up trying to find him that they didn’t notice the new recruit was yet another in a line of befriendings and betrayals.

Mulder’s anger was roused, channeling his helplessness into an aggressive goal: make the men who did this to him stop. Decided, he got up to get ready for work, asserting his position in spite of Kersh's authority and Scully's new "above reproach" partner.

And in the wake of these burgeoning resolutions, Doggett conveniently (so Mulder presumes) becomes MIA.

Mulder Is Back and Not Moving

As… terrible as Season 8’s mytharc is, it will have to, unfortunately, bleed into this review here and there to set key pieces in order.

Now thoroughly suspicious and grasping at the familiar-- conspiracies and enemies behind every corner-- Mulder ducks away from dealing with the darker reality of his shambled purpose and looming PTSD and back into work: sniffing out a motive and capturing a villain. Kersh might be trying to shut him down, but he’s certainly not going to let the files be handed over to his boss’s newest bootlicker. He may be banished from the basement, but he’s never followed orders, anyway. Let them all naysay-- they’ll see.

He cheekily texts Scully during her and Skinner’s manhunt meeting (knowing she’ll pass the message along) and waits, comfortably, for them to walk through the door with the infamous, dastardly Doggett. Quite literally, the audience’s first glimpse of him back in the basement is of the bottom of his shoes parked possessively on top of his desk, followed by a guarded, impudent, “I dare you to tell me to move” smile. Message loud and clear: I’m back, and I’m staying; and I’d like to see anyone try to give me the boot.

Even during his years as Kersh’s toilet brush holder, Mulder never acted out to this blatant degree. Back then, he and Scully kept their heads down, weathering the storm in the short term to get their files back in the long run. Now, Mulder is willfully antagonistic, a provocateur with a slipping smile and studied carelessness. Apparently, a lot changes when you come back from the dead and find you've been replaced.

But, though strained and a tad too forced, Mulder still spares a genuine “Hey” for Scully as she waddles in with Skinner at her heels.

An interesting note: Samantha’s picture is placed at an angle for him to easily glance at when looking up from pilfered evidence, a beacon of his past bookended by a pile of stacked X-Files documents to the left and his rebellious shoes to the right-- another very deliberate shot.

“Mulder….” Scully warns, approaching slowly. She’s not finger-wagging, lecturing, or even harshly discouraging him. Instead, she lets the silence hang between them, waiting for whatever Mulder will pull out from his sleeve.

Mulder rewards her anticipation with a quip-- “Who says you can’t go home again?”-- and it’s almost like old times… except she’s not as welcoming here as she was at his apartment.

Drumming his fingers against the paper, he waits for their next move. Scully fills in the gap, picking up where she left off.

“What are you doing here?”

His mood instantly shifts: mirth gone, Mulder's smirk freezes in place as his eyes slightly harden and laser in on his partner, guessing and second-guessing what she meant. “What’s it look like?”

Rejection is blazing across his face. Mulder expected trouble from Kersh-- but not from Scully.

He’s one confirmation away from being crushed.

Skinner cuts in, recognizing this Mulder: a belligerent man bent on a spite mission. “It looks like you want to give them some real ammunition to use on you-- that’s what it looks like.”

Amused, Mulder bats away Skinner’s astute point. “Hey, I am just down here visiting my buds.” A very un-Mulder expression, and a glaring, blinking neon sign pointing directly at the bee in his bonnet.

Readjusting his position to assume a more respectable, authoritative stance, he turns his glib remarks into a direct poke at the true interloper: “Where is this Agent Doggett, anyway? What hours does he keep?”

Mulder will continue to mark his territory this scene, scoffing at Doggett’s unprofessionalism and underhanded dealings while unashamedly posing himself as the only other person the X-Files needs. There’s not much Scully and Skinner can do about that matter; but he is determined to remind them that Doggett isn’t needed or wanted and should scuttle off back to whatever dark, primordial ooze Kersh summoned him from.

“Please, you do not want to stir that up right now.”

‘Please’ interests Mulder: Scully is serious, but not serious enough to avoid a slight banter in her turn of phrase. Furthermore, the statement is intriguing in and of itself; and, wanting to know more about the situation without sacrificing the impersonal high ground, he adopts a humorous stance.

“Why?” He asks, mock-serious (and underneath that mockery is insistence.)

Skinner again interjects. “Because we have a manhunt in progress and I want Agent Doggett running it.”

It isn’t meant to be a swipe at Mulder; however, he’s not going to let this go-- their boss wants Doggett in Scully’s absence, not Mulder, on the case. And, yes, Skinner has little authority over Mulder with Kersh standing between them-- and Mulder is aware of this-- but he also isn’t sorry to delegate the task to the ‘replacement’, either.

Mulder pulls out his ace card and waves it for emphasis: a squirreled away photocopy. And not just any photocopy: one with a connection no one else found. (Evidence that leads him straight to the Conspiracy’s doorstep. How convenient.)

It works. Scully and Skinner draw nearer, eating out of his hand as Mulder spells out his theory.

This scene is interesting because Mulder has been making some assessments of his own. When Skinner dropped into his apartment to deliver Kersh’s threat, Mulder disguised how carefully he was watching Scully and his former boss's interactions. As discussed in the previous part (post here), he concluded there was nothing to be jealous of; but also that the two now worked as a team rather than the hot and cold professional routine they’d danced in the past. Here Mulder wheedles them both in, watching Skinner and Scully hold their own council and act together as an oppositional force to his newest hairbrained scheme. The changes in his absence have gone far beyond a new partner and a baby on the way-- the basement is getting crowded; and he’ll find out how much so when talking to TLG in Scully’s apartment later.

“Because I noticed that the man who was shot on the White House lawn was one of the men in that photograph. Top right hand corner? In profile? Howard Salt, if I’m not mistaken?”

Some of Mulder’s tension is melting away; or rather transforming into his intensity of the hunt, the chase, of the ever-elusive truth. Some of his natural animation shines through as he delicately hands Scully the picture, tilts his head around, and pumps his eyebrows in the proper places.

Mulder’s right on the money, immediately. As usual.

Scully is torn: heavy-hearted at this ‘proof’ of how impossible her and Doggett’s efforts had been to fill Mulder’s shoes, and proud that her partner so easily slipped back into them and hit the ground running.

And Scully shows her own growth, (albeit reluctantly), confirming “He’s right” to Skinner and “You’re right” to Mulder.

She’s not enthusiastic with this development-- she wanted Mulder back at work but not as a threat to his own career-- but, like old times, a part of her is thrilled to be on her old partner’s madcap journey to the truth.

Mulder’s animation switches with the darker turn of his voice: “Consider that a freebie. Next one’s gonna cost you.”

And he means it, sending a message loud and clear: Don’t underestimate me. Don’t devalue me. And don’t try to stop me.

“Why? What else do you know?” Skinner asks grimly.

“Oh, I don’t know anything,” Mulder responds, shrugging his shoulders in a demonstration of ignorance.

“But you know me, I’ve got a real big hunch,” he continues, wetting his lips for the bombshell. “This Howard Salt? Was a multiple alien abductee, worked for the Census Bureau. Wanted to get word to the President? Unspecified grievances? What d’ya wanna bet those grievances were?”

Scully is already keyed up, anticipating where this is going. “You think he knew something.”

“I think they killed him for it,” he agrees, sitting back and further away. A comfortable distance from this topic’s implications and any potential Scully mind-reading scrutiny.

Skinner’s “A man jumped the White House fence-- he had a gun” is logical, but weak; and Mulder smoothly parries that counterpoint: “Once again, I’m a betting man. I’m betting he had more than that.”

Scully decides now is the time to say “Mulder, you make it sound like it’s a conspiracy.”

“Ooh,” he shivers sarcastically, “there’s that word again.”

Mulder is not in the mood for Scully’s skepticism, denial, and any other deflection. Not when he is living proof of this harmful Conspiracy, not when Agent Doggett is in their midst, and not when bad things are still happening and will happen again. And especially not when they could happen to him.

Mulder started out Three Words smiling-- or trying to-- at Scully, behaving as sympathetically as he could amidst the dawning horror of his memories. That changed the next day after his homecoming when it was revealed his partner had a new partner and didn’t plan to tell him. It cut deep, and ripped open old scabs of former poor choices Scully made to deflect ugly truths she didn’t want to deal with or believe in. Mulder doesn’t know what she has or hasn't proved, what is or isn't accurate; and that hitches his paranoia at the world up a few thousand notches. She was his rock upon reentry. He was depending on her silent strength… and now he doesn’t know if he can trust if her perspective is balanced or biased. It is unfair of Mulder to question her judgment so harshly; but he’s already in a tailspin, can’t see clearly, and just wants answers. And as much as Mulder wants to vent some of his anger at her, he can’t. He keeps Scully close, taking her with him (nearly) everywhere he goes. He’s snippy, snappy, and short, but never physically distant-- a sign of true Mulder rage.

“You’re being paranoid, Mulder,” Skinner scoffs, “even for you.”

Mulder strips his theatrics in one fell swoop, laying out the big picture quickly and efficiently; and appeals to their common sense and trust in his judgment. He hopes there’s still enough of both to go around.

“You wanna hear something really paranoid? The FBI gets its way, there’s gonna be nobody down here to ask the paranoid questions-- nobody to find those faces in those photographs.”

Mulder’s proven his point. It isn’t ego that is driving Mulder to double-down on his suspicions. It’s a healthy dose of fear and pessimism that there’s a train barreling down the tracks and no one else is trying to stop it.

“Surely not this Agent Doggett,” he concludes, locking eyes with Scully.

She understands she’s been reproved-- for the second time in the episode-- and now wonders how she’ll have to navigate this, too, on top of Mulder’s other odd behaviors.

But she doesn’t have to wonder for long.

Mulder and Scully Bridge the Gap...

Mulder brings her along to the forbidden evidence room, using her natural cautiousness, personal interest, and innate curiosity to keep her engaged even when Scully wants to flee.

“Mulder, I know you know this but if anything leaves this room you could be in violation of the law,” she rambles, a shade of the old times peeking through-- tramping up haunted stairs to the rhythm of their footsteps while her lighthearted lectures echoed around them.

“Really. When I was dead, I was hoping they’d changed the rules,” Mulder deadpans, moving away from the moment and deeper into the bowels of work, work, work.

Scully awkwardly pauses, then passes over his crack. “Mulder, just being here could be used by Kersh as cause for dismissal.”

And here is where Mulder tests her resolve to see if the Scully behind him will still walk that tightrope at his side: “Then why don’t you shut the door so he doesn’t find out?” He swiftly looks over his shoulder to show his vague remark was an open-ended invitation, and just as swiftly turns back around, not wanting to watch her make the final decision. In, or out.

Against her better judgment, Scully chooses-- as always-- the siren call of Mulder’s next adventure. Ever the thrill-seeker, even if 8 months pregnant.

“I just don’t know what you’re hoping to find in Howard Salt’s personal effect,” she clarifies, having drifted within a safe distance of Mulder's slashing pocketknife.

“Neither do I, really,” he admits while doing his own version of slicing and dicing, “Maybe it’s like Howard Salt’s picture-- I’ll know it when I see it.”

“So you’ll risk the consequences,” Scully says, softly; but that softness bleeds away as his ill-advised plan takes shape in her head, “even though there may be nothing here.”

“You don’t get it, do you, Scully?” he replies; but it’s a mild reproof. They’re talking; and because her interest in his motives, in him, is second nature to their dynamic, it’s pulling them both back into the old ways, leeching the feeling of “one man alone” from his shoulders and giving him hope that Scully will still keep up with him, junior or new rat partner nonetheless-- that she still thinks he’s worth keeping up with. That even if she made a wrong judgment call, she’s grown as a person enough to admit it and correct her mistakes-- even if the truth is one of her partner’s unsubstantial hunches. “A man shot up the White House, a prisoner escaped, there’s something bubbling to the surface here. I want to know what it is.”

Scully notices that he’s settling and takes heart, voice piping up as she begins her rote rational monologue. Cadence slipping between energetic and calming (a dance between her lifting mood and her forced monotone for Mulder’s recovery’s sake), she narrates the past few days, hoping to serve as a helpful self-reflection.

“Mulder, you… have been through an ordeal that defies all logical explanation-- how can you think that these… two men have the answers when they defy all standard of credibility?”

Mulder does not like this at all, batting back her rationale with a little more force than was his want before. “And since when does an X-File not defy a certain standard of credibility?” He pauses and locks eyes with Scully-- an action he’s strategized around as much as possible since his hospital release (always walking one step ahead or looking at another person in the room or peering fixedly into a file)-- as he, again, brings the topic back to his greatest fear: “Or that’s the way it used to work.”

Scully doesn’t bother to rebut, returning his gaze with confusion and a little frustration.

Mulder interprets this correctly; and lowers one of his walls with an increasingly softening tone. “Look, Scully, I… I need to make sense of what happened to me so that I can stop it. Because if I can’t stop it, it could happen to anyone. It could happen to you.” He half-pivots in her direction but doesn’t lock eyes, swivelling back before adding, “And who’s to say it’ll stop there?” It’s an oblique reference to their child, Mulder-style; and an even more oblique acknowledgement of his paternity as well: I was abducted, you could be abducted, too, and who else could also be abducted like me? The baby.

The paternity question has already been discussed at length here and here; but since we all know Mulder knows it’s his, the tiny acknowledgements he drops here and there (looking at her bump in Empedocles’s end scene, “tell the kid I went down swinging” in Vienen, “Boy? Or girl” in Alone, etc.) are especially important to watch out for-- and the above was one of them.

Scully lays her cards on the table, too: “Mulder, if you go down, the X-Files goes down, too.”

An interesting observation:

Scully considers Mulder the lifeblood of the X-Files, meaning without him there the files would cease to have meaning.

In that vein of thought, Scully didn’t consider herself as that lifeblood during his abduction and death; which means she is carrying around massive guilt at “failing” the mission in his absence-- that Starbuck complex again-- and having those failings “confirmed” by Mulder’s on-the-fly deductions the first day back.

Scully hasn’t realized how deeply invested she is in the files outside of her attachment to Mulder. In Deadalive, we see her moving about the basement like a widow returning bittersweetly to mourn her dead; here, she insists the X-Files will go down if Mulder doesn’t toe the line. But in Alone, she drifts back, wanting to help Doggett (and later Reyes, if you watch past Season 8) despite Mulder drawing her away from the files.

As much as she hoped for a “normal” life outside of Mulder’s work (Dreamland I, Arcadia, Biogenesis, etc.), Scully found that this was what she wanted for her life (All Things.) But finding out about their baby, losing Mulder, and forcing herself to take his place all this time has kicked up her self-doubts and inadequacies.

Scully and Mulder are both clinging to the files as their sense of normalcy, trying to use it as an escape from their personal troubles (as usual.) Mulder, as we know, is dodging his PTSD and the revolutionary changes of the past six months; Scully is avoiding the compounding sense of failure she feels-- not pulling the X-Files’ weight to her standards, walking around as a constant reminder of the time her partner has lost, being unable to give him his office back, and hurting him over and over again by her misplaced reticence. The wonder of it all is that they’re still working as a team in spite of their struggles, personally and with each other.

Mulder nods, raising his eyebrows and chewing on his lips as he continues searching. He’s willing to gamble.

“I mean, theoretically, they could put you in prison for what you’re doing here!” Scully’s forced calm is lifting with her impassioned speech, scrambling from reason to reason to back her partner down from the ledge he is hurling himself towards. She takes his recklessness as a sign that he’s not coping well-- and she’s correct-- but since Mulder won’t listen to reason, she can’t figure out how to dissuade his stubbornness.

“Yeah, well,” he huffs, “compared to where I was, prison is a princess cruise.”

It’s the first allusion to his capture and torture; and Mulder, of course, keeps his head down and eyes away.

Scully is frustrated and hurt, having smacked up against a wall she can’t guide them away from; and, since Mulder is refusing to see the error of his ways, she turns and heads for the door. It’s the same forwards-and-backwards cycle all over again: he advances, she offers a counterpoint; he deflects in a way that leaves her feeling bruised and unwanted, she retreats in self-preservation; he makes it up to her (off-screen), they move forward. In this case, Mulder won't be reasoned with; and Scully determines not to stick around waiting to be arrested when the baby's due in a few, short weeks.

Just as she’s about to leave, Mulder calls her back-- not even with the answer he’s looking for, but AN answer that’ll keep her from walking out. Again, Mulder is as desperate to keep Scully around this episode as Scully is to be around.

Like always, Scully’s curiosity is piqued at Mulder’s intrigued exclamations; and she waits by the door, debating with herself as a mere formality. He’s already won this round.

Mulder waits for her to saunter over without saying anything else, letting his engrossed demeanor speak volumes for him. Scully nonchalantly scoots back into position, trying to make sense of the numbers and letters flying by.

“It’s been encrypted,” she sighs, slipping her eyes closed while surrendering to the inevitable.

“Hm,” he agrees, snapping the laptop shut and turning it in each direction.

The seconds tick by until Scully gives in again. “What are you doing?” she asks, finally reopening her eyes.

“I’m gonna book myself on that princess cruise,” he mutters, pleased.

As Mulder deftly locates and unclicks the drive, Scully reaches out and snatches it from him. For a split second, his face rehardens into hostility, fading doubts resurfacing at breakneck speed-- all this progress they’ve made, only to be overturned because of a threat to her job.

“I’ll book it for you,” she concludes, resolute. She’s still Scully; and Scully’s still in this together with him.

Delighted, Mulder packs everything back up and rushes after his partner’s speedy getaway.

Back in Action (with Patch-Ups Ahead)

Mulder and Scully are back at it again. While far from perfect, they have managed-- in their own, special way-- to find understanding, respect, and equilibrium again in order to, once more, save the day.

…Or so we hope.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

#txf #Mulder's Alien Baby Baby Trauma #Part V #The Mutual Pain of Reconnection #Mulder #Scully #Skinner #Three Words #S8 #xf meta #meta #xfiles #x-files #the x files #In-Depth #analysis #mine

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luminitewrites · 1 year

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In a Different Light: Scene One

Time for some actors to sleuth it up :) Here's the first part to the very long Sleuth Jesters!actor AU. Thank you to @naffeclipse for creating the wonderful og series that inspired this and for letting me play with these characters as always 💜 AO3 link has been included in case of reader preference because of the word count, but the full fic will also be below.

Also, I'm aware that in a real world scenario, the cast would not be using their actual names in film. Thankfully, this is not the real world, so for the sake of the story, please suspend your disbelief and imagine that it is completely acceptable and normal for all actors to not use different names unless they choose to lol

Hope you all enjoy!

Rating: T Word Count: ~20,500 (yes, you read that correctly) Content Warnings: Mildly suggestive dialogue Summary: “You’ve caught me. The dastardly plan I’ve been secretly concocting this whole time is just a trap to put you to work. But I hear there’s a reward for those who lend a helping hand.”

You perk up.

“A reward?”

The dark rings in his optics slide over to you sidelong, smug at your interest.

“You’ll see,” he purrs.

~~~

“So let me get this straight. You’re actually afraid of children?” you ask around a mouthful of sandwich one early December afternoon between shoots.

The lunch rush is always chaotic and a whirlwind, but you’ve managed to snag a table with Sun and Moon to take a breather outside in the food tent, regardless of the cold. You’re scarfing down your meal, an unhealthy habit you’ve picked up in your career, but luckily, your friends don’t mind it too much. Moon does nudge your water bottle closer to you in a very unsubtle hint. You accept it with a roll of your eyes but obediently pause in your munching to take a sip and wash down the bite of grilled chicken and focaccia.

Sun scoffs and points a finger at you.

“Okay, first of all, rude. Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Another finger is held up. “And second of all, I wouldn’t say that—”

“Terrified would be a better word,” Moon chimes in, earning an unamused glare from his brother. He grins back unrepentantly. “Sun’s always been a little twitchy around the ankle biters.”

“That’s just not at all true!”

You hide your own grin when you pick back up your sandwich. It does little to conceal the sound of your stifled tittering or the slight shake of your shoulders. The exasperation on Sun’s faceplate is enough to have you nearly choking on your next bite.

“I’m just not made for children, that’s all!” he adamantly protests, gesticulating with his arms and splaying them wide. “It’s not that I don’t like them. But sometimes when I look at a child, they just start crying. For no reason! I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle that, and I doubt you do either. Did you see how the producer’s little girl reacted when she saw me the other day?”

“Sun, you were covered in fake blood from the take we’d just finished.” Moon shakes his head, chuckling. “She wasn’t scared of you.”

“Hmph. Could’ve fooled me! Regardless, I’m relieved that they’ve decided to not film any scenes of us as,” Sun shudders, “daycare attendants.”

You tsk and lift a brow. Sun narrows his sights on you, and you swallow your food this time before speaking.

“Don’t rule it out just yet. The director might choose to include some backstory after all.”

His yellow finger is menacingly jabbed your way again in warning.

“It wasn’t in the script, so I refuse to hear out any such nonsense. The point still stands that I am not and never have been qualified to be a caretaker and thus should never be put in charge of any children.”

Considering Sun’s track record of handling kids, you can’t quite fault him for thinking that, but you’re not so ready to agree either. You’ve seen his interactions with Gregory, and he’s been just fine. Before you can say as such, someone else joins the conversation.

“I’ll drink to that,” the new voice smoothly cuts in, and all three of you turn.

Within the split second that it takes for your brain to register what you’re seeing, your hand flies to your mouth to stop the sound that wants to tumble out. Sun and Moon, however, have no qualms bursting into bright peals of laughter.

“Eclipse,” you gasp behind your fingers, fighting back the strong urge to join the hooligans howling next to you, “what happened to your clothes?”

Said animatronic stands at the end of your table with a grimace, adorned in a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants that are both unquestionably three sizes too small. You lean back to peer under the table and get a full view, and sure enough, his pants barely reach mid-calf, made all the more comical by the sandals on his feet and the socks he’s pulled up to cover everything else. The sleeves of his hoodie barely extend past his elbows, and it’s more like a crop top than anything else. Were it not for how tightly the poor fabric was constricted across his broad frame, the loungewear would appear comfortable. In fact, you recognize it as the brand he and occasionally his brothers prefer to wear outside of shoots.

The absurdly tall animatronic heaves a deep, annoyed sigh.

“It would seem that someone—though I’m certain it couldn’t possibly be anyone at this table—snuck into my trailer while I was showering and switched out all of my clothes for these much smaller sizes. It’s strange, but they almost seem like they’d fit Sunny and Moonie perfectly. Isn’t that odd?”

Sun somehow manages to snort despite not even having a nose. His whistle-like snickering is not at all subdued, but he does attempt to fight through it to scrape together a response.

“Yes, how very odd. Can’t imagine who’d pull such a terrible prank.”

“You look like you were shoved inside of a dryer,” Moon cackles.

“Be nice!” You tut and playfully swat his arm but lose the war in reeling back your own chuckling. “He clearly just rolled out of bed.”

Unimpressed by the table’s amusement at his expense, Eclipse glowers with a deadpan expression. He tries to cross his arms but swiftly realizes he can’t when the fabric strains at the slightest pull and gives a heinous ripping sound in response. His arms drop back uselessly at his sides as he sighs with defeat etched onto his faceplate, sending Sun, Moon, and now you into another side-splitting round of laughter.

“I want my clothes back,” the metallic storm cloud snarls.

“Personally, I think you should act in the next scene like this,” you remark as soon as you can catch your breath. There might be tears in your eyes. “What are we filming tonight again? The car stunt?”

“Oh, that’ll be perfect,” Sun agrees, optics forming white crescents with his cheeky grin. “What’s more menacing than an animatronic leaning out of a car window during a high-speed chase in his pajamas?”

“Do not assume that I am above strangling all of you,” Eclipse growls.

Moon nods and offers a slow, sarcastic clap.

“Perfect, just like that. You’ve already got the brooding down beautifully.”

Even as you laugh and shake your head, you reach over and pat Eclipse’s arm sympathetically.

“There, there. I’m sure if we go raid their trailers now, we can find your missing clothes. Let’s go get you out of those pants and hoodie.”

In a flash, Eclipse’s grimace transitions into a small but ruthlessly vicious smile. His sun rays create a draft from how fast they spin just as you realize your mistake.

“Oh?” he purrs. “Are you offering to help?”

You sigh, trying to ignore the unwanted warmth that tries to fill your cheeks as you get to your feet.

“Easy there, buddy. Save practicing your mob boss lines for later.”

“Who’s practicing?” His smirk is far too cocky for someone dressed in socks and sandals, so you just focus on picking up the trash from your lunch and tossing it in the nearby garbage can.

“What do you two have on your schedule after lunch?” you ask the other celestial brothers.

Moon turns so that he can see you.

“Presumably, we’ll be back to shooting the precinct scene with Cafaro. So that’ll take up most of the day.”

“Okay, then I’ll probably see you boys around six. And after we’re done with the car takes, maybe we could leave together?”

Sun chuckles, resting the bottom of his faceplate on the palm of his hand.

“Planning another sleepover?”

You hum and artfully brush a hand through your ponytail, your costume’s bells ringing.

“I just like to be committed to my craft. I’m stepping into character so that I’ll be extra prepared for my role tomorrow.”

“And you wonder why our coworkers spread scurrilous rumors about us,” Eclipse sighs. Nonetheless, his smile is warm. “I’ll make sure to cook something tasty just for you. What type of cuisine would you like? Thai? Indian? Italian?”

Your mouth almost salivates just at the offer alone, well-acquainted with the animatronic’s cooking. You nod eagerly.

“Yes to all of the above.”

Eclipse’s laugh is just as pleasant as his grin. You gleefully accept his large arm around your shoulders as he steers you away to the trailers outside, though it’s more so a graze of his fingers along your shoulder blade since he’s so damn tall. Glancing back, you wave to Sun and Moon, beaming at the returned gestures from them both.

Your friendship with the three brothers began mere months ago at the start of filming, and you would be amazed at how quickly it had snowballed from there were it not for how well the four of you had clicked from the beginning. Sun, Moon, and Eclipse are just fun to be around, and you love spending as much time as you can with all of them, even off sets. It started out as taking your lunch to their trailers, which led to hanging out after work hours and then ultimately spending the night at each other’s homes. You live farther away from the filming location than the brothers do, though, so more often than not, you find yourself sleeping in their guest bedroom.

As a result, you should have expected the rumors. But that doesn’t stop the whispers at your back from leaving you uneasy and feeling a bit guilty at how it’s reflected onto your new friends. The brothers have insisted that they don’t mind, sometimes even playing and feeding into those rumors just to tease back your coworkers while getting some of the jokes’ attention off of you and onto them instead. But at the end of the day, you know that your group of friends is just that.

Just friends.

Mind you, you’re all very close. Friends let you fall asleep on them and hold you so you won’t stir, right? Granted, none of your other friends have ever been that close to you, but you’ll just chalk it up to seeing the celestial animatronics almost every day, all day long. You were bound to get close to them.

Of the three, the one you actually see the least is Eclipse. That’s due to his side gig—more of a hobby than anything. On Tuesday and Thursday mornings, he teaches an acting class at the city’s university. It’s why you didn’t see him earlier today, and he often catches a quick shower here at the studio zone after his class rather than driving home. You’re dying to sneak into one of his classes someday, but he’s threatened that if you do decide to sit in, he’ll make sure to call you to the front to act out at least one demonstration.

You have no shyness about your acting ability, of course, but having to do so first thing in the morning when you’d much rather have a reprieve from it doesn’t sound like your idea of a fun time. And knowing Eclipse, he’d find some way to tease you about it too. He might be the polar opposite to the villainous role he stars in, but there is no doubt that that mischievous-bordering-on-malicious streak still runs deep in his wires. He loves getting the upper hand whenever he can, and you honestly can’t tell if he got that from Sun and Moon or if it’s been written into his code from the start.

Maybe having younger siblings just does that to a person. Today’s case of the missing clothes is by no means the first prank that’s been pulled.

You don’t realize how lost in thought you are until Eclipse’s voice pulls you from it with a jolt.

“I suspect my younger brothers have been up to no good in all that time they’ve been spending with you.”

You aim a sharp smile up at him.

“Jealous?”

Eclipse looks at you. His teeth seem especially pointed in this light.

“Of course. Who wouldn’t be in their position?”

At that, you snort.

“They do have their own fan club, or so I’ve seen on social media.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed the hub of enthusiasm surrounding them. But I meant that anyone would be jealous of those who get to spend time with you, my dear.”

You trip over something—yourself, maybe—and Eclipse helpfully rights you back on your feet. A cough is hastily suppressed in your fist.

“That’s… You know what I’ve told you about calling me that.”

“Hmm?” Eclipse keeps his focus on the rows of trailers he guides you towards, but he doesn’t need to be facing you for you to know he’s entertained. His fingertips nimbly rub your upper back in distracting circles. “You mean the very same endearment I’ve heard my brothers calling you, in addition to all of the other pet names? I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. Any possible mention of it has been scrapped from my memory banks.”

You squint, suspicious.

“How very convenient.”

“I’d say so. Unlike this unsightly prank my brothers have pulled on me.” He sighs. “At least there’s one silver lining.”

He reaches Moon’s trailer first with you in tow. Eclipse steps onto the stairs leading up to it, his hand settling on the door handle, and you pause to put your hands on your hips, not sure if he’s setting you up for a punchline. It wouldn’t be the first time nor the last.

“And that is?”

Elongated rays slowly spin like a gentle wave, catching the afternoon sun and casting a prismatic reflection of color across the white trailer. Eclipse’s head tilts just enough to cast a sly, low-lidded glance over his shoulder. The sun doesn’t brighten the burnt shadow of his faceplate.

“It’s now my turn to spend time alone with you.”

He throws open the door, stepping into the trailer, and you’re thankful his back is to you as you’re not so sure your surprise is invisible on your face. A bit stunned, you stumble inside after him. As soon as the door slams shut behind you, the small interior becomes significantly tighter with the towering frame of Eclipse right next to you.

“Now.” He rubs his hands together, ringed pupils scanning the room. “Let's see what stolen goods my brothers have got in their closets.”

~~~

“Alright, that’s a wrap!”

With those shouted words, the formerly quiet room is bustling with life and activity, and you begin to stir from your cozy nest. You rub your cheek against soft cotton, and the arms curled around you loosen as you stretch out your legs with a groan. A hand cards through your hair, silicone and metal sinking past your strands to gently ghost along the back of your neck. It’s just what you need to sink bonelessly back into a ball and rest your head on the other’s shoulder.

Sun, whose lap you’re currently invading, doesn’t give you the chance to fall right back into blissful sleep. His voice sounds like it comes from underwater.

“Come on, precious. It’s time to go home.”

You mumble something that neither he nor you really catch, but Sun must understand it well enough because you think he chuckles.

He continues to prod you, mentioning something about “Clip” and “promise” and “food,” the latter of which you aren’t coherent enough to really understand the context behind since your mind is sluggishly caught in a half-awake state, but your stomach considers it a tempting offer anyways since it growls unpleasantly. As much as it protests its emptiness, you’re just so comfortable resting like this against Sun, and sleep is not too far of a leap away. If you could just let your weary eyes rest for a few more minutes…

You tilt your head into the crook of Sun’s neck, mindful of his shrunken rays, and hear his amused sigh. Someone calls your name, someone who’s not Sun, but you’re already too busy tipping into the darkness to know who it is.

Sleep doesn’t fully creep upon you. There’s quiet conversation happening directly over your head, and if you tried to listen, you’d be able to make out the words. But you’re caught up in your not-quite-sleep, and Sun is cradling you like a baby. You’ve decided his lap is better than any bed and his costume’s coat is better than any blanket. All you need is a kiss on the forehead to wish you sweet dreams, and you’ll be set.

But whoever is chatting with Sun must convince him that your position isn’t actually heaven-sent after all. You utter a rather unhappy noise when Sun jostles you as he stands. Mercifully, he keeps his arms tucked around you so you don’t have to move.

“Adorable. They’re completely tuckered out.”

You recognize the gravelly voice of Moon and debate opening your eyes. But then Sun starts walking, and really, his smooth gait has no business being this soothing. You feel like you’re being gently rocked, coaxed into a heavier warmth that tugs you down. It’s almost enough to ward off the sudden, unexpected cold snap that bristles at your bare cheeks and nose when he carries you outside. You whine plaintively at the offense, and you think you feel a light tap on the top of your skull.

“Almost there,” Sun reassures.

You don’t particularly care where “there” is as long as it’s not out in the cold. A shiver ripples through you, which prompts Sun to tuck his coat tighter around your limbs as much as he can. Even as disgruntled as you are, you can appreciate how his pace quickens. Soon enough, he pauses, the sound of a door squeaks open, and you are ushered into a new warm interior.

The light washing over you is a dull amber and just bright enough that you finally have to admit defeat and stir.

After a few slow blinks, you realize that Sun has brought you to your trailer. Further away, Moon rifles through your wardrobe. Not an inherently strange thing for him to do, but you doubt he’d find anything of value in there. You sincerely hope you aren’t about to experience a secondhand version of the prank they pulled on Eclipse.

Sun brings you over to a lofty chair that’s lined with pillows. As soon as he attempts to put you down, you latch onto his shirt with a firmly unhappy groan, prompting a chortle from your personal carrier.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the extra loving, doll, but you need to let go if we’re going to get you home.”

“Says who?” you mumble into his shirt collar.

You’re not letting him get away that easily. You’ve made your bed, and now you’re not leaving him.

Maybe it’s your exhaustion, maybe it’s how Sun is cradling you, maybe it’s something else. But one moment you’re sleepily clinging onto him and the next, your brain is conjuring a meaningless daydream out of your control.

Some small, throwaway thought, there and gone in a blink, depicts an image of you and Sun lying in bed together, sheets loosely draped over your waists and sleepwear slightly ridden up. You’re wrapped in each other’s arms, so close that there’s little room left to keep you from guessing. Sun’s gaze is heavily-lidded, but there’s no question of where it falls when your lips are slightly parted from uneven breaths.

It’s over as fast as it came. Slammed right back into the present, you stagger at the image that is now gone. You’re not at all sure of where that came from, but it’s certainly enough to pop your eyes open wide and lock every inch of you in place. Both of your hands cinch Sun’s shirt tight in their grasp. A hot flush overcomes your face, and pressed this close to him, you’re able to hear his very muffled sound of confusion at your stiffness.

You’ve kissed Sun before. Actually, it’s become quite the running joke that you’ve made your rounds with all of the celestial brothers. But that’s different because you’ve always been acting during those kisses. The whole chance of intimacy gets thrown out the window when there’s dozens of people watching and film crews demanding slight repositioning for a better lighting angle and rehearsed lines being your only swapped dialogue with whomever you’re smooching. Nothing about it is personal, so it’s never quite held any meaning. Just business, as usual, with maybe an occasional flash of embarrassment or… something.

But the thought in your head wasn’t related to that at all. You’d know because the bed you’d imagined, regardless of how brief it’d appeared, was Sun’s. As in his bed in his bedroom in his home.

Did anyone ever install a freezer in your trailer? You sure would love to stick your head in one right about now.

“Honeydew, are you feeling alright? You’re looking a little flushed.”

Sun’s warm palm rests atop your equally warm forehead. While endearing, his worry for your sake just makes you even more flustered. It sets you to squirming in his arms, but now that you’ve unintentionally unleashed the unlicensed doctor in Sun, he’s not so eager to put you down. His one arm holding you up tightens just enough to make sure you don’t accidentally slip and fall the decent distance to the floor. That doesn’t mean you don’t try your best though to do just that.

“Hmm, no fever, at least not one I can read from your skin.” His frown deepens. “Open your mouth and lift up your tongue.”

And there’s your cue to draw the line and jump ship.

“Sun, I am not letting you put your fingers in my mouth to take my temperature.”

“But you might be sick!” he exclaims.

You bat away the hand that’s too close to your lips for your liking. That garners an exasperated tut from the animatronic, but you are determined to die on this hill. Otherwise, you know you’ll die from supreme humiliation if Sun jams his bulky metal joints in your mouth.

“I’m not sick. And even if I was, shoving your unsanitary fist under my tongue won’t do my health any wonders.”

“I wouldn’t put my whole fist in there,” Sun says dryly, but he’s got a suspicious gleam that suggests he’s sincerely contemplating it. “It wouldn’t fit.”

“Wow. So glad to know that’s the reason why.”

Sun starts to say something, but he’s abruptly cut off by a pair of pants. A shirt and hoodie then follow, all three articles of clothing dangling down his faceplate from where they’re caught on his sun rays.

“Found something for you to change into,” Moon says, coming into view. He doesn’t spare his brother’s grumbling any mind and quirks a brow at you. “Where are your socks and underwear?”

It’s such a bizarre question coming out of left field, you can’t help but be enthralled at its absurdity.

“Sorry, my what now? Why do you need to know that?”

Moon’s head tilts. One side then the other.

“Well, what else am I going to wear?”

“Oh, you little— C’mere!”

His reedy snickering flutters while he hastily dodges out of reach of your lunge, so you snatch your pants from where Sun’s prying them off his head and throw them in Moon’s general direction. You can tell from the faint thud that you miss, but you’ll get him back later.

“I’d say that’s far from appropriate,” Sun groans as he drops the rest of your clothes on the chair behind you, “but Moon lost all sense of propriety years ago. I’m afraid you’ll have to accept my apology on his behalf.”

You hold onto Sun’s arms as he dips down low to set you on your feet.

“Pfft, you didn’t even apo—”

“Great! Glad that’s settled.” Sun pats you on the head, twists free of your grip, and dances out of range. Baffled, you watch him hook an arm around Moon’s scrawny metal neck—his brother releasing a staticky squawk of surprise—and drag him towards the door of the trailer despite his brother’s aggravated attempts to free himself. Sun acts like the fisted blows to his chest are little more than gentle taps. “We’re gonna run over to our trailer to get changed too and then meet you back outside when you’re ready. Don’t forget a bag of toiletries this time, m’kay? I only have so much spare toothpaste to share, you know.”

He all but throws his brother out the door, and you hardly manage to shake your extreme puzzlement in time to catch up. Moon is snarling all sorts of death threats and other things one would expect to hear from their sibling. You pay that no mind as you scramble to grab Sun’s elbow before he can disappear into the night. The frosty winter wind nips at your toes and fingers, consuming the precious warmth of the trailer.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Sun pauses at your behest and turns to you with a sheepish expression. He tries to cover it up with one of his signature smiles, but it’s rapidly turning crooked. You’ll blame part of that on the near-rabid lunar animatronic hissing Sun’s name in a sinister rattle befitting of a horror movie.

One of Sun’s palms slams into the sneering face of his brother like he’s warding off an omen. He continues to aim that full-throttled charm at you at a thousand watts.

“Waiting!” he exclaims, bright and chipper.

“What am I getting changed for again?” you say, a bit less frantic now that Sun isn’t bolting out the door.

Yellow rays turn in a slow circle like some kind of buffering wheel. The white glow of his optics is overshadowed by the deep blue inside them, but the lack of comprehension is crystal clear. Sun takes a long second to process your question while you stand there, just as perplexed.

Finally, he blinks, and his smile softens.

“You can’t quite have a sleepover in work clothes now, can you?”

A sleepover.

It’s your turn to blink right back at him, and maybe the lack of sleep has really started to get to you because you don’t immediately understand what he’s saying. There’s just empty static in your brain right now. Maybe you need that dinner more than you realize.

Oh! The dinner!

You press a hand to the bridge of your nose and rub hard as it clicks. Right, of course. Eclipse promised to cook for you, and you kind of invited yourself over to spend the night, and the brothers gladly accepted. Was that just several hours ago? You feel like you’ve spent an eternity on set.

A light tug on your sleeve brings your hand down. Sun pinches the fabric between two fingers with an amused regard.

“And I can’t imagine the costume design team would appreciate you running off the premises with your star outfit. Granted, they have doubles and probably even triples of everything, but you want to get out of those clothes, yes?”

Your shoulders sag, and Sun lets go of your sleeve.

“I hadn’t even noticed, to be honest.”

“We can tell!” His jovial words do nothing other than seal your face into a flat expression. Sun acts like he doesn’t notice at all. “That’s why you’ve got two prime escorts to help you get your bearings straight. We’re just making sure you get everything you need before heading home.”

You very carefully don’t point out that he’s inadvertently referred to his home as yours. It was probably just a mistake.

Still, it does make your lips tilt up a smidge.

“Just two escorts?”

In the midst of your talk, Moon manages to grouchily calm down and slap his brother’s hand off of his face. Sun’s head swivels, and you can tell there’s a whole discussion being conveyed in just the shared glaring between the two. Moon endures it for all of three seconds before fixing his gaze—less homicidal—on you.

“Clip got the okay to leave early quite some time ago,” he grunts. “He wanted to get started on making dinner.”

In a flash, you feel guilty.

“Oh, I hadn’t realized. He doesn’t need to do that, really! I don’t want him to have to do any extra work just for me. Actually, I’d be fine with just some fast food.”

“Don’t tell him that.” Moon’s thin smile is just visible in the low amber light. “He’ll pitch a fit. You know he likes cooking for you.”

“And,” Sun adds, “we’d be terrible hosts if we let you fill up on food with no personality to it. You can’t beat a home-cooked meal.”

You purse your lips and debate on whether to stay silent. Sun would normally be right about that, but you know he’s only thinking of Eclipse’s cooking. There is a reason you dodge any and all offers for Sun to make you a meal. Talented as the solar animatronic is at many things, being in the kitchen has remained out of his realm of expertise. You’ve got a laundry list of times that you’ve been served blackened, crispy, or unrecognizable food from Sun’s attempts to fill up your belly. He’s got a penchant for putting a stop to your hunger, but not in the way he or you would like.

You make the mistake of making eye contact with Moon, and his knowing, shit-eating grin crawling out of the woodwork presses the gas pedal of your anti-filter to the floor.

“I mean… that depends on the personality being put into it. And whether said cook has a penchant for setting more fires than wanted or needed. And whether the food is actually edible in the end.”

Sun doesn’t turn all the way, but his faceplate tilts just enough that you get treated to a very strong dose of side-eyeing. You didn’t even know his eyes could narrow that much, but you get the message loud and clear.

Huh. Maybe you don’t need to be related to the celestial animatronic brothers in order to share in their telepathic abilities. Or maybe it’s just a result of spending so much time with them.

You clear your throat.

“Anyways, guess I’ll get changed. For the sleepover you definitely still want me to attend. Just in case you forgot.”

Your hands are lightly coaxing Sun out the door. He doesn’t so much as waver.

“You know,” he starts in a way that sounds like the beginning of a villainous monologue, “you’d think that someone who talks so much game wouldn’t be just as terrible at—”

Moon snags Sun’s arm and yanks him hard. Sun stumbles only a few steps, but it’s all the space you need to be able to close your door. Moon winks at you.

“Better pack that extra toothpaste.”

“Trust me,” you laugh, “I know when Sun’s thrown the prank gauntlet.”

“Oh,” hollers the robotic rebuttal over Moon’s shoulder, “you won’t just be getting pranks from me, daffodil! I’m—”

You slam the door shut on what would likely be a very long rant from Sun. The lock slides into place just for good measure, but you know neither of those two would really attempt to barge in on you like that. Your grin is impossible to hide, as is the flighty tittering that fills the room. Luckily, no one is around to witness it. You chuckle to yourself as you grab the clothes Moon picked out for you to get changed into, but with no one to distract you from your thoughts, it’s not long before your face ends up in your hands.

You muffle a short scream.

What was that thought you’d had earlier about you and Sun? Where on earth did it come from? Are you really just that tired, or are you just delusional? Did you hit your head that hard during filming today?

Yes, that’s probably it. You bumped your head, and that rattled your brain, which caused the unwarranted burst of imagination to manifest tonight. Nothing unusual about that, right? And your thoughts just got confused because Sun was the one holding you, Sun was the one caring for you, and for a moment you’d thought…

Thought what, exactly?

That you liked him in a different way? That he liked you… as more than a friend?

What a silly, ridiculous notion. Preposterous, even. You can’t be entertaining such thoughts. It’s far from reality.

As you shed your work clothes, you struggle to swallow. Because you know different. You know that you can tell yourself that you’re just tired or that you just bumped your head, but none of that will magically apply to how often you’ve thought about the brothers as more than friends. Nothing will be able to explain the pain in your chest that’s crept up more and more most nights when you’re alone in your home.

Those kinds of thoughts usually reserve themselves for when you’re in private. Tonight was a fluke. It has to be, and that’s what you firmly tell your guilty conscience. It’s not an issue, so don’t worry about it.

Determined not to lose any more time fretting over it, you forcefully tug on your other clothes.

Once you’re dressed—an outfit that is the definition of comfortable—you fold your white blouse and dark pants then assess yourself in the bathroom mirror. Your hair is still done up in a ponytail from earlier, so with extreme caution, you untie the ribbon and catch the bells before they can slip onto the floor. It would be a shame to see anything happen to them, and though you know there are plenty of spares set aside just for you since it’s a vital part of your costume, you hate to think of damaging the ribbon and bells at all. You love the look and feel of them. But even as you set them atop your folded clothes, you breathe out in relief as your scalp gets a break from the tight pressure of your hair being pulled back for hours.

It’s sure a mess now that it’s hanging down, but you don’t have the energy to bother messing with it now. Out of sight, out of mind is the best practice, you decide, so you pull up your hood and tuck your hair inside.

Next, you tackle the face full of makeup that is put on you every time for filming. You grab a wipe and get as much of it off as you can before reaching for another. You repeat this process a couple of more times and then rinse your face with lukewarm water for good measure. A quick press of a towel and a check in the mirror says that’s good enough.

Sun said to pack an overnight bag, which normally amounts to just the essentials for hygiene and clothes for tomorrow. You don’t feel like overthinking what to bring, much less thinking at all as exhaustion pulls down at your eyelids. In less than a minute, you stuff what you need in a bag, toothpaste included, and tug on a jacket to ward off some of the cold when you have to go back outside. Then you decide to stop moving for a bit and just catch your breath, so you slump into the chair Sun had tried depositing you in earlier and pull out your phone to scroll through your notifications.

Nothing noteworthy catches your eye, but you do smirk at a few posts you find under the hashtag of your series. The marketing team has done wonders in ramping up enthusiasm for this show, and the outpouring of theories and excitement has got you and everyone else in a nervous tizzy. You can only hope your performance meets the public’s expectations. If anything, the detectives and mafia boss will be the stars of the show, as is their right. Hopefully, their talent is what truly steals everyone’s attention. You want only the best for them.

A few minutes trickle by in your mindless scrolling, your brain too tired to respond to messages. You’ll save that aspect of your life for later when you’ve gotten some shuteye. At least with the holidays approaching, you’ll be able to catch up on some rest soon. Just have to push through a couple of more weeks, and then it’ll be break time.

When a cheery knock raps on your door, you put away your phone and push to your feet with a ragged groan and a few popping joints. Your bag and work clothes are snatched up in one hand while the other flips off the lights. After a final, quick check to make sure you didn’t forget anything, you head out the door.

Moon’s slouched against the neighboring trailer, arms crossed with the hood of his winter coat shadowing his faceplate. Sun seems like he hasn’t budged from right outside your doorstep, aside from his much more relaxed getup and the suits draped over his arm from both him and Moon. He’s tapping away on his phone, but both brothers look up at you when you step outside and lock the door. Sun whisks the bundle of clothes out from your arms to add to his pile while he pockets his phone.

“I’ll run these on over for you. Anything you need from there while I’m gone?”

You shake your head and shiver from the cold.

“No, but thanks, Sun. Actually, I don’t mind taking them over myself so you don’t have to.”

“Nonsense. Look at you! You’ve got a stronger pallor than a ghost and are on the verge of becoming one too if you remain out in the cold much longer.”

He ushers you over to Moon, who kindly lifts the edge of his long coat for you to scoot under. Moon tucks you in close, and though it doesn’t provide much warmth overall, it’s still miles better than your thin jacket.

Sun tosses a set of car keys that his brother catches one-handed. He wags a finger at Moon.

“Just to unlock and start it, okay? No eloping on joy rides until I get back.”

Moon watches with you as Sun heads off towards the costume design trailer, and then he peeks down at you pressed up against him like a chick under a hen’s wing.

“Do you think he’d really notice if we took a little five-minute trip?”

“With you behind the wheel? Absolutely, yes. It’s kind of hard to hide a fender bender.”

He scoffs at your smirk, and you both begin to head over to his and Sun’s car.

“Everyone’s always a critic until they’re the one driving. It’d take me at least ten minutes before I risked getting into a wreck.”

You sigh wistfully.

“Someday, I hope to possess the same kind of baseless confidence that you— Ow, hey!”

Metal knuckles mercilessly assault the top of your head in a furious noogie that’s dampened only by your hood. You yelp and squeal at Moon’s ruthless revenge, and he doesn’t let up until you’re sagging against his side and wheezing. Your chest is tight as you gulp down frigid air, but you embrace it all the same as Moon’s low voice joins yours in a gruff chuckle.

“Serves you right,” he taunts.

“Yeah, yeah,” you huff, trying to catch your breath. You can’t argue with him there.

Thankfully, you make it to the car without further tussling. You slide into the backseat with your bag, though Moon does offer for you to sit upfront—an offer you decline because you know how much room he and his brother need for their long legs. Moon proves to be on good behavior tonight because he takes the passenger seat rather than taking the car for a spin against his brother’s wishes. He slips the key into the ignition so that you can warm up, for which you gratefully press your freezing hands to the hot vents.

Sun doesn’t take long to return, but you and Moon grumble at the snap of cold air when he opens the driver’s side door. True to his nature, he ignores the complaining, well used to it at this point, and settles in.

“Music?” he directs at you, finger hovering over the radio.

“Sure,” you reply, breathing on your palms and rubbing them together. Maybe it’ll help you wake up so you’re perkier by the time you arrive at their home.

“Alrighty then, DJ Sun at your service!”

The songs rapidly bleed from one to the next as Sun drives home, the bass pounding with your heart and coaxing you into belting out lyrics right along with him. Moon doesn’t join your loud, occasionally off-tune singing, but you can see him smiling in the mirror and bobbing along to the beat, and that’s all the encouragement you need.

You end up in the middle of the backseat, arms propped up against Sun’s and Moon’s seats during your singing session in a way that’s not entirely legal. But Sun’s driving is something you fully trust, and despite how he furiously drums his fingers on the wheel and tilts his faceplate in your direction during a thunderous chorus that he absolutely nails in his melodic voice, he keeps his focus on his surroundings and maintains a safe speed. By the end of a round of songs, you’re breathless and brimming with joy that vibrates through your bones and makes you feel alive and far away from those nagging thoughts from earlier.

Yeah, you’re nowhere near tired now.

Sun pulls into the parking garage of their apartment, and within a few minutes of scurrying out of the cold and into the building, you’re greeted with a luscious, divine smell as soon as you cross the threshold of the brothers’ home.

Moon takes your bag while Sun takes your jacket, and they both urge you to head on over to the kitchen, from which you can hear slow jazz music playing.

Accustomed to but no less appreciative of their sweet hospitality, you brush off your hood and dutifully make your way to the source of the heavenly scent wafting through the rooms. At the corner of the kitchen, you pause and enjoy for a moment the sight of the busybody prepping something that will surely be as tasteful as it smells. Standing before the electric cooktop in the kitchen island, Eclipse stirs something that makes your mouth water. You can’t see it from here, but the fragrant air almost hooks you right on over to him. The only thing keeping you in place is your want to not disturb him in his cooking.

Steam billows around his hands and faceplate while he works. He’s got a pan on the stove behind him as well as a large one next to the pot he’s currently fixated on. The oven appears to be on as well, and you wonder what he’s making.

Your heart melts maybe just a little, the thoughtfulness threatening to render you to mush.

“Do you plan on standing there all evening, or are you going to come keep me company?” His smooth timbre graces your ears, turning them a bit hot.

You take the hint and walk in, hopping on one of the stools from under the island when he points a spoon at it. Up close now, the savory goodness is maximized. It’s hard to resist bracing youself over the quartz countertop to peer inside the pot, but you know from past experience that you are not immune to a whack from a spatula if you try, so you remain in what’s unofficially become your seat.

Eclipse’s focus doesn’t stray, but his gaze does momentarily flash up to you with a gentle smile.

“Hungry?”

You fold your arms on the countertop and lift a brow.

“Eclipse, when you offered to make me dinner, I don’t think you took into account that I’m just one person.”

You gesture to the various dishes he’s got going on both stovetops. There’s more than enough to feed a whole family.

Dark sun rays glint from the overhead crystal lights as he tilts his head. His mouth thins.

“Our neighbors at the far end of the hall have a family member who’s currently in the hospital,” he says somberly, stirring all the while. “A little boy. The parents have been juggling that as well as taking care of work and their two other children. Sunny, Moonie, and I aren’t too familiar with the family, but we’ve bumped into them enough times to have several friendly chats. The father recently told me about his sick child. I decided to lend a hand where I could, with their permission.”

He nods to the empty Tupperware containers stacked beside him. You give a soft sound of understanding and furrow your brow.

“What happened to the kid? Is it serious?”

“Not entirely sure. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to press the father for information, especially since it was a rather brief conversation, and he was just getting home. He did tell me that their son isn’t in critical condition at the very least.”

“Oh. I see.” You glance back at the cookware. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

You’re not very good in the kitchen by any means, and Eclipse knows this, but that doesn’t mean you’re unwilling to try.

He lowers the heat on one of the knobs and then turns to the pan behind him.

Over his shoulder, he suggests, “Would you mind carrying the food when it’s ready and going over with me to give them their meal? I could always use an extra pair of hands and a pretty face to accompany me.”

You rest your cheek in your hand and hope your face isn’t as flushed as it feels at the compliment.

“I’d be happy to.”

“Good. While you’re in a helpful mood, can you also go open the fridge and take out the glass in the front for me?”

Hopping back off your chair, you slip over to the ridiculously giant fridge that towers over you and pull open the steel doors. Inside, you find what you think Eclipse is requesting, a tall glass filled with a thick and creamy bright yellow mixture, like a smoothie. You pull it out and hold it up to him.

“This one?”

He looks over and then beckons you to him.

“Yes, thank you.”

Nudging the fridge doors shut, you sidle over to him and shift up on your tiptoes when you near to peek around him at the simmering food. Eclipse tuts and shoos you back with a knowing raised brow, and you aren’t in the slightest bit abashed. You do feel a little miffed at your plan being foiled so easily.

“Here you go,” you say, offering him the glass.

Eclipse pauses with the food for a second as he reaches over for something next to him. He then turns and slips a straw right into the cup and nudges it back to you.

“And there you go,” he remarks.

You blink.

“For me?”

“For you.”

Your face breaks into a happy grin, and you immediately take a sip. Eclipse carefully studies your reaction, waiting to see if you approve. The taste is barely on your tongue before your eyes widen, and Eclipse chuckles, having received his answer.

“Oh,” you gasp after swallowing. “That’s amazing! Is it mango?”

The animatronic nods. His pleased face makes you stuff the straw back into your mouth to take another sip.

“Lassi,” he says, a tinge of pride in his words. “I figured you might like it. That was my first time making it though, so let me know if it’s missing something.”

You shake your head.

“It’s literal perfection. How did you make it taste so good? I thought mangoes weren’t in season right now.”

“They aren’t. However, since you’d said you enjoyed the fruit, I had a box of them special ordered and flown in so that I could make the treat for you. If you’d like to take home some of the fruit tomorrow, you’re more than welcome to them.”

You almost drop your glass along with your jaw. Your other hand quickly comes up to keep the precious treat from slipping from your fingers, and you try to play it off as just readjusting your grip on the cup.

Special ordered? Flown in? He did all of that, paid what must have surely been an exorbitant price… because of a passing comment you’d made?

Gobsmacked, you toy with the straw, nibbling on the tip and digesting the casual delivery of his words like he didn’t just verbally shake you down and rattle you so hard your teeth clatter. Or maybe that’s the brain freeze starting to get to you from slurping down your drink on autopilot. Your face must be broadcasting your emotions because Eclipse gets one glimpse of it and then comes to a halt.

“What?”

You don’t answer right away, but your confoundment begins to morph into a perplexed amusement that draws a wry smirk across your lips. The mango flavor bursts on your tongue with every sip, rich and sweet, and after a few more seconds to enjoy the taste, you look up from your drink at the confused animatronic staring at you.

A disbelieving huff tumbles out.

“Are you sure you’re not a mob boss?”

Eclipse doesn’t get your little joke right away, idly drying his hands with a towel while his processor digests the comment. The face journey he goes through is highly entertaining, as is the clarity when he remembers the scene from work that you’re referencing. Once he connects the dots, he grins widely.

“Maybe I am.” He coyly inclines his head in your direction, traces of molten heat just seeping into the shades of hellfire. His words drip with faux satin seduction as he dips a little into character. “But what are you going to do about it, sweetheart?”

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, huh? That’s the game he wants to play?

You pretend to heavily ponder the question. Full head-tilt back, lips pressed in a thin line, intensity matched in the low-lidded leer.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, angel eyes,” you note, fighting back a smile, “but I’m afraid this story doesn’t have a very happy ending for you.”

Eclipse sets aside the towel in his hands and then rests his palm on the countertop. Though he’s not right on your toes, he’s definitely close enough that you could get a crick in your neck from looking him in the eye. His optics betray his delight and teasingly threaten to devour you whole.

Fingers tapping on the island, he whispers, “If you can see how the story ends, then that must mean there’s still room for deviation. How might one as resourceful as me bribe my way into your good graces?”

You trace a finger around the rim of your cup with a speculative noise as if you’re examining a new piece of evidence. You let the silence rest for a little while to let the suspense build, and in that moment, you’re not in the kitchen but back on set, flying loose from the script with your improv. Your secretive tone matches his.

“Well, Mr. Mob Boss, I’m not biased by any means, but I think there might be some room for deliberation from the jury if mango lassis are involved.”

Eclipse’s laughter erupts at that, sonorous and contagious in sound and volume that shatters the flirtatious scene you were spinning with him, and your act falls away as you join right along.

This is exactly what you needed. After all the good times you've shared with the three animatronic brothers who just stumbled into your life as you did theirs, you can’t imagine preferring to go to your empty apartment every night. That might be your home, but there’s no laughter or life, music or singing, friendly teasing or conversation waiting for you. You don’t have anyone waiting up for you when the sun sets or someone lying next to you when it rises.

And you think about how your possessions have slowly started to migrate to the brothers’ apartment, like your favorite pair of sweatpants that you just know one of them stole and hid away here or the spare tube of toothpaste that you know Sun always has on hand for you just in case even though he claims not to. And then there are the dishes and cutlery and incredible, amazing food. Prior to your frequent visits, the kitchen didn’t see quite as much action. On occasion, Eclipse would make something or other for his students—a reward if they excelled on one of his exams or projects—but that still doesn’t compare with the amount of time he spends in the kitchen now. He claims that cooking and baking for you is a delight because it works his processor in a way he doesn’t often have the need to. The science and intrigue behind making something from scratch and having it turn out tasting delicious, even if he can’t taste it himself, excites him.

Now, he claims he just has a good excuse to put that habit to use.

You.

A simple human with a simple life that sometimes strains on the side of too stressful or overworked. Before meeting Moon, Sun, and Eclipse, you didn’t have people fretting over your eating habits or sleeping habits or lack-of-fun habits. Now you do. And you’re not confident about what exactly this bubbling feeling in your chest is whenever you’re around them or thinking of them. You just know that it’s growing more intense every day, like at some point it’ll just pop and spill over.

You have an inkling of what it might be. You’re scared to put a label on it and inevitably find out that they don’t feel the same. Better to keep your emotions to yourself instead of risking ruining the three good things in your life.

Your laughter has died out, but you don’t have to cover it up because Moon enters the kitchen then. He’s got his arms crossed and a wry air about him.

“Doesn’t sound like a whole lot of cooking going on in here,” he says.

Eclipse’s good mood doesn’t sour, but he’s hardly impressed.

“What was the last thing you tried to cook? Rice? In the rice cooker, no less, correct? Remind me how that turned out, Moonie.”

It’s like watching two cats hiss at each other. You shuffle out of the line of fire and reclaim your seat at the island to watch the show, drink in tow.

If there’s one trait Moon shares with Eclipse, it’s that he’s not one to pass on getting the last word in. If he had fur, he’d be bristling right now.

“We both know that’s only because I was putting out the fire Sun set in the microwave.”

From several rooms down, Sun shrilly yells, “Don’t drag my name into arguments I’m not present for!”

You can’t help but ask.

“What happened to the microwave?”

You’re not sure you’re going to get an answer, not with how intensely close to a playful scrap the two animatronics in front of you seem to be. But after a long sigh, Moon breaks eye contact first.

“Aluminum,” he says. “Sun didn’t bother to check if aluminum foil could be put in there.”

“No one bothered to tell me either,” a warm voice warns behind you, and then two hands find your shoulders and begin a wonderfully soothing rub.

You’re being spoiled tonight—not that you’re complaining. If they’re not careful, you might just get used to this kind of royal treatment. Dangerous territory. That doesn’t stop you from sinking into the massage, eyelids slipping shut.

“Made your bed for you, sugar,” Sun adds while his fingers work magic on your poor posture.

“Thanks, Sunny.” You lazily reach up and pat one of his hands. He steals it with one of his own, but you don’t mind. “By the way, since when did it become my bed?”

“Oh, did you want to share mine instead?”

Ah. Yep, dangerous territory indeed. You are suddenly beyond grateful he isn’t facing you. The heat in your face could suffocate a person.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it.

“I think I’d sooner take my chances with Moon,” you hastily deflect. “Sleeping is kind of his thing.”

Your eyes crack open just enough to see the smug faceplate of the brother in question. However, they pop open much wider when the hand still massaging your shoulder creeps deceptively toward your neck with extremely light pressure.

“Hmm, that’s a shame,” Sun chirps. His fingers shift up onto their tips and spiderweb across the space between your neck and shoulder, causing you to instinctively hunch in on yourself. “I would have offered you only my softest of blankets and plushest of pillows, whereas Moon has a truly deplorable habit of hogging the whole bed if given the chance. But if that’s what you prefer, then who am I to judge? Say, buttercup, you wouldn’t happen to be ticklish, would you?”

This time, your nervous tittering is more of a squeak as Sun’s hand curses your skin into breaking out in goosebumps. Your hair stands up at the edge of your scalp when one fingertip traces a teasing line just along your ear.

“Aha, Sunny, wait a second,” you say weakly, glancing to Moon and Eclipse in a silent plea for help.

It takes less than a second for you to figure out you’re on your own. The former soundlessly hops up onto the countertop and gives you a “my hands are tied” shrug that would have more sincerity if it weren’t accompanied by a gleeful expression. The latter is suspiciously engulfed in tending to his dishes. There’s a shadow of a smile just barely visible before Eclipse turns to the oven to check on what’s inside.

“Oho, pulling out the pet names now, are we?” Sun giggles, and it somehow sounds maniacal. He doesn’t have nails, but the very tips of his fingers have just enough of a sharp edge to draw fine circles across your skin with pinpoint dexterity.

You shudder hard when he alternates the ticklish pressure with a light tapping right on the side of your neck, and then an unholy sound lances past your throat at an abrupt squeeze of the tender skin. Everything in you demands your body shrivel up in self-defense, and when you almost fall out of your seat, Sun at last grants you mercy.

He slips both hands around your arms and hoists you back up. You’d thank him for catching you from faceplanting on the floor if he wasn’t the cause behind it. That, and his warbling chuckles do little to amuse you. As he takes the seat next to you, you glower distrustfully at him. He winks right back. It’s hard to maintain an upset face when Sun isn’t even the tallest animatronic of his family yet still has trouble bunching up his gangly limbs under the lip of the countertop.

“No more fooling around in the kitchen,” Eclipse says, pulling something with a garlicky aroma out of the oven. You catch a glimpse of some sort of bread, and your stomach lets out an impatient growl.

Sun is by no means cowed.

“You love me, Clip,” he simpers.

“Regrettably, yes. I’m obligated to as your brother.”

“Aww,” you coo.

“Moonie on the other hand though…”

As if summoned into action, Moon lazily swings his foot wide to connect fully with Eclipse’s side. It makes a dull metal tong sound, and with both hands occupied, Eclipse can do nothing but tank it. He doesn’t bow over or flinch, but he does let out a gravely grunt.

Moon’s eyes meet yours.

“He means to say I’m his favorite.”

With absolutely no sarcasm at all, you nod and say, “Yeah, I can clearly see why.”

As soon as he’s able to, Eclipse shoos Moon off the countertop with a little more force than strictly necessary.

“Alright, out. I’m almost done here, and I don’t need you two fools interfering with the meal.”

“But I thought being jesters was our whole MO.”

“Out.”

Moon begrudgingly slithers away to do his own thing with Sun not too far behind. He pauses to let you know he’ll help you set up the blanket fort after the movie later, to which you eagerly express your enthusiasm. Then you shift in your chair uncertainly.

“Am I banished to the shadow realm too?”

Eclipse shakes his head.

“No, you are a guest in this household and are welcome to stay as long as you’d like. Besides, you’re not nearly as much of a menace as my brothers are. Though I will be employing your services quite soon to carry this food over to the neighbors, so don’t run too far off.”

Both of your brows lift, cheekiness taking front once again.

“Like you could ever chase me away.”

His rays twirl, beautiful dark shades that stand out in the light.

Used to your behavior by now, he simply says, “Maybe chasing is part of the fun.”

Now there’s something you can agree with wholeheartedly. In the acting space, it’s often said that when you play a character, you put a part of yourself into them and leave with a part of them in return. As the vigilante, you don’t deny that the playful chase you partake in with the detectives sets you alight. You revel in the game you play with them, knowing that in the end, the result will be that you will catch them just as much as they will catch you once you’re done running circles around each other. It’s a story you’ve become quite attached to, and you know that the last day of filming will be equal amounts of celebration and sadness when the fun comes to an end.

You guess Eclipse would have a similar mindset. Enjoying the chase, the thrill of the hunt. Playing a character who’s hellbent on it must carry over somewhat. Some of his line deliveries truly do leave you shuddering at the viciousness behind them. You can’t imagine someone more suited for his role.

The straw pokes into your cheek when you take another sip. Smacking your lips, you make sure you’ve got his attention when you answer.

“That all depends on if you’re quick enough to catch me, toots. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve kinda got a mean streak of luck keeping me two steps ahead.” You gesture at yourself. “Comes with the territory, y’know. Vigilante and all that.”

Eclipse reaches for one of the containers next to him and begins spooning large portions of one of the dishes into it.

“My dear, I think you might be conflating real life with the one you indulge on set.” He finishes with one container and then grabs another, this one being filled to the brim with rice that smells unbelievably flavorful. “The difference between myself and the character that I play is that I only give chase if I believe the one I’m chasing wants to be caught.”

Something has shifted in the room. In the tone of the conversation. Unable to put your finger on it, you press on, intrigued.

“And do I? Want to be chased, that is?”

The lid of the container seals shut with a pair of loud snaps. Even while focused on his task, Eclipse’s every action tells you that he is keenly attentive to you and your whereabouts. He moves fluidly without disrupting the strong connection that presses you to your seat in an invisible force.

“You tell me,” he says. Not quiet but soft enough that it still feels like a breath ghosting along your ears.

Maybe investing in a portable freezer to carry around on your person wouldn’t be such a bad idea. You’re starting to get the impression that the hot blush on your face and neck is becoming a permanent fixture, which you really hope isn’t the case. You’re not usually like this, so it doesn’t make sense why tonight you’re so off your game.

It’s almost like this feels like a date. But that’s an absurd thought because you’ve stayed overnight numerous times and raided their kitchen twice as much. Maybe you’re just getting sick after all, like Sun thought. It’s probably not too late to bite the bullet and ask him to check your temperature, humiliation be damned. But you know for a fact it would be twice as embarrassing if it turned out you didn’t have a fever. A bit hard to play off a flushed face when you can’t blame your frail human body’s predisposition to getting sick.

Is he flirting with you? Have they all been flirting with you? You honestly can’t tell. Yes, you’ve been flirting right back with your boys, but that’s different. It’s not real. It’s just for fun. You’re just seeing things that aren’t there because that’s what you want.

At least, you think it is.

You see what Eclipse means about conflating.

You haven’t responded yet, and when it becomes clear that you’re floundering for something intelligible that’s not just a broken string of words, Eclipse releases you from that heavy eye contact. A long exhale whooshes out, like you’d been holding your breath that entire time. Not saying anything seems somehow worse, like an admittance of something you yourself aren’t sure you’re guilty of. But the moment’s passing, up, up, and away, and pretty soon, you just slump in your seat, defeated. At least you have a delicious drink to cool off with, and you spend the next few minutes just sucking on the straw and downing the fruity mixture.

Threads of chatter filter in just around the corner, and you listen to the sounds of Moon and Sun debating on how the construction of this blanket fort should go so that it will rival all the previous ones. They’re competitive in most things, but they always work together to create a cozy nest of pillows and blankets and any plush surface they can find. You’ve often fallen asleep during movie nights because of how relaxing the space is. Sometimes, you’ve been too comfortable to be moved. Other times, you’ve woken to being quietly carried to the guest bedroom. You pretend to still be asleep when that happens because the tenderness with which you’re tucked into bed makes your dreams all the sweeter.

Maybe you should feel guilty for it, but given there’s no real harm in the matter, you let yourself have this. The brush of a fingers across your forehead and the simple squeeze of your hand and the extra layer of warmth from another blanket being securely draped over you are all things you treasure. It doesn’t matter which animatronic carries you to bed either; they all show gentle affection in their own ways.

This is some level of domesticity between friends that must border the line. It’s intimacy in raw form, and you crave it.

Another loud pair of clasps snapping into place bring you back to the present. Eclipse appears to be finishing up packaging everything that will need to be brought over to the neighbors. You have to wonder what they think of the celestial animatronic brothers. It’s been decades since animatronics were deigned sentient and thus deserving of equal rights and privileges. Even with the passage of time, hostility and refusal to accept them as a new race have remained amongst some humans. Those people are slowly becoming the outliers though, and you hope that one day, you won’t have to be so guarded and protective over your friends’ safety. They can undoubtedly take care of themselves, but that doesn’t stop you from worrying.

With as little as you’ve heard about the family Eclipse is preparing a meal for, you can’t develop an opinion so soon. But they sound like people who are just trying to survive through the unfairness of fate, and they hold no ill bearing against your boys. And Eclipse doesn’t just cook for anyone. You would know.

He stacks some containers on top of each other and then nudges a pile over to you.

“Could you carry these for me please? I’m going to get the rest,” he says.

A being made of metal doesn’t need the help of your silly human strength. The fact that he just wants an excuse for your company makes you eager to help regardless.

“Old age catching up with you quick, huh, Clip?” You scoop up the weighty Tupperware with minimal struggle. “You’re lucky you have such a strong partner like me to do all the heavy lifting for you.”

A wheezy sort of synthetic noise leaves the animatronic, and he pulls yet another storage container from the fridge, this one already packed up and ready to go. “You’ve caught me. The dastardly plan I’ve been secretly concocting this whole time is just a trap to put you to work. But I hear there’s a reward for those who lend a helping hand.”

You perk up.

“A reward?”

The dark rings in his optics slide over to you sidelong, smug at your interest.

“You’ll see,” he purrs.

Well, now you have to help him at all costs. He could beg you to carry a body for all you care, and you’d do it just because of how easily he’s hooked you in. The intrigue compels your feet into action, and you’re swiftly by the front door, arms full as you wait for him to hurry up.

Eclipse seems to take his time just for his own amusement. You can’t prove it, but you swear he’s moving slowly on purpose, and you squint at him when he finally emerges with his own containers in tow. Before you can call him out on it, he turns and yells to his brothers that he and you will be back shortly. Twin responses of agreement echo from the family room, and then the tall mass of metal and limbs and too many wicked teeth is at your side and unlocking the door for you.

You wait for Eclipse to take the lead since he knows where to go. Keeping up with his long stride would normally be difficult at a walk, but he pointedly takes smaller steps so you don’t have to jog with the food. He glances at you and frowns.

“You don’t have to carry those if they’re too heavy. I was merely teasing about putting you to work, and I might not have taken into account the weight of all of those combined.”

“Nah,” you say, even holding the food slightly further out of his reach just in case he tries to take them. “Gotta have an excuse for showing up at your neighbors’ door, right? I can’t let you take all the credit.”

Eclipse huffs. “Of course. Far be it from me to take away from your first impression.”

“Exactly.”

You beam at the eyeroll you can just feel from beside you. For all his height and heavy machinery, Eclipse is almost silent as he walks down the apartment corridor. It doesn’t take long at all for him to come to a stop at one of the doors, and one large fist politely knocks.

You can’t hear anything from inside, and the seconds tick on into nearly a minute, but Eclipse remains patient. The muscles in your arms begin to grow fatigued, though you don’t so much as shift the containers. No need to set off the clucking mother hen in Eclipse again.

After a few more moments, soft footsteps near the door. They pause for a moment, and then the apartment door unlocks and swings wide open. A woman stands on the other side. She’s visibly exhausted with a tiredness that drags down her shoulders, but the look in her eyes is one of deep friendliness.

“Eclipse,” she greets warmly, leaning against the door, “Thank you so much for doing this for us. My husband and I are beyond grateful.”

“Think nothing of it,” Eclipse says, inflection no less welcoming than hers. “It was no trouble at all. I was already making dinner anyways and just upped the portion size.”

He then turns to you. “This is Pia. She and her husband, Andrés, have been wonderful neighbors in the short time I’ve known them.”

“I could very much say the same about you,” Pia replies. Weary hazel eyes meet yours.

With your hands full, you can’t wave, so you just settle for a smile.

“Hi,” you say, feeling a bit awkward.

The woman blessedly takes it in stride.

“Hello,” she says back. You notice her pleasant expression doesn’t falter once. “I take it you’re the one Eclipse has been cooking for? He did mention that he was cooking for someone else lately.”

“Yep, that’s me,” you chuckle, and then you give her your name. “I’ve been eating him out of house and home these past few months.”

“They say that like I don’t enjoy cooking for them,” Eclipse whispers loudly to Pia.

She offers a wispy laugh and then seems to notice the armload of food you’re holding.

“Oh, would you like to come inside? Here, let me take those off your hands for you.”

You willingly relinquish the warm Tupperware, and Eclipse voices the same thought you were having.

“Thank you, but we were just stopping by to drop these off. I don’t quite trust my brothers to make sure the kitchen doesn’t burn down while I’m gone.”

“Sounds just like my kids.” She sets the food on a surface just out of sight and then takes the rest from Eclipse to place them on the table as well. “They’re far from grown, but they love trying new things. Sometimes, they get a little too ambitious, if you know what I mean.”

“Of course.” Eclipse pauses like he’s considering his next words. He waits for Pia to finish with arranging the army of containers. Then, a bit lower, he inquires, “And how is your eldest doing? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

A long, drawn out sigh seems to deflate Pia’s entire body, as if she’s barely being held up by more than air and strings. Your heart twists with sympathy. Having no kids of your own, you can’t relate to the pain she must be going through, but you know it must be staggering, dealing with that and raising a family. You suddenly wish there was something more you could do for her, but it’s not your place. Pia doesn’t know you well enough yet, and you don’t want to overstep.

You’re glad Eclipse offered to help this family out. He was right to do so.

While gathering her thoughts, Pia glances to the side, staring further into her home at something out of sight. Her lips tremble, but she doesn’t cry. The hand clinging to the door tightens.

“He’s…” She stops and takes another breath. Once she composes herself, she faces you and Eclipse again. “There aren’t any real updates yet. The doctors have told us his condition is stable, which is reassuring, of course. But… he’s just a child. No one that young should have to be in the hospital battling some stupid infection. So my husband is with him now. Trying to, you know, spend the night there just to make sure he’s not alone. And then tomorrow, hopefully I’ll be able to wrangle up the rest of the kids so we can visit him too.”

Her voice is thick, and her eyes shine wetly. Still, she braves a smile. She is every bit of a strong mother just doing her best to take care of her kids. Something you find more than commendable.

“We’ll be wishing him a speedy recovery,” you softly say, and Eclipse utters a deep hum in agreement. Saying as much feels meaningless in comparison.

The words don’t quite come out audibly from her as she’s too choked up to find her voice just then, but she mouths a thank you.

You shuffle in place uncomfortably. Standing here and taking up her time away from her kids now seems like an intrusion. But Pia lingers still, and you don’t want to leave her on such an empty note. These kinds of situations were never your forte, and you struggle to find something to lighten the mood. You feel powerless and useless.

One of Eclipse’s hands settles on your shoulder. It forces you to relax some of the stiffness in your spine, and in that moment, you’re extremely appreciative of how in tune he is with your emotions. You know you can wear your heart on your sleeve, sometimes to your own detriment, but in this case, the solace is fully wanted. Strange how you’re not even the one going through a crisis, but you still crave support. If anything, the woman before you is a tougher force than you’ll ever be. You hope only good things come her and her family's way.

“I know it’s only a meal, but I hope the food offers some reprieve, however small,” Eclipse murmurs.

Pia shakes her head.

“It’s not small at all. Taking care of children is a full-time job, and you don’t realize just how thin it stretches you until one of them gets hurt or sick.” She rubs one of her arms like warding off a chill. “The best form of help I can receive right now is energy, and you cooking a meal for my family does that in more ways than you know. I’ll be sure to save some for my husband to take to him tomorrow.”

“Hopefully it will be palatable for you all then. Ah, that reminds me.” Eclipse gestures to the stored away food with a tip of his faceplate. “One of the dishes has a little heat to it—the coconut chicken curry. I’m not sure what your and your little ones’ preferences are, so there’s also a salad and some soup if you’d rather have something less spicy. And there is rice and naan to go with the curry, if you’d like.”

“It all sounds and smells delicious, so I know we’ll enjoy it. You’re more than generous.” Pia considers you and him for a brief reprieve, dark eyes darting between the odd pair a human and an animatronic more than twice their size makes. “And I’m sure you’ve gotten to see and taste that firsthand. Are you two…?”

She gives a vague gesture at you and Eclipse.

It takes a second for you to understand, but then you smirk a little crookedly and brush off the question.

“Ah, no, we’re not related. I tried to blend in with his family, but for some reason, no one was buying it. Can’t imagine why. I’ve always said these bones are made of metal.”

You jokingly pat your forearm.

Eclipse stifles some sort of sound from deep in his chassis, and you quirk a brow at him.

“I think what Ms. Pia was trying to ask,” he says, and there’s the dry snark you’ve learned to become so weary of, “is if we’re together as a couple.”

“Oh.”

You look at Pia. She smiles, but her lips are pressed in a thin line, like she’s holding back a small snicker.

“Oh,” you say again because once really wasn’t enough.

Eclipse decides to save the situation for you.

“No, we’re not dating,” he tells the woman, but his voice has a certain cadence to it at the end, like he’s about to say more. But he doesn’t add anything more to that, and you get the intense impression that there’s a whole lot of unsaid conversation happening right now.

“I see,” Pia says, but she does so in a way that suggests she’s seeing a whole lot more than you are. “Well, I don’t mean to sound like a broken record, but I really can’t thank you enough for cooking an entire meal for us. It’s just so unexpected but kind. If there’s anything that I can give you in return...”

“No need.” Eclipse’s hand squeezes your shoulder, and you begin to subtly step back along with him, away from the door. “I just hope your son gets well soon. If you ever happen to need another meal, please feel free to let me know. I can’t guarantee I’ll be free every night to cook, but I’ll do what I can to help. Provided my cooking is up to par, I suppose.”

Pia bites her quivering lip like she might burst into tears. Her watery laugh confirms as much, and she sniffles.

“I don’t need to taste it to know that. I should let you get back to your own dinner though. Thank you for everything. And it was nice meeting you,” she says, directing the last part to you.

You and Eclipse wave and bid her farewell and then continue back down the corridor. The click and lock of a door echoes behind you. Alone again, you keep quiet as you walk back to the brothers’ apartment. The patterns in the floor swirl and spin in a vortex while you stare unseeingly at it.

Everything that just transpired plays back in your head. Maybe there was something more you should have said to Pia. Something encouraging. You think your presence there wasn’t of much help at all, but perhaps knowing other people cared enough to check in on her was all you could have really given the woman. You don’t know her or her family, though that doesn’t stop the slight constriction of your heart on their behalf.

Your feet don��t stop until the hand on your shoulder gives another squeeze. It makes you pull back from your thoughts and realize that you are in front of the brothers’ apartment door. Tilting your head a little more up yields Eclipse’s concerned faceplate.

“Everything alright?” he questions.

As if you’re the one who needs help. You don’t have the power to snap your fingers and heal someone, but you wish you could for that little boy. Kids like him should be out playing and having fun and not worrying about breathing.

You shrug.

Since that doesn’t feel good enough, you add, “I’m glad you introduced me to her. She seemed nice.”

His eyes slide away.

“Yes, I thought so too. Both her and her husband seem like good people. I’m hoping that after this mess sorts itself out, we can become friends.”

Like he’s not already well on that road. You’ll bet that his and his brothers’ involvement has already left a lasting impression.

“Just keep feeding them,” you remark goodnaturedly. “That way, you won’t ever be able to get rid of them.”

There’s that familiar grin you’ve come to love. His optics gleam.

“Such high praise,” he trills. “Is that supposed to be a hint that you want your own dinner now?”

A sly shrug.

“It might. But there could be something else I’d also like before then.”

Eclipse crosses his arms, one of his hands tapping his teeth in thought.

“Something else…”

You nod. As an animatronic, he most certainly hasn’t forgotten what he promised you earlier, and you shift on your heels in excitement.

“So,” you chirp, folding your hands behind your back to hide your eagerness for whatever he has in store.

But Eclipse just looks at you.

“Yes?”

You gnaw on your lip. Shuffle your feet. Lift your brows expectantly.

Nothing. Eclipse waits for you to continue. You think he might have not understood what you’re alluding to, but you’ve learned to read the slight differences in his grin. He has a glass-edge sharpness just at the thinnest tips of his mouth. He knows what you’re thinking.

What a cocky bastard. You think he might have some issues with “conflating” too, or however he put it.

Reluctantly, you give in first.

“So what was that you were saying about a reward?”

A hand that could easily be the size of your head rubs at his bottom rays. He feigns confusion.

“A reward? What reward?”

Stepping on his toes wouldn’t hurt him at all. You would know; you’ve tried. But it would be petty at the very least, and you’re sorely tempted.

Instead, you remember something he’d said even earlier.

Unable to bite back a smarmy grin, you retort, “You tell me.”

Elongated rays slowly turn in an idle pattern that you’ve often seen from Sun when he’s thinking about something. It’s cute and a little endearing. You wonder if Eclipse picked it up from his little brother or if it’s the other way around.

When he appears to come to a decision, his rays come back to a stop.

“Follow me,” he says and resumes striding down the hallway.

This time, you widen your own steps to keep up.

Eclipse leads you down one row of apartments and then another, taking a sharp turn until you reach a little lounging area not too far from his place. It’s a public alcove, but no one is around, and a few chairs and a table are pushed against a wall. Impersonal but cozy enough. A window hangs above the single cushioned bench across from the table and chairs. Here, the animatronic stops, staring out at the dark sky from where trails of snowflakes slowly descend. The numerous lights from other buildings illuminate the snow that has already begun to stick to the roads far below.

You stand next to him and admire the view for a few seconds. It’s nice, but this doesn’t seem like the thing Eclipse would want to show you. Not when he has an even better view from the balcony of his apartment.

But you never can be sure when it comes to the tall, brooding animatronic next to you.

So you tentatively say, “You wanted to show me a view of the city?”

A scoff.

Then, “Yes, I absolutely wanted to show you something you’ve seen a thousand times over. No, what I really wanted was to give us some privacy.”

You frown and turn to him.

“You have an apartment—”

“That is shared with my brothers.” He pulls away from the window as well. “Privacy is a little hard to come by when you have younger siblings, and the only space I can completely get away from them is my bedroom. But I felt that taking you there for something like this would seem a little… uncouth.”

“Uncouth.” Both of your brows reach your hairline.

Eclipse looks like he bit a lemon. An incredible feat for someone who can’t even open his mouth.

“Please don’t make it sound weird. I’m trying to take into consideration all of your delicate human sensibilities.”

“I’m making it weird? Not the person who’s apparently bothered by the thought of me seeing their messy bed?”

“What? No, that’s not what I— Actually, yes, let’s just go with that. Forget what I said.”

Your frown deepens, confused at what he could have possibly meant instead, and you open your mouth to question as much, but he hastily continues on, stilted.

“I wanted to give you a reward. But in retrospect, it’s closer to a favor that I’d like to ask of you. So I apologize if that makes you uncomfortable. And you’re more than welcome to say no, of course.”

You’re way past the point of confusion. Eclipse seems incredibly nervous for something that you’d originally thought would be trivial, so you wonder if he really does have a dead body he needs you to hide. Not exactly how you planned out your evening, but you are someone who rolls with the punches. He did make you dinner, so you’ll at least hear out your friend who’s now possibly a convict.

“Must be some hell of a favor,” you say in lieu of just staring blankly.

The animatronic tugs you down onto the bench with him, and you end up sitting facing him with your knees touching his from how much space he takes up. You’d write the act off as him just trying to conceal his nerves, but he seems to actually want you sitting down for whatever reason. He scoots closer to you as he stumbles through his words.

“Yes, well. It’s been on my mind for a while. I considered asking sooner, but I wanted to be sure of where you stood regarding the matter. I’m still not entirely sure, but I believe I’ve read the room right. Or at least I hope I have.”

“Eclipse.”

“Hush, I’m getting there. What I mean to say is—” He reaches down and takes your hands in his. Your hair falls across your shoulders when you tip your head down, blinking, but his voice beckons back your focus. “My brothers and I have grown fond of you. Very fond. You are… someone we treasure greatly. And I hope you don’t need me to say that in order for you to know it.”

Ghostly warmth begins to crawl into your cheeks.

“We’ve all developed our own friendships with you over time,” he continues, “and I know it’s been just several months since we first met. But even in such a small time frame, our feelings and thoughts have all aligned on the same page regarding you. That is to say, we care deeply about you. The way you’ve written yourself so easily into our lives has left a tremendous impact that I’m not so sure you’re quite aware of.”

“I think I’m getting there,” you interject with a tiny smirk.

Eclipse sighs, smiles, and squeezes your hands. “I just wanted to make sure I was upfront about that first. It’s very important to Sunny, Moonie, and I that you know how we feel. I won’t put words into my brothers’ mouths, however, so you’ll have to hear from them themselves about what they think. Now, as for the favor, and I really hope you’ll forgive me for this, but I think the anticipation will kill me if I delay any longer. And I know the end of the year is still weeks away, but waiting until then would be insurmountable.”

He says your name then, so light and soft and airy that your head is in the clouds.

“I was wondering if, as a favor that might be a reward depending on your perspective, would you… help me get a head start on this new year’s tradition?”

Silence.

Your eyes don’t leave his, that bright yellow glow broken only by the dark rings inside.

When you find your voice, you say, slowly, in disbelief, “You want me to help you…?”

He waits for you to continue. When you don’t, he finishes the sentence for you.

“Get a head start on the new year’s tradition, yes.”

More silence.

You narrow your eyes, anticipating a joke, but it never comes. Somehow, after that whole speech, you thought you’d have at least some contextual clues. You’re sitting in place with even more questions, and none of the dots are connecting, none of the lines are intersecting, nothing’s making sense.

Tongue moving even more slowly, the hamster wheels in your brain spinning overtime, you draw out, “So… you want me to help you brainstorm a resolutions list?”

The spans of silence are getting repetitive at this point, but at least it’s Eclipse’s turn to appear utterly baffled. He gapes at you like you’re the one not making any sense, his tension not quite leaving but taking a backseat to make room for… whatever this is. You have no idea, and now for some reason, he doesn’t seem to either.

“Pardon?” he says.

Like a mirror, your confusion reflects onto him, which bounces back onto you. The lack of comprehension is almost funny. But you’re too perplexed to really note that in between the quiet. So you wait a beat, about to repeat your question.

Then Eclipse’s expression evens out as whatever caused the miscommunication finally dawns on him. A little huff escapes, and his grin smooths into a less crooked line.

“Oh dear. No, darling, I don’t need help with a resolutions list. That isn’t what—”

“Well, good,” you can’t help but throw in, “because I’m terrible at keeping to them.”

Eclipse shakes with his mirth, quiet little shudders that make you relax. You give him a moment, and when he releases a big electric sigh, you patiently wait for him to continue.

“That isn’t the tradition I was referring to. I meant that I’d like to get a head start with you on welcoming in the new year… with a kiss.”

The hamster wheels grind to a screeching halt.

You don’t say it, but your mouth drops in a small oh. You forget your hands are currently in his, so when you listlessly try to lift a finger to point at yourself in disbelief, you don’t get very far. He seems to realize what you mean all the same, and he nods.

“Yes,” he further clarifies, which is very needed in your stupefied state. “I want to kiss you.”

Even with the audible confirmation, you still don’t believe what you’re hearing. It just doesn’t make sense to you. None of what he said makes sense to you. You’ve half a mind to believe that your unbridled thoughts from earlier have catapulted you into some insane lucid dream, and even now, you’re trying to understand any of it.

“Eclipse,” you weakly laugh, tensing up again, uneasy. “We’re not on set right now. Where’s the punchline?”

He turns pensive, metal sun rays creating a new draft as his smile melts away.

“No, no joke,” he says, earnest. “No punchline. I know it seems like everyone has made light of our friendship and teased us relentlessly about it all throughout filming. But this isn’t that. I’m not asking if you want to be in a relationship with me so suddenly. I’m asking if I may have your permission to just start on the path toward that, test the waters, so to speak… and maybe see if there’s the smallest chance you find yourself wanting something similar along the way as well.”

You’re not sure why—it could be because you’re afraid to blink at all—but your eyes are beginning to burn. In the time you’ve gotten to know him, you’ve understood that Eclipse is bold about most things, and he has no issue vocalizing his stance if needed. But seeing that in action and having it directed not just at you but for you is another matter. You’re not used to someone caring that much about you. Though he and his brothers have done a fine job in changing that around.

You blink away the irksome mistiness. To your hot frustration, a tear slips past your guard, and Eclipse draws in a wounded artificial respiration.

Before you can frantically wipe it away, he’s already there, catching it for you with a touch that makes your beaten heart lurch even more before he takes your hand again.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, and for the first time compared with the numerous others he’s used that endearment, it feels real and like it’s directed at you without an ounce of make believe. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head. But I have an inclination of what your heart is saying, and I want you to know that those feelings you have, the ones you doubt are true, are entirely wanted and reciprocated. I want you, in whatever way you’ll allow me to have you. Just understand that my desire goes beyond the silly ridicule we’ve heard at work or the harmless banter we’ve exchanged ourselves—though I can see it’s been far from harmless now.”

You don’t dare to breathe. But you keep your ears and eyes open as Eclipse lays out in no uncertain terms what you’ve subconsciously longed for for ages. Another tear falls.

“If it takes more than words to prove my want for more than a friendship with you, then I’ll let my actions do the talking, starting now if that’s something you’re okay with. I’m serious about this, and I need to make sure you believe me when I say this isn’t a joke at your expense. You mean too much to me to be a mere punchline.”

If you didn’t have so much practice from your job, you’re certain you’d be bawling like a baby right now. How many nights have you laid in bed, feeling like you’re missing something? How often have you stared after the three brothers and wondered if you’re getting too close? How often have you told yourself that it’s all in your head, none of it is and never can be real?

And yet, against all odds, what you’ve needed is being handed to you on a silver platter.

You’re not and never will be as articulate as Eclipse, so you draw the card from your deck that’s always been your go-to, and choose a weak stab at levity.

“You know,” you sniffle, “for a guy who usually doesn’t beat around the bush, you sure use a lot of words for a simple request.”

It’s worth it for the flash of combined relief and fake chagrin that you know doesn’t bear any ill will toward you.

“Forgive me,” Eclipse says, mildly deadpan, and you can hear the subdued mirth in response to your remark, “but a certain someone has demonstrated an uncanny amount of obliviousness as of late to my attempts at flirting with them.”

Okay, he’s just going for your throat now. This still doesn’t feel real. You’re expecting that this is just some weird dream that will make you have a crisis when you wake up. So if this really is all in your head, you’d better make the most of it while it lasts.

You contemplate the large hands holding your much smaller pair. In response, Eclipse draws ticklish lines along your palms before smoothing over them with a softer rub.

Your lips try for a smirk but don’t quite get there. His former nervousness must be contagious because now you’ve got it. You want to meet his eye, but it’s making your confidence take a fast hike in the opposite direction.

A swallow. Light clearing of your throat. Mouth opening to speak and then snapping shut once more.

If only you were this talented on set, able to cry so easily. You’re delivering an Oscar-worthy performance right now, except it’s authentic. Eclipse had better be appreciating it because he’s fully responsible and had better accept the repercussions.

Taking a quiet breath, you try once more. Those hands steady you all the while.

You try to say yes. That’s really all you need to do to get the ball rolling.

Instead, what you manage to stutter out is, “I-I think that’s your cue to move in close, pumpkin.”

You want to shove your foot in your mouth. Metaphorically, of course.

One of Eclipse’s hands leaves yours and slides back up to your face. It spans your wet cheek and tilts your head up, seeking your gaze. Just to be more of a hassle and also to ignore the burning embarrassment flaring across your skin, you consider petulantly closing your eyes; the moment you see his, however, you can’t look away. The clash of black against gold robs you of your breath.

Lowly, as if to be sure, Eclipse clarifies, “Is that a yes?”

You hold back another ill-timed quip, eyes brimming with unshed happiness.

“It's a yes.”

Your breath catches when he leans in closer yet. You expect your thoughts to be screaming like they always have been, but it’s just a calm single-mindedness that centers around only the lovely individual seated next to you. That doesn’t mean your stomach isn’t bursting with that fluttering feeling or that your one hand isn’t clinging tighter to his while the other finds purchase in the fabric around his lower thigh.

The night is apparently still young in throwing you for a loop because Eclipse doesn’t completely close the gap. He’s close, so close, unbearably close that if he had lungs, you’d be feeling the smooth caress of his breath across your lips. His expression is nothing less than heated, eyelids falling heavy as he ogles without remorse at your parted mouth like he’s a starved man presented with the finest meal. His palm remains gentle around your cheek, but his fingers press in just the smallest amount to make you dizzy. It’s as if he’s on the verge of a possessive grip and only just holding himself back.

He doesn’t move. Neither do you.

You wonder if maybe he’s forgotten what he was going to do because he’s just so lost in your truly irresistible attractiveness, and the proximity has finally done him in. But you suspect it’s likely not that. The agonizingly slow drag of his leer back up to yours tells a different story.

A flashbulb image of the sight you and he must be making sears through your retinas. This little alcove had better have wards surrounding it, or else you’ll throw hands with anyone who dares to intrude on your private moment.

Eclipse says something. You’re a little lost in thought or maybe just his eyes—a cliché thought for which you immediately give yourself a strong mental kick—so you don’t catch it. Your hair shifts a bit when you tip your head.

“What?”

Nothing on Eclipse’s face suggests what he’s said. There’s a very strong chance it has something to do with you and not the weather, but that’s all you have to work with.

Calmly, he repeats, “A yes to what?”

You stare. The confusion returns, though maybe he’s just making sure he didn’t read the situation or you wrong.

“Yes to what you want to do?” you say, voice tipping up at the end.

Apparently, that’s not good enough.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks.

And that’s when you realize what he’s doing.

Oh, for—

You manage the flattest expression possible, countering the wretched grin that now eats up your vision. Eclipse beams so brightly that it reaches his optics. There is not a single part of it that is appealing, a fact you have to frantically remind yourself of since your heart is leaping at it like it has a mind of its own. His rays are still, but you can see them twitching hard with the desire to spin.

An aggrieved groan overtakes your throat. Getting up and walking away would mean some victory over Eclipse, but it also would deprive you of your reward, which you really, desperately, unequivocally very much want. He’s got you right where he wants you, and he knows it. At least it’s sobered you up enough that you’re not on the verge of crying more.

Defeat is supposed to taste bitter. You accept it this time with a surprising sweetness settling on your tongue.

With a longsuffering sigh—because your patience truly knows no bounds around him—you say, once more, with feeling, “I want you to kiss me.”

In the greatest twist of events, Eclipse shows you mercy. His grin is no less wicked, but it helps that you find yourself pulled toward it regardless.

“My pleasure,” he says, and with no more hesitance, he removes the gap between you and him and kisses you, achingly gentle and sugar sweet.

On your cheek.

Your mouth hangs open. His dry amusement vibrates through you as he lingers where you had not expected him to go, his smooth mouth grazing your skin in tangible warmth. He nuzzles a little lower then, skirting his sharp grin just below your jawline. As he presses close, his hand holds your other cheek securely so that you can’t help but tilt your head and grant him better access.

Any petulant protest that had been readied on your lips dies. Eclipse hardly does anything but hold you still so that his mouth can lay tender affection on your burning face. It somehow feels even more intimate this way because he is the one bestowing the kiss while you can merely gape ahead at the pointed tips of his rays that he carefully steers away from prodding you. You’re clinging to him with increasing force, drowning from him overriding all your senses until everything within you just sings his name.

When he at last relinquishes the space that had been between you before, you catch your breath again. Metal fingers trail down your cheek and the surely telling heat that radiates from it. Eclipse gives a hum that is highly appreciative and somehow makes you go from hot to scalding. You can’t hide anything from him like this, and he doesn’t seem intent on letting you slip away so easily. Maybe you’re secretly part animatronic too because whatever he just did left your brain feeling utterly fried. You’re little more than a puddle right now, with him being the single entity holding you intact.

His hand continues down until it curls under your chin and nudges your head up a smidge more. Ah, you weren’t meeting his eyes again. His own flare with pride or satisfaction. You try and fail to swallow with a dry throat.

Your voice wavers when you say, “Well… that’s not what I was expecting.”

Metal bends with his intrigue.

“Had you imagined something else?”

You don’t like how he can remain so smooth and unaltered after that. He can deny it all he wants, but he shares more aspects with his character than he thinks.

“Saying I imagined it suggests that I’d thought of it before now. Which I haven’t, just to be clear.”

Liar. You huff and frown. You’d cross your arms if he wasn’t still holding your hand. Or you weren’t holding his. Whatever.

Even sharks have nicer teeth. Eclipse’s eyes narrow with the keenness of a predator, reminding you that you are very alone with him. Suddenly, having someone walk in on you doesn’t seem so bad.

“I’m sure you haven’t,” he says, sounding like he believes the exact opposite but is choosing not to call you out on it. “So that means it was a surprise then. A pleasant one, maybe?”

“It wasn’t bad. Just seems like you missed.”

“Missed?”

“Yeah.” You realize you’ll have to spell it out for him and experience a twinge of exasperated affection. “You’ve kissed me before, oh angel eyes, so I thought you’d—”

“No,” Eclipse quickly cuts in, shockingly serious, prompting you to stop in surprise. “No, that was different. The characters we play have kissed. We’ve always been removed from the roles that we act out in front of the lights and cameras. Those moments have all been directed, scripted, and cut to unrealistic perfection to meet the standards of television. But I have never kissed you, dear one. Not until now, at least, though it was most certainly worth the wait to me.”

He’s not wrong. You had been surreptitiously equating those little kisses on set to what might be real life, with a thin acknowledgment that it wasn’t really the same. Probably another reason you’ve been struggling so much lately. So Eclipse is right in that regard. But the tangent he’s gone off on isn’t what you’d meant.

You hook your foot around your ankle to stop the urge of bouncing your knee from restlessness. Your whole body feels ready to shift around if you don’t get a hold on this abnormal shyness. It has to be some sort of witchcraft he’s secretly working in the background. You’ve never felt like this around anyone before.

The annoying little voice in your head tells you that’s not true, bringing up recent memories of your encounters with all three of the brothers. You mentally tell that voice to shut up.

“That’s honestly one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me, Clip, but I was just saying that I thought you were going to kiss me like before.”

You almost frown at his intense scrutiny, his pupils shrinking and inverting to staggering gold against a harsh black backdrop.

“So just to make sure I’m understanding this correctly, what I’m hearing is that you want me to kiss you like our times on set? The times that I’ve had to pretend to hold you so harshly that your bones would have bruised if it weren’t for movie magic? Treating you like some object or pet that utterly demeans you? That’s what you want?”

As a joke, because you’re greatly feeling like you’re losing control of the conversation, you shrug and make a face that ultimately boils down to well, if the shoe fits.

Eclipse barks out a short laugh.

“Darling, I mean this with only the most graceful and kind intentions, but have you lost your damn mind?”

His reaction startles you, and you backtrack immediately.

“I’m not saying you have to kiss me like some deranged, possessive person—”

“I’m glad,” he snaps. “Because I won’t. I won’t ever do that to you, and I refuse to treat you like an object. I would have assumed you knew I respected you too much to even consider that.”

“Eclipse,” you huff, smiling to try to disarm the stiffness in his posture and face as his fierce declaration melts you, “I was just kidding. All of this was just to say that I thought you were going to kiss me on the lips. That’s all. I would never think so little of you, not when you’ve gone above and beyond to prove different.”

His upset disposition doesn’t waver right away, but he also doesn’t rush to speak up again. You can see the exact moment when your words sink in because the animatronic’s whole demeanor transforms. The sudden ferocity in his dark expression fades, and the air ebbs back into something lighter. You think you might have actually offended him—accidentally, that is—by implying he needed to be like the unhinged character he stars as. That wasn’t your intent by any means, and you rub his knuckles with your thumb in apology.

“…I see.” He aims a grumble at the floor. You can sense the tiny ripple of embarrassment from him now that he recognizes his overreaction. You’re almost certain he’d be blushing if it were possible. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. That wasn’t my intent. I was trying to be a gentleman.”

Oh, your smile is going to become a permanent feature if he keeps saying sweet nothings like that. That’s adorable.

He’s still pouting though, so to lighten the mood, you say, “You are very sweet. A total charmer. I’d even rate the experience a nine out of ten.”

Now it’s his turn to aim a flat grin your way. It makes yours inch up higher, and his rays cycle anew. You’ll be the first to admit that you’re relieved when the colors of his eyes invert again back to their usual pattern.

“Not a perfect score?” he sniffs, or as close to the sound that an animatronic can make. “Well, if you’re going to be such a smooching critic, maybe I should just take my kiss back.”

You gasp in feigned shock, rearing back as if scandalized.

“Eclipse! You wouldn’t.”

“I will,” he growls like he isn’t playing, and without warning, he effortlessly reels you back in.

A much more sincere gasp escapes you as he tilts your head to the side, baring the cheek he hadn’t kissed. His teeth find your unmarked skin, and this time, you feel like you might faint. You hadn’t expected this at all, and with no way to brace yourself for it, the suddenness leaves you in a tailspin. He must be able to hear your heart as your pulse rings like a clear bell in your ears. Everything from your face to your neck to your fingertips feels like it’s on fire, making you dizzy and breathless.

Eclipse doesn’t linger as long this time, but the gravely purr that sounds like a rake over coals stokes the embers in your body. He pulls away, not far, faceplate hovering just inches for you with a catlike smugness splashed across the surface. His rays are back to whirling again, and further down, you can hear the highspeed kick of his servos.

The consolation that you’re not the only one reeling is small but enough to ease you back down to a calmer plane of existence.

And to think you wanted him to kiss you on the mouth. The room must be stuffy or something because there’s no other logical reason for why you feel close to passing out. You feel hazy but also like you could sprint down the halls at a marathoner’s pace at the same time.

“Satisfied?” croons the voice right next to your ear.

Despite your best efforts, your lips curl up.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” you say, a bit heavy from your breathing.

For now at least, your thoughts tack on cheekily. You can’t disagree with that.

Eclipse practically preens from the underhanded praise. He straightens further to give you a little more breathing space, and your fingers dig into the creases of his pants with the desire to drag him right back in.

Later, though. As much as you like the idea of continuing, you much more appreciate the manner he’s approached this. Disguising his feelings as a reward or a favor or what have you allows you to put distance between yourself and a relationship. You know you really, really like the idea right now, but you don’t want to rush into things either. You want to think about it and also what he said about his brothers and their possible feelings too. Looking back at how close you’ve grown to Sun and Moon, you’re not so sure you doubt anymore that there could be something more in the sidelines that only needs to be approached to become a reality.

But time. You need time to take a step back and evaluate your own heart… regardless of the fact that everything in you is screaming a wild yes at progressing from being just friends.

You reach up and secure both of Eclipse’s hands in yours. The color of his optics shines with luscious warmth, drawing you like a moth to a flame. You maybe want to stop dancing around him and instead just dive right in. That all can wait, though. He’s already made it clear he’ll wait for you.

Quietly, you murmur, “Those little hiccups aside, I think you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

He laces your fingers together, likely feeling the fluttery jump of your pulse at even that.

“Hopefully, those will be good thoughts you have. But even if they aren’t,” he says, this time uttering your name like a whispered prayer, “even if you choose not to pursue a relationship with me, that is completely alright. And that extends to my brothers as well. Take your time; we’ll be right here.”

He lifts one of your hands then and gives you a final kiss, right atop the backs of your fingers. Of the three he’s given you so far, that one feels the most tender.

Before you can become a permanent fixture to your seat, Eclipse stands and helpfully brings you up with him.

“Now,” he says, voice returning to its deep thrum, “let's get back home before your food gets cold. I believe Sun is planning to put on his favorite Christmas movie for you tonight.”

“Oh?” You gleefully begin walking with Eclipse, his broad arm curving around you and keeping you close, which you are all too happy to accept. The little alcove of a lounge isn’t far from the apartment, but the trip seems even shorter this time. “I don’t think he’s ever mentioned it to me before. What is it?”

Eclipse gives a throaty chuckle, and his hand squeezes your shoulder.

“Not what you’d expect,” he answers in a very dubious manner that dodges the question entirely.

At the door of their apartment, he produces his keys from his pocket and unlocks it, holding it open for you to slip inside. The waft of mouth-watering dinner makes your nostrils flare. Eager, you toe off your shoes as Eclipse closes the door behind you, and the sound of the TV wars with the smell beckoning you back to the kitchen. You opt to make a beeline for the family room instead and find Sun and Moon on the couch while Sun fiddles with the remote and a selection of movies on the screen.

Moon catches sight of you first, and the eerie prickling of his evil grin should be warning enough. However, he pats the space next to him, two hearty thumps on the couch cushion between him and Sun.

“Have a seat, pardner.”

You can’t resist. It feels like you’re walking right into a trap—a feeling that only enhances as soon as you sit down. Moon’s arm that’s draped over the back of the couch noticeably slides down until his hand brushes your upper arm. He teasingly taps his fingers against it, and you side-eye him with mounting suspicion.

“Visit go well?” he asks. Despite his shifty aura, his tone is sincere.

You nod.

“Yeah, they seem really nice. I think the mom was appreciative of the meal at least. She looked really tired.”

Moon’s smile thins.

“That’s to be expected. Clip’s interacted with them the most, but we’ve all had the chance to meet them. Their kids are real cute and well-behaved. Sunny thinks so too, though you won’t catch him within ten feet of them.”

From your other side, Sun scoffs, “Stop making it sound like I think they’re carrying some contagious animatronic disease.”

A lightbulb goes off over your head then.

“So when you were talking about being nervous around kids this afternoon, you were referring to your neighbors?”

Sun glances from the TV to you, faceplate a little pained.

“Is that bad? Moonie and I have been talking about helping watch the kids if necessary, and if the parents are even okay with that, of course. We haven’t offered yet because we still don’t know them all that well, but we do want to help. I’m just not… I don’t know how much the kids would like or listen to me, to be honest.”

Moon grunts, and when you look back at him, he’s rolling his eyes.

“You’re more than capable, Sun. You just don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“Well, maybe I want to fish for compliments.”

“Better get used to coming home empty-handed then.”

Sun glares waspishly over your head at his brother, and you shake your head with a snort. You tap Sun’s knee to get his attention, and his frown softens.

“I heard you had a Christmas movie in mind?”

Sun’s rays immediately begin spinning.

“Yes, I do! My very favorite, in fact, so I hope you’re into the classics. We’re just waiting for Clip to join us with your food.”

From the kitchen, Eclipse calls, “You can go ahead and start without me, Sunny!”

You think he might mutter something further, but it’s too faint to tell. Moon’s arm keeps slouching more and more of its weight onto you, and the very unsubtle hint finally makes you give in and rest against him.

Moon makes a very pleased hum, and you huffily laugh.

“Getting cozy?” you whisper up at him.

Dark optics peer down at you.

“I might need the extra comfort for tonight.”

Your face turns confused, and Moon nods towards the TV. You look back to see what Sun has selected, and you feel yourself freeze.

“No...”

That is not the lighthearted romance or cheesy, fluffy comedy you’d expected.

With a grin rivaling his namesake, Sun tilts his head at you, rays spinning.

“Is there really any better Christmas classic than Die Hard?” he remarks in a far too cheery tone.

You want to think he’s joking.

“I don’t really think that’s—”

“Glad you agree!” he announces before you can dispute it. Then with viperlike speed, he leans in, inches from your face. “Because I’d really hate for you to back out of a silly prank war so easily.”

When he gives you back your space, reclining against the other side of the couch with the most punchable smirk you’ve ever seen, you try to think of some way, any way, you can spin this in your favor without letting him win.

Moon’s chassis shudders beneath you as he tries to hide his amusement.

“Best not to reason with him,” he murmurs. “I’ve since learned to just accept it.”

“But… isn’t it technically a horror film?”

“By the movie’s standards? No. But it gives us all the excuses to cuddle, hm?”

You mull over your options. The movie starts, and Sun is glancing over at you and Moon with pointed skepticism like he’s debating over whether to try to finagle you over to his side. You almost wonder if that’s the sole reason he picked this movie. Knowing Sun, you absolutely would not put it past him.

If that’s the case, then game on. You give him a snarky waggle of your brows and snuggle further into Moon’s side. Sun’s optics turn into thin white lines with his playful glower. His faceplate tips up a bit with an air of self-assured posturing, and his little smile lets you know that he’s on to you.

Moon sneaks his hand from over your arm to under it, wiggling across your waist. You focus on that while you turn back to the movie.

As the night continues on, along with your two boys and eventually Eclipse and a plate of food that truly is divine, you find yourself unable to stop smiling. Horror movie or not, you feel more content and safer than you have in ages. It’s a deep-seated warmth that stays in your chest, flaring when Moon squeezes you closer throughout the movie, when Sun sneakily scoots across the couch inch by inch until you’re just as sandwiched against him with one hand threading with his, and once or twice when you catch Eclipse’s golden peripheral.

It’s a culmination of moments that wind through the hours and the laughs and the impromptu pillow fight that later ensues after the movie when you all try to set up a blanket fort, bursting with childish glee. It follows you when you settle in for the night, exhausted, somehow sharing the cushioned floor space with all three of the brothers despite you each having your own beds you could sleep in. The warmth doesn’t falter once but rather grows, making your heart beat at a slightly more elevated rate than usual even when you’re supposed to be sleeping. Your euphoria has yet to leave, and the snowflakes continue to spin outside in the darkness and the city lights, the cold far away when you’re snug in the comfortable haven that’s starting to feel more and more like home.

This is real. You have the option to make it an even greater reality, one they’ve offered to you freely.

Your eyes close after one final check on the quiet animatronics around you, still in their rest mode and version of dreamless sleep.

Yeah. You have a lot to think about.

#eclipse x reader #sun x reader #moon x reader #daycare attendant x reader #sleuth jesters actor au #detective au #sleuth jesters fanfic #fnaf sb #writing tag #omg that part is finally done #going to take a mini break to finally(!) catch up on reading some fic and leaving some comments and then I'll get back to editing

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lyledebeast · 3 months

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I think what really makes The Patriot such a great movie for Jason Isaacs in spite of being such a shitty movie for just about everyone else involved just comes down to laziness in the writing. Robert Rodat wrote a protagonist who is allegedly, somehow, a badass Rambo-style war hero and haunted by his past AND a good father, and the filmmakers planned from the beginning to rely on Mel Gibson's charisma to sell him. Roland Emmerich admits they never really considered anyone else for the role. Meanwhile, Tavington on paper is a cardboard cutout Evil English Snob. The original plan was to cast Jude Law, a solid Evil English Snob choice, but when he took too long to officially accept, they offered the part to an actor with little experience in American film who had not played a major antagonist before. And they let him implement some of his own ideas because his character wasn't the one they really cared about.

And he stole their movie!

I would argue that the main reason for this, the reason all the others stem from, is Issacs' idea for Tavington's backstory. Not only does it explain why he is in the Army and so desperate for a British victory, but also, in part, why he has such particular beef with a father.

The backstory itself is certainly more tragic than Martin's. For all the movie's criticism of "gentlemen," growing up in the expectation of a certain kind of life and having that torn away through someone else's irresponsibility would traumatize anyone. While the movie tells us nothing about Tavington's age when his father died or what happened to him in the immediate aftermath, it is abundantly clear that he has not gotten over it. Martin has not gotten over Fort Wilderness, but by every other account we hear it was 1, Martin's accomplishment and 2, an absolute Roman triumph from the British Colonial perspective. It did nothing to hurt Martin's fortune or prospects, quite the opposite. The only drawback for Martin is that when you commit war crimes, it has an unfortunate way of making you feel like you might be a war criminal. Annoying that.

That Tavington has a saber to grind with fathers is also far more consistent than Martin's approach to fathering, as we see in Tavington's first scene. He points his pistol at Martin's children to get the rise out of him that pointing it at him failed to stir. He never speaks to Gabriel or even looks at him upon discovering the dispatches he carried, but when Gabriel calls Martin "father," suddenly Tavington is invested: "Oh, I see. He's your son. Well, perhaps you should have taught him something of loyalty." Every problem Tavington sees in this scene of performed neutrality he lays at Martin's door, even Gabriel's service in the Continental Army. Could it be projection? If there is one outcome that is not Martin's fault, it is Gabriel joining up against his explicit wishes. Meanwhile, Martin's concern for Gabriel shifts from his endangering five of his remaining children's lives to save him to paying so little attention to him immediately after his new wife's murder that he is able to ride for revenge with no inconsequential number of Martin's men behind him. And he is at least as shocked by Gabriel's death as he was by Thomas's.

The first exchange between Tavington and Martin is mostly unchanged from the script to the theatrical release, but the two following it are dramatically different thanks to Isaacs. He argued successfully that not only would Tavington not be afraid of Martin after the prisoner exchange but that he would do well in the final fight between them (a fight that does not exist in the original screenplay). That fight in particular creates problems for the filmmakers' vision of Martin. In the unaltered first scene, Tavington has all of the power, sitting on his horse while Martin is on foot. In the second, Tavington draws his sword to kill Martin while he is unarmed. Both of these are classic dastardly villain moves. In the last exchange, though, it is Martin who has the advantage of having wounded Tavington twice before they get in sword's reach of each other, and Tavington still kicks his ass. On Tavington's side, this is not representative of a one-dimensional villain but of a man who has clawed his way to being a colonel in the British Army after losing everything with his father's death. The only reason Tavington does not kill Martin, either after the punch Martin does not take like a champ or after he has literally beaten Martin to his knees, is that he is still seeking a connection with a father.

The problem with the changes Jason Isaacs brought about is that they make Tavington a badass fighter with a sad backstory, which also happen to be the only aspects of Martin that get any real development. His onscreen violence evokes Fort Wilderness from first to last, but the third aspect of Martin's character, that he is a good father, is told rather than shown. Had changes been made to Martin that corresponded to Isaacs' for Tavington, then he could have had a stronger ending, perhaps saving Gabriel as he failed to save Thomas. But, no. Instead he just gets out-badassed in his own movie and then handed a giftwrapped victory anyway.

#the patriot #jason isaacs #william tavington #benjamin martin #when your villain is better written than your hero #it's time for a new career

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rist-ix · 4 months

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Sadly I did NOT manage to write a word basically all week so I’m sorry to say the sparklet I promised u remains unfinished. BUT. Have this snippet for christmas:

To be feared is a power many underestimate. A power almost as great as magic itself, and in some situations even greater — a comparison he does not make lightly.

Fear is shield and sword at once, a spell with unlimited range, its only boundary the speed at which word-of-mouth can travel.

But fear, like any weapon, requires ammunition.

For a man like Valtor, there is certainly no lack of reasons to fear him. But he is intimately aware that to sustain his greatest ally, he needs to sustain his reputation.

To be untouchable, he has to seem untouchable.

To be feared, he has to look the part.

“That’s all very nice,” Solaria's Royal Seamstress comments, unamused. “But that still doesn’t tell me why I should accept your comission.”

He sighs, feigning irritation, and leans against the counter of her shop.

“Such indifference in the face of my plight!” he laments, before propping his chin up on his hand. “I knew I liked you for a reason, Telaseta.”

“Charm won’t help you this time, fiend. You have yet to pay me for the last time I fixed your wardrobe, and my kind has an excellent memory.”

Madame Telaseta, master of her craft and champion of holding grudges, clatters past him on her eight spindly legs. He looks after her with a hearty shrug, turning to inspect her latest handiwork instead.

“I would have gladly done so,” he insists over his shoulder. “Your work is without equal, and I was more than satisfied when I received that coat of yours. Unfortunately, I took a quite involuntary detour to Omega shortly after, and did not have the opportunity to compensate you until now.”

There's noise coming from the clothing racks to his right, and when he looks over, he sees Telaseta gut an expensive looking gown with even more expensive looking shears, emerging victoriously with a blue silk ribbon.

“Pah! Did not have the necessity to, you mean! I know you wizards, with your tricks and flatteries. You only come crawling when you want something from Old Telaseta. If only I were still young, ah, still that handsome linphean debutante…”

She sniffles theatrically, and he rolls his eyes before dutifully patting her hand in comfort.

“But Madame Telaseta,” he chides her, appalled. “In all the years I have known you, you have only ever grown more beautiful. No one in their right mind would disagree with me, I know it!”

She sniffles once more, the colorful jewelry she's draped all over herself clinking.

“I have, haven’t I? Well, I suppose we can’t all be ageless like you, fiend.”

Deciding she's had enough sweet talk for the day, she drops his hand to climb vertically up the wall and grab another roll of fabric, comparing the color to her newly cut ribbon. He follows her on her crusade through the labyrinth of clothing on display, all the way into the entrance of her opulent atelier.

“Let's say I were inclined to forgive you your negligence, young man,” she titters, seemingly satisfied with her choice. “What would my payment look like, this time? I’m afraid I’ll have to demand it upfront.”

“My generous, benevolent Telaseta,” he proclaims humbly, before opening his hand and summoning a little velvet satchel to his palm. “I thought you might say that.”

She drops from the wall after a moment, her arachnid lower body catching her fall with ease.

“Gemstones from Isis,” she purrs with an impressed look inside. “You always did know how to make the right friends.”

“What can I say? I have many talents.”

“As do I. Now, show me that poor coat of yours.”

A snap of his fingers summons the garment in question, in all its tattered glory.

“There were a good few dozen protection spells woven into those seams,” his tailor of trust mutters under her breath as she inspects the damage. “Gotta redo all of that. And the singe marks, dah! What kind of dastardly devil did you tangle with this time, to ruin all that hard work?”

He would answer with a friendly quip. Something charming, undoubtedly. But before he can even think to do so, there's a warm, familiar tingle at the back of his head, and then the door to the main room swings open with a ring of the bell.

“Hello?” a voice, that voice, calls into the shop, and he feels his hackles rise at the sheer presence filtering into the room, feels every fiber of his being seize with anticipation. “I'm here to pick up an order for…”

Her gaze meets his.

Lovely, dazzling blue eyes wide with surprise as she stands there, frozen mid-movement. He feels transported, moved all the way back to the last time he'd seen her in person. When her lips had been swollen and her hair disheveled, when his touch had been etched into her skin with pale red marks. When he had been ecstatic at simply holding her; already reeling with the loss of her, knowing she'd slip through his fingers yet again.

But here she is, here they are.

Reunited, the two of them. As it always should have been.

“Ah,” Telaseta chirps. “A customer!”

And then Bloom's eyes shift to her and she jumps, squealing like a child in a horror house.

“Never heard that before,” the seamstress deadpans, rolling her eyes. “Children these days. In my youth we had some respect for our elders, or we'd be spun in silk and digested!”

Valid as her point may be, she uses two of her spindly black spider legs to underline it with gesturing, and Bloom's entire scalp catches on fire in response.

Telaseta looks from her to his coat.

“Huh,” she says.

Then she scrambles on to find a fire blanket, leaving him and Bloom alone.

The latter is still staring shell-shocked after the arachne by the time he reaches her, though that might in part be due to his speed: he is unwilling to bear even an inch of distance between them, now that she's here.

“You should consider to stop staring, little fairy,” he tells her, guiding her eyes back to himself. Cannot help but smile when he brings his hand to her forehead and brushes her hair back over her scalp, stifling the flames below his palm as he goes. “It's quite rude.”

She has just enough time to open her mouth in indignation before his own descends on her, swallowing her no doubt outraged reply.

He cannot wrap his head around it.

That she is here, as if the Stars themselves wanted to drop her in his lap once more, and that he could have gone so long without her. His fingers are splayed out against the side of her jaw, preventing her from pulling away, her own hands grasping the collar of his shirt for balance, and he can’t believe it’s been almost an entire month since the catacombs.

Bloom's lips are softer than silk as she gasps into his mouth, presses back against him with a tentative little shove. When he pulls back to look at her, glassy eyed and out of breath, he's all but drunk on affection. For his elusive, coat-burning, dastardly little devil.

“Hello,” he smiles against her forehead, pulling her against him.

“You're here,” is here stunned reply, and he all but preens at the happiness coloring her voice.

Cannot believe it is here, in the brightly-painted shop of a solarian tailor, that he finally meets her again, when he expected some grand battle or a scandalous, secret encounter, hidden from prying eyes. No, when they should have never been separated in the first place. He buries his face in her hair and breathes in the fire and magic still clinging to her, the floral scent of her shampoo and the electric, prickling traces of a recent teleportation.

He should have kept her with him like a pocket watch on a chain; tied to him, never out of reach. To feel her with him at every small movement, every step he took. Now, with her spell-heated little body in his arms and her breath fanning out against his neck, he cannot fathom how he ever let her leave.

Before remembering that he did not have his powers, that day, after so narrowly evading his death.

He cannot help but notice that he does have them now. His grip on her tightens, just marginally, a nearly imperceptible tension seeping into his hands.

But something about that idea must have translated through their traitorous tether, happily spilling all his thoughts for her, because he blinks and she is gone, almost across the entire room.

Bloom raises her chin. A clear, obvious challenge.

“Try it,” she says. “See what happens.”

Oh. Oh how he yearns to.

Hungers to bare his teeth and answer her demand in determination and raw magic, wants to see her eyes spark with the thrill of a fight. But he's painfully aware that Madame Telaseta's shop is very, very flammable, and not likely to survive their little sparring match.

And he really wants that coat back.

“Try what?”, he asks, innocently folding his hands behind his back. “Always so suspicious, Bloom. I thought you knew me better by now.”

#have something sweet and sappy for the holidays!#fic: sparked #sparklets #i swear to god I will finish this I’m halfway through already #I just need to get my shit together

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yourghostwrotethis · 9 months

Text

Fic Recs #1

It's two A.M.. I'm not quite sure what to do because I'm not sleepy. Why not do a small recommendation list?

Actual recs under the cut. Read until the end!

All of these are pre-season 2, and take place in the show universe.

Talk About It (T)

by hope_in_the_dark (on Tumblr as @hope-inthedark)

Aziraphale and Crowley have been best friends for sixteen years. Crowley's been in love with Aziraphale for almost that long. When Aziraphale tells his family that he'll be bringing his boyfriend to his step-brother's wedding, things get a bit complicated. A Fake Dating AU.

Word count: 20806 (Complete)

I love fake dating AUs SO MUCH. And this is for sure one of the best ones out there. It's the perfect length, and there are snapshots through time that are simply lovely. I'm usually not a fan of the "long-time friends" trope, but this fic does it wonderfully. I don't want to say much more because I don't want to spoil anything but - it's great. Read it.

The Curve of Old Bones (E)

by Jenanigans1207 (@jenanigans1207)

Aziraphale watches as Crowley’s smile grows, sharpens and turns distinctively dastardly. And even though Aziraphale knows what he’s in store for, he’s entirely unprepared for the words that slip out of Crowley’s mouth next. “Name’s Anthony Crowley, Aziraphale’s husband.” Aziraphale is eternally grateful that he wasn’t taking a sip of his tea at that exact moment for he would’ve surely choked on it. -- When Crowley claims to be Aziraphale's husband to ruin what he assumes is a date, he doesn't think anything of it. But a day later it comes back to bite him in the ass when Crowley finds out that the date in question is, in fact, his new boss, who is looking to hire Aziraphale and hoping that Crowley, his husband, will put in a good word for them. Now Crowley is caught in a tight spot: either admit to his new boss that he was lying, or convince Aziraphale, his sort-of enemy, to pretend to be his husband to save face.

Words: 201271 (Complete)

Fair warning before you start: this one is LONG. I read really fast and even for me, this took a while. Every word is beautiful, but this is (well. Partly.) a slooooooww burn. If you don't like pining, or the two main ones being idiots: don't read this. But if you decide to give it a go, this story is absolutely worth your while.

Married at First Sight (T)

by Aracloptia (@aracloptia)

“Well, that was a thing,” Crowley said once they were out of earshot. Without talking about it, they were both heading down the field, towards the lake where the photographer (and likely a few more people from the TV crew) was waiting. “That was a wedding,” Aziraphale replied, surprised at his own annoyance that somebody called a wedding a ‘thing’. “Yeah, obviously, didn’t miss that part,” Crowley said with a shrug, and waved abruptly in Aziraphale’s general direction. “Neither did you, from the looks of it, since you’re dressed like a wedding bride and everything.” “Excuse me, I am a—“ Aziraphale stopped himself, and started over.

——— In which Aziraphale ends up marrying a rude stranger who wears sunglasses.

Words: 92583 (Ongoing)

Ha. Yet another fake relationship AU... This time it's a fake marriage! But it's so so so cute and lovely and if it were corporeal I would want to squish its cheeks. There's a bit of miscommunication, so people who don't like that can be cautious, but it gets resolved and they become the better for having gone through it.

The Next Time We Wed (T)

by seashadows (@godihatethisfreakingcat)

“Guys, I’ve looked at the marriage license,” Anathema said, “and I’ve gotten copies of our notices and everything. The names on the documents aren’t Newt’s and mine anymore. Apparently they never were. They’re yours.” When a drunken attempt to help a friend gets Crowley and Aziraphale accidentally married, their decision to fake it instead of fix it changes their relationship in a way neither of them realizes the other wants. Over the course of a few short months, two supernatural beings discover that there are plenty of things they don’t know about each other, two humans finally get married (again), and everyone learns how to be a little braver.

Words: 21131 (Complete)

The footnotes. The FOOTNOTES. I love a good footnote, and this fic is riddled with them. It's one of the very first Good Omens fics I read and loved, so it has a special place in my heart. The humour drew me in immediately, and the plot and emotional moments kept me in. READ IT. READ IT NOW, I SAY.

Everything That's Meant (T)

by journeytogallifrey (@journeytogallifrey)

When two unconventional lead actors are cast in the series adaptation of Agnes Nutter's Prophecies, sparks fly and new ground is broken. Aziraphale Fell, classically trained and known for powerful biopics, yearns for a popular lead but is hindered by his brother's insistence that he stay in the closet. Anthony J. Crowley has perfected flashy, charismatic villains, but wonders if a hero will ever be on the cards for him. With Aziraphale as the angel Raphael and Crowley as the demon Asmodeus, something feels... off. But a breakthrough during a late-night rehearsal sets into motion something greater than they ever dreamed. Now all they have to do is overcome nefarious producers, bigotry, and a set that seems to be haunted by all manner of spirits and curses - all while falling for each other in a way Crowley finds exhilarating and Aziraphale finds terrifying. If they can survive it all, they'll come out the other side with the series of their career... and maybe even a chance at their own happily ever after. ~~~ Pre-written; updates daily until complete!

Words: 105043 (Complete)

I was lucky enough to witness this as it was updating, and it's wonderful! I'm very fond of actor AUs, and this was a great one. Journeytogallifrey made good choices, and there are plenty of moments where I audibly laughed, gasped, or cried. Special mention to Crowley's relationship with gender.

wasteland, baby (M)

by john1513 (@alwayscomewhenyoucall)

“Listen. Fell. I...I might, uh, have an idea.” “You do?” Aziraphale said, and hated the hopeful way he said it. “I’ll do it.” “You...won’t like it.” “Will it keep me out of prison?” “Maybe. Maybe the both of us. For now. Ideally.” “Then yes.” Crowley’s expression tightened, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure if Crowley wanted to cry, or laugh. “You really, really won’t like it.” “I’ll like prison less.” He responded plainly. Crowley’s face twisted into something soft at first, just for a second, before searing into a careful little smirk, and Aziraphale knew that smile, that Cheshire cat smile, much too well to not be cautious. “Crowley, dear. What are you doing on the floor?” He cleared his throat. “Angel. Remember when I said you wouldn’t like it? Well, uh, here we are.” His smile grew awkwardly, apologetically, and Aziraphale had a sinking feeling about it. “Angel. Will you marry me?” ----- Crowley and Aziraphale plan a fake marriage to avoid having to testify against each other in court...they get much more than they bargained for.

Words: 45748 (Complete)

I found this while looking for fake relationships, but I'm not quite sure the term applies. It's just so sweet and kind and GOOD and fluffy. If you like both being nice, go here. And even if you don't. It's technically a mafia AU even though I forgot about that part so there's a little bit of grittiness nonetheless. Overall a very nice read.

And finally, for the last one...

Fifty-Two Blue (M)

by bendycello (@bendycello )

It would be a gross understatement to say that Crowley simply didn't like Aziraphale. He was posh and stuffy and arrogant, and Crowley couldn't figure out why everyone else in the program liked him so much. It hardly mattered; they were competitors, and Crowley didn't need to make friends to become a surgeon. It takes several unleasant encounters, the excessive use of house plants as a coping mechanism, and getting stuck in an elevator for Crowley to start reconsidering his priorities. Or... Crowley and Aziraphale are surgical interns with competitive streaks a mile wide each, and they really do not like each other at all. Until they do. (This whole fic is pre-written and completed, and updates will usually be weekly on Saturdays!)

Words: 37976 (Ongoing)

So. Anyone who knows me well knows that this is on my mind 24/7. I post about it fairly regularly. I go insane when a new chapter is up. It's *The* Fic. When I started this I knew this was going to be there. I can't even describe it it's just SO GOOD ARGH. (it's also long) I've read it so much Chrome automatically sorted it into one of my most visited websites. (I'm not even kidding.) The humour is perfect, the plot is too, the CHARACTERISATION. OH MY GOD. IT'S SO GOOD AND SO COMPLEX. I'm trying to stop myself from going on a rant about it because it could last for a while.

I also love receiving recs, so if anyone wants to boost their fic or wants to share a great one, please do!

I really like fake dating (if you couldn't guess), human AUs, all that sort of thing. But please feel free to share anything that doesn't deal with those themes!

I'm OwlWolf22091 on Ao3, in case you want to check out other bookmarks :P

#me #it's 3 am now 😂#good omens #fic #fic rec #fr1

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gojifan97 · 2 years

Note

A Young bakugo(idc what age) gets time travelled to that time deku got framed for mass murder

Thankyou

Bakugo was hit with a minor time traveling quirk that sent someone to his future self's location for ten minutes. At first, Bakugo and Todoroki tried to keep him quiet so he wouldn't cause trouble before going back. This was...difficult. Shoto: You must have become a lot less aggravating since you were ten. Katsuki: Shut up! *to his younger self* And you! DROP THE EGO YOU POMPOUS PRICK! LOOK DOWN ON OTHERS AND YOU'LL MISS YOUR OWN WEAKNESS! AND EASE UP ON DEKU! Young Katsuki: Why should I?! He's just a weak little-

Then the news comes on reporting that Hero student Deku is wanted for mass murder. Three things stand out to young Katsuki. 1. Deku is a Hero student. 2. Deku is wanted for mass murder. 3. Holy word-his-mom-hasn't-taught-him-yet! DEKU'S WANTED FOR MASS MURDER!

In his shock, he misses Shoto brazenly helping the murder suspect and instead focuses on his older self telling him to ease up on him. Did Deku threaten him somehow? Does Deku have a secret quirk he's been waiting to have for the right moment to intimidate Katsuki? Or has the quirkless nerd spent ten years weaving his web until just the right moment to have everything under his thumb, becoming the ultimate villain-disguised-as-a-Hero?

Katsuki is sent back and is quite weary of his quirkless friend, due to knowing he'll commit mass murder in the future. He wonders if Deku has a quirk or not. Izuku's just happy Katsuki's not bullying him anymore.

Katsuki resolves that if he befriends Izuku and has him following Katsuki around again, not only will he not commit mass murder, but Katsuki can use his evil genius to his own ends! He does so. Oblivious Izuku is so happy to be friends again. He even shows Kacchan his notebooks of all the Hero notes he's taken.

These confirm Katsuki's suspicion that Izuku is indeed an evil genius. He must remain friends to stop Izuku's dastardly plot!

#katsuki's plan:#step 1: befriend Izuku and get him to use his genius to help katsuki #step 2: ???#step 3: Mass murder prevented!#my hero academia #katsuki bakugo #izuku midoriya

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a-gal-with-taste · 2 years

Text

Quiet-Time (Kinktober Day 5)

Silco, for all his calculated-talents in the art of speech, should really work on keeping his mouth shut. Someone might find inspiration.

538 WC - Silco X GN!Reader

Gags, blowjob, established-relationship, deep-throating, light-bondage, minor dirty-talk, bottom!Silco

Silco always says you have a smart mouth, and in equal fashion, always enjoys discussing in low tones how he would silence it, with tactics varying and shiver-inducing in every single way.

However, as smart and calculated as the man as the Eye of Zaun has branded, forged himself into becoming in the new age of Zaun, somehow, it still hadn’t occurred to him that he should voice such dastardly plans so often, and so loudly.

Someone might take inspiration.

“You have no idea how long I've wanted to shut you up like this,” You teased, lips grazing against the flared head of his cock as you grinned, as impish as you were doe-like with your gentle batting of your lashes. There was nothing innocent at how you pointedly, experitly circled the leaking tip with the very tip of your tongue, only briefly looking away from furious, burning eyes of blue and red, to the thick-red rubber, bitten between snarling lips.

“Well, maybe not exactly like this… not that i’m complaining.”

A growl; even if you ungagged him, you weren’t sure if human-words could be detected in such a snarl.

“Yeah, yeah… I know you are, but,” Another flick, and this time, you take a fresh bead of precum along with you, letting out a lewd hum that inspires a deeper, more feral and husky growl from above you. “Are you really, sweetie?”

A jerk on the armrests only briefly gives you worry, but despite knuckles bleach-white in his tight fists, Silco makes no further moves to claw himself out - yet.

“No… you know, I think you like this,” You teased. “A little rest for your voice… and certainly, I know you quite like what I'm doing with my mouth.”

Remarkably, there’s the beginnings of a different, almost dryer-sighing growl - is he really going to try to deny it? Not in the true way, but in the way that he loathes to give things to you too easily, the habit to avoid concession, overriding even the habit of giving you all, and everything that he can.

Regardless, you dismiss his pathetic attempt by flattening your tongue inside your mouth, and taking him entirely within your mouth in once, well-practiced, single go.

There’s a dull thump as Silco’s head fell back, hands flexing and pleasure leaving him dumb to do much other that lull his head back against the cushioned-back of the seat, and effectively silenced to do much more than hiss, grunt, growl and moan muffledly around the rubber-ball in his mouth.

And with noises like that, indeed, you had very little complaints. Settling against the space between his flexing thighs, your eyes fluttered shut as your nose brushed along his pelvis, before bobbing back in a way that left him hissing, a jumbled collection behind the rubber that sounded suspiciously in-tune with the syllables of your name, and you decided to enjoy quiet-time as much as you could.

Once he got out - and indeed, hearing the straining of fabric beginning to fray at the armrests, he would - you had a good idea that it would be your turn.

It was, after all, his original idea. But, no doubt, Silco would find inspiration with your edition.

#silco #silco x reader #kinktober #mdni #arcane #arcane silco #arcane fic #kinktober 2022 #silco fic #writing

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