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x-neurodivergent-reader · 3 years

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Learning From You (Loki x Autistic!Reader) - Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Anon’s request: “What ab the first time loki meets an autistic person, and at first he says some kind of offensive stuff but hes not overtly ableist (he’s just confused) but he wants to learn more and eventually they get close?”

Summary: When he first met you, Loki assumed that you were merely a shy, but polite person. But as he spends more time around you and notices your differences, not only do you challenge those preconceptions, but you show him that even a mortal can teach him something new.

A/N: I struggle with describing how my meltdowns feel, in all honesty (I also have trouble distinguishing them from my anxiety attacks), so this might not be perfect in that regard. I also do not know how communication ear pieces work, and I don’t have the brain capacity to learn right now. I hope this is decent anyway, though!

The reader here is gender-neutral.

Content warnings: Meltdown, death mentions (this chapter takes place during/just after a mission, so...)

Tag list: @agent-barnes40

When you had briefly mentioned your sensory issues during your first full conversation, Loki hadn’t entirely understood what that meant – and he wouldn’t see it first-hand until one of the first missions that you both would share.

One moment, he had been sweeping through several HYDRA soldiers who had made the mistake of trying to gang up on him, his magic and daggers assuring that they were no match for a god. Then the next thing he knew, a message from Natasha crackled through his communicator, saying that she had lost you and asking for someone to find where you were – and his motivation to survive was joined by the desire to make sure you were unharmed.

Not because he was worried about you, he tried to convince himself as he made his way to the area you were last seen at, but simply because it was necessary for the mission.

Once he managed to find you, you were sat against a pillar that had collapsed in front of a pile of rubble, looking almost lost in yourself as your body rocked back and forth. Your knees were tucked up against your chest, your eyes betraying your growing anxiety as they were squeezed shut, while your hands were pressed harshly against your ears. When he asked you what happened, you urgently uttered that you had lost one of your communicators, and you really needed it back.

As bizarre as he found the situation, Loki still looked around for the missing earpiece. He even went so far as to look under the corpses of the soldiers you had just defended yourself from, noting the uncoordinated wounds scattered across their torsos, as though you had fought back in a panicked frenzy.

Eventually, he found that the earpiece had slipped behind a chunk of concrete, and brought it back to you. You hurriedly attached it to your ear again, although you still seemed somewhat shaken. Loki decided to wait with you for another minute or two, to make sure you weren’t ambushed while you were trying to calm down – once you were ready to fight again, he remained at your side in Natasha’s stead, wanting to keep an eye on you until the mission was over.

Loki sat in his cramped, barely comfortable seat on the plane back to the tower, his gaze trailing downwards as he contemplated this particular series of events. He still didn’t quite understand – you were normally fairly independent, and he had seen first-hand how competent you were in the field, so he couldn’t help but wonder what on Earth happened that made you react so badly to losing your earpiece, that you couldn’t just look for it yourself when you had the chance.

Noticing movement out of the corner of his eye, Loki turned to look behind him, where he saw you standing behind the seat next to him. One of your hands fidgeted with a belt loop on your suit, as you still avoided making eye contact with the god.

“Hi, um… can I sit here?” Your voice wavered slightly, and Loki wondered whether he had done something to intimidate you, or you were simply embarrassed by the fact that he had to help you during such a crucial moment. Regardless, he saw no harm in accepting your request – perhaps he could ask you about it, assuming you were comfortable giving him an answer.

“I see no reason why not.” He replied, shifting in his seat to give you more space as you settled down next to him, muttering your thanks.

Neither of you said anything more, the plane’s engine shielding you both from what would have been a thick silence. Loki briefly glanced at you, noting the deep, thoughtful look in your eyes, as you pondered what you wanted to say next.

It was fairly easy to put two and two together and realise that what happened was most likely related to your neurodivergence in some way, so your forwardness when you finally spoke wasn’t surprising. “So, you were probably wondering what happened back there.”

“Admittedly, yes.” Loki decided that this conversation would be important for him to have. “Are you comfortable telling me?”

“Yeah – I just need a moment to figure out how to word it…”

“Take all the time you need.”

Loki waited patiently, hearing you start to click your tongue - one of your vocal stims, he noticed - while you gathered your thoughts, as you often needed to in order to avoid rambling and stumbling over your words too much. Although he wouldn’t have minded regardless, he knew you would only become frustrated with yourself if you couldn’t communicate what you wanted effectively enough for him to understand, so he stayed silent until you were ready to speak again.

“Okay, so basically, my autism makes some of my senses feel… more heightened than most people’s, I guess? Loud noises sound even louder to me, enough that I could end up getting overwhelmed, having a sensory overload, and possibly even a meltdown out in the field.” You opened one of the pockets in your suit, briefly rummaging your hand inside until you found your communicators, handing them to Loki. “Tony made these for me, to stop that from happening. Take a look at them.”

Loki looked closely at the small devices in his hand, his thumb moving them to look at the different angles. Sure enough, while those that he and the others had to wear did quieten sounds such as explosions and gunfire, yours were slightly different. The parts that go into your ears were made of a thicker material, designed to block them out even more. He also noticed a second, smaller volume knob, next to the one that controlled how loud the communications were, as well as what appeared to be a small speaker or microphone underneath, like the ones that smartphones have.

“I see… these are more like ear defenders than ours.” Loki observed, giving you the earpieces back.

“Exactly. This material silences outside sounds almost completely – instead, they come in through a microphone in the communicator,” you explained, and then turned them in your hand, pointing at the extra volume control above the aforementioned mic, “which I use this to control the volume of. I could make it so I can’t hear anything other than the messages I get from teammates, if I wanted to.”

“In which case, we would not be able to rely on you to help us if we lost our earpieces, and were about to be mercilessly slaughtered.” Loki raised his eyebrow, smirking as he imagined you going about your own battles as usual, while cluelessly leaving one of your teammates for dead in the background.

“Well, obviously I’d never actually do that, but you get the idea.” You grinned, stuffing the devices back into the pocket you kept them in, and closing the zip.

Although he understood why you needed such technology to help you in battle – and as much as he disliked him, he could begrudgingly admit that it was kind of Tony to provide it for you – there was still something that didn’t quite add up to him.

“Not being able to hear the things around you as much is surely a tactical disadvantage, though - you could easily have someone sneak up on you. I presume that is why you were paired with Agent Romanoff? Where was she when you needed help?”

“Ah, we kind of got separated. It’s my fault. I saw some civilians down a street trying to find a way out of the fight, and I… went to them without thinking to tell her…” When you recounted it, you seemed to realise just how dangerous a mistake you had made, even if your intentions were noble. You sheepishly looked at the floor, reaching up to tap your cheek again. “I really need to apologise to her…”

“Yes, I did think she looked quite sullen.” Loki agreed, his voice laced with a hint of empathy. “You may want to wait until she has had the chance to calm down.”

“Yeah…” You murmured uncertainly, before deciding to change the subject. “In any case, thanks for helping me get my earpiece back. I know it was probably annoying to have to do it in the middle of the fight, so I really appreciate it.”

“Preposterous,” Loki said nonchalantly, despite the warm, fluttering feeling in his chest that came with your gratitude, “I was merely doing what was necessary - and it’s certainly helpful to know why it is.”

Loki decided to keep everything you told him in mind for later, so he could figure out other ways to accommodate you in situations where you needed it. He already had the idea of keeping a pair of ear defenders with him, in case you needed them while going out into the city – he knew how noisy the crowds could be, so he wouldn’t blame you if you had trouble coping with it at times. He would have to ask you what type you prefer, if he gets the chance.

He would leave that - along with the thoughts of just how much he had started to care about you - for a later time. At the moment, he opted to change the subject and ask you about the things you love, just to hear the delight in your voice.

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softspideys · 3 years

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Average (Frat!Tom Holland x reader)

summary: tom holland is the handsome, popular, and charismatic king of your campus. so why has he taken an interest in you?

warnings: none

word count: 3,000

pairings: frat!tom holland x reader

a/n: I personally prefer respectful frat boy tom to jerky frat boy tom. inspired by this glorious photo. I hope you you like it:)

When Tom Holland first spoke to you, your immediate instinct was to assume it was a joke.

You’d just arrived at the party his frat was throwing and immediately made a beeline for the kitchen. You were never totally comfortable in situations like these, but after a couple drinks you tended to be more social and easygoing.

“Hey,” a voice said as you finished pouring yourself some of the suspicious-looking Jungle Juice. You turned around and almost did a double-take.

You knew who Tom was; his roommate Harrison was friends with your roommate Jess, but you’d never spoken to him. He was popular, but there were no rumors about him being a player or an asshole or a creep like there were with some of his frat brothers.

Now he was smiling at you, looking casual in jeans and a black t-shirt, a baseball cap pulled over his curly hair. “Hey,” you answered, once you were positive he was talking to you. There was no one else around you, but still.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Um, no thanks,” you said, gesturing to the cup in your hand. “I’m good.” You figured he was just being polite, but then he continued to speak to you.

“You’re Jess’s roommate, right?” he asked.

You nodded, a little surprised. You honestly didn’t even think he was aware you existed. But then it hit you—he must be looking for her and probably recognized you from one of her Instagram photos or something. “Yeah. I don’t know where she is, though. I just got here.”

“Cool,” he said. “I’ve only met her a couple times—she’s friends with my roommate Harrison—but she talked about you a lot. I’m Tom.” He held out his hand.

Slowly, you shook it. “Y/N.” This was weird. If he wasn’t being polite and he wasn’t looking for someone else, then why was he talking to you? You had to get out of there. “Um, I have to go now. It was nice meeting you.”

“Oh, okay,” he said. “See you around, maybe.” You smiled a little instead of answering before practically fleeing the kitchen and joining the party. The rest of the night passed uneventfully and you didn’t see Tom again.

You thought about him briefly afterwards, but decided not to dwell on it. Maybe he was just bored. Maybe he saw you by yourself and took pity on you.

A few days later, Jess ambushed you while you were doing homework in the library. “You talked to Tom Holland at the party on Saturday?” she whispered excitedly.

“Yeah, for like a minute. It was before I found you. Why?”

“Harrison told me he was asking about you. Want me to pass along your number?”

“No!” you said quickly, feeling your face get warm. “Wait. What do you mean, he was asking about me? Asking what?”

“You know, just like . . . what your deal is, and whatever.” She shrugged. “He probably wants to hang out with you.”

“Me? Why?” The thought made your heartbeat quicken.

Jess rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. Why wouldn’t he? You’re a total catch. I don’t know why you’re so surprised.”

The conversation was making you more and more uncomfortable. Tom was good-looking and popular and probably had tons of people lining up just to “hang out” with him. What was so special about you?

Despite your doubts, you found yourself giving in. “Okay,” you said finally. “I guess you can give him my number.”

Jess smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Awesome. I’ll tell Harrison.” She leaned closer, suddenly serious. “And look, I wouldn’t push this if I didn’t think it was a good idea, okay? You know I got your back. Tom is really nice.”

She had a point. “I know,” you said grudgingly. “We’ll see if he even texts me.”

~ ~ ~

Tom texted you the day after Jess passed your number on.

hey it’s tom, we met at the party on saturday :) i got your number from jess. i was wondering if you wanna hang out sometime?

You spent almost an hour reading it over and over, trying to figure out if there was any hidden meaning in the short message. Finally you wrote back: sure.

You expected him to invite you to another frat party or something similar, but instead he asked if you wanted to grab coffee and do homework. Midterms were coming up, after all.

So you met him at a cafe on campus on a chilly Thursday afternoon. He was there when you arrived, sitting at a table in the back. He looked cozy, all bundled up in a hoodie and sweats. You bought yourself a hot chocolate and sat across from him. “Um, hi.”

“Hi.” He smiled at you. “How’s it going?”

“Good. How are you?”

“Pretty good.”

You looked around. He’d picked a two-person table, but that didn’t mean someone else couldn’t pull up a chair. “Is it just going to be us?”

His smile faded a little. “Uh, yeah. Is that okay? I thought—I mean, you can see if Jess is around or something, but—”

“No, no,” you interrupted, wanting to kick yourself. “No, this is fine. I was just asking. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, okay.” He relaxed. “I’m glad you came. I didn’t think you would.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “You just didn’t seem very, uh . . . excited.”

You cringed inwardly, clearing your throat. “Oh, sorry. I’m not very good at texting. Ask Jess.” You smiled a little at the thought of your best friend. “She’s always mad at me because I take hours to respond and then it usually just ends up being one word.”

Tom laughed. “Oh man, my brother Sam is the same way. I have to send a message to him in all caps that says SOS EMERGENCY PLEASE ANSWER NOW if I want him to answer within the hour.”

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah, three actually. There’s me, then the twins Sam and Harry, and then my youngest brother Paddy.”

“Wow,” you said, raising your eyebrows. “Your house must’ve been pretty crazy growing up.”

“You could say that.”

Before you got to the cafe, you told yourself that you only had to stay for an hour. One hour, and then you could make up some excuse as to why you had to leave. But as time went on, you realized you were actually enjoying yourself. The conversation flowed naturally, and Tom was a good listener. He didn’t seem to mind when you eventually lapsed into silence to get some studying down, and the two of you worked quietly for a while. He even offered to refill your drink when he went to get another for himself.

“Got any plans for dinner?” he asked finally, breaking the comfortable silence you’d grown used to. You looked out the window and saw it was getting dark out.

At first you thought maybe he was going to ask if you wanted to get something to eat with him. But as quick as the idea occurred, you shot it down. That was silly; he’d already been here with you for a few hours now. Maybe he was meeting other people after this and wanted you to take a hint.

So you lied, “Yeah, I’m meeting Jess at a dining hall. I should probably get going, actually.”

“Oh, right,” he said, glancing down at his homework. “Uh, same here.” You both quickly packed up your stuff and left the cafe, pausing before you officially went your separate ways.

“That was fun,” Tom said. He hesitated, and you braced yourself to hear some excuse as to why he would never talk to you again.

You certainly weren’t expecting him to ask shyly, “Would you want to hang out again?” You blinked, certain you hadn’t heard him right. But he just looked at you, waiting for your response, and after a pause you nodded.

“Yeah. I would like that.”

Tom’s answering smile was practically blinding. You couldn’t help but return it. “Awesome,” he said. “Um, I’ll text you?”

“Okay,” you said. “See you later.” He smiled at you for a second longer before he turned and walked away, a happy sort of bounce in his step.

You couldn’t help it; you walked home with a dumb grin on your face.

~ ~ ~

True to his word, Tom texted you a few days later to ask if you wanted to hang out again. This time you accepted readily.

At first, the two of you just got together to have coffee and do homework. Then he somehow managed to figure out part of your schedule and would meet you on your way to class. Even if he had a lecture on the other side of campus, he insisted on walking you all the way to yours.

He started texting you more, sometimes sending you funny videos or memes, but also sharing random thoughts and asking questions. Now you checked your phone frequently, trying to get in the habit of responding quickly or initiating conversation with him first. You followed each other on social media and you noticed he’d liked all of your Instagram photos. Just to be funny, you liked a couple of his too, but then wondered if he would find it weird.

“We’re friends,” you told Jess when she noticed you smiling at your phone. “That’s it.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England. Are you kidding me?”

“I’m serious,” you said, because you knew what she was insinuating and there was just no way Tom Holland would be into you like that. Sometimes you saw him around campus, always surrounded by a laughing group of friends and admirers. He was like the sun, and you knew you were lucky to even be in his orbit.

“We’re having a party on Friday night,” Tom said to you one afternoon. The weather was nice, so you’d claimed a sunny spot out on the quad to do some homework.

“Cool.” You were more focused on the essay you were writing than the conversation.

“Are you gonna go?” he pressed.

“I don’t know. Maybe if Jess goes I’ll come too.”

“Well . . .” He trailed off, and you looked up to see he was fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves. “What if we went together?”

You stared at him. Of all the things you were expecting him to say, it certainly was not that. “Like . . . me and you? Like . . . as your date?”

Tom was blushing now, steadily avoiding your eyes. “Um. Yes?”

Alarm bells were going off in your brain. If Jess were here she’d be throwing a parade, but you knew there had to be a catch. Out of all the people on campus, why was he asking you?

You opened your mouth to say no, but then he finally glanced up at you. His expression was so earnest and hopeful that you found yourself saying, “Sure.”

“Really? You want to?” he said, like he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded. “Yeah, it sounds fun.”

There was that goofy grin again, lighting up his entire face. “Okay,” he said. “Cool.”

You knew you should be excited, but there was a nervous pit in your stomach that just wouldn’t go away. It was still there when you arrived at Tom’s frat house that Friday. You didn’t recognize the brother at the door on security duty, but he took one look and waved you inside, no questions asked.

You were a little confused; you came by yourself last time too and had to say you knew Harrison. But the brother merely said, “Tom put you on the list.”

The boy in question was in the kitchen, talking to a few of his brothers. He noticed you walk in immediately and his eyes lit up. “Hey! You’re here!” To your surprise he gave you a hug, and you tried not to focus on how good his cologne smelled.

“You look nice,” he said when he pulled away. In an attempt to feel more confident, you’d worn your favorite pair of jeans and a cute top, even allowing Jess to do some hair and makeup magic on you.

“Thank you,” you said. “Um, so do you.” He was just in jeans and a purple flannel, a black baseball cap twisted backwards on his head, but he still managed to make it look effortlessly cool.

“Thanks.” He paused. “I’m, uh, really glad you came.”

“Me too,” you said quietly. He smiled at you and the knot in your stomach tightened.

Tom barely left your side the entire night. He introduced you to some of his fraternity brothers, whose names you forgot as soon as they said them. A few of them had brought dates too, and while they were all friendly and welcoming, you couldn’t help but feel frumpy and plain standing next to them.

It didn’t help that there were some not-so-friendly girls coming over too. They gave Tom hugs and kisses on the cheek before eyeing you critically. You could practically see the invisible thought bubble forming over their heads each time they looked at you: why is he here with you? You wanted to tell them that you were wondering the same thing.

The longer you thought about it, the worse you felt. It just didn’t make sense. Tom had practically half the campus falling at his feet; why wasn’t he with someone more talented, better looking, charismatic? Why had he picked you? You were so . . . average.

Maybe it was some kind of prank, some kind of fucked-up tradition in his fraternity: find a shy girl, get her to fall in love with you, and then break her heart. That had to be it. There was no other explanation.

“Are you alright?” Tom asked, tearing you from your thoughts. You realized you hadn’t spoken in several minutes, just staring off into space.

You swallowed. “Could we, um, go somewhere quiet? Please?”

He studied your face for a second before he nodded. “Of course.” He put one hand on your back, gently guiding you out of the crowded room and up the stairs. You followed him down the hallway until he stopped at a door with a sign that said TOM & HARRISON.

Oh. This was his room.

He ushered you in and you noticed he left the door slightly ajar, so you could easily leave if you wanted to. Still, you immediately took a seat at his desk, not wanting to even go near the bed. Tom didn’t seem to mind, falling onto it with a loud thud and a content sigh. Neither of you spoke for a minute. Finally you glanced over at him and saw he was already watching you, a tiny smile on his face.

You couldn’t take it any longer. “Is this, like, a prank or something?”

“What?”

“This. Like,” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “all of this. Is it a joke?”

Tom’s smile vanished. He scrambled to sit up, scooting towards the edge of the bed. “What are you talking about? Why would you even think that?”

You shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve just been trying to figure out why someone like you would be doing all of this with someone like me.”

He looked lost. “Doing what?”

“You know . . . hanging out with me, texting me, inviting me here . . .”

He stared at you for a second before he let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “I mean . . . I like you. I thought that was obvious.”

“But why?” You were frustrated to find you were near tears. “You could have your pick of anyone on this campus. There are so many girls in this house alone right now who are prettier and funnier and more interesting than me. So why . . . why me?”

Tom slowly stood up and came over to where you were sitting, kneeling in front of you. “Because I think you’re pretty and funny and interesting,” he said, looking at you unflinchingly. “None of those other people matter to me. I don’t know why you keep trying to convince yourself that you’re, like . . . not good enough or whatever, but it’s not true.”

You bit your lip as he took your hand. “I’m just . . . not used to this. Usually people tend not to notice me.”

“I did,” he said simply. “And I really, really like you.”

“I really like you too,” you said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Tom said gently. “Just trust me, okay? I would never hurt you like that.”

He was being honest. He always had been, but you believed him now. You took a deep breath. “Can I kiss you?”

Tom blinked in surprise before he nodded. You leaned in and kissed him softly; his lips were a little chapped and tasted sweet and sort of fruity, like the juice from his drink. His hands came up to carefully cup your jaw, holding you in place. It made your head dizzy and your knees weak; it was perfect.

It was like a dam broke. Suddenly you couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t figure out what to do with the happy, fizzy feeling in your stomach. You pulled back a little, pressing kisses to his cheeks and his nose. Tom giggled like the touch made him ticklish and you thought to yourself, You were so silly to deny yourself for so long, to think you didn’t deserve this.

You knew better now. You knew you did.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fandom #tom holland fic #tom holland one shot #tom holland oneshot #writing

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haikyuuuuuhypeeeee · 3 years

Text

Ch. Seventeen

⚠WARNING: Swearing

• ────── ✾ ────── •

For five days Osamu ignores you. Your texts go unanswered, calls are sent to voicemails, meet ups at the café are now solo trips.

You’re beyond upset at this point. If this is his way of needing space, that’s fine. You’d be okay with giving him space - you just need to know if he wants space. Having this awful radio silence between you is driving you mad. What if he’s sick? What if he needs to go to the hospital? He lives alone and his family isn’t close, and he hasn’t mentioned other friends to you before. You’ve talked plenty about Oikawa, Mattsun and Makki - surely he would’ve offered up stories about his friends if he had them, no?

But you also worry that you’ve done something to really offend him. He’s a pretty laid back guy (all things considered) so you must have really pissed him off if he’s resorting to ignoring all forms of communication.

You just need to know. Even if it will be the end of your friendship (something your brain isn’t ready to comprehend, thank you very much) you have to know why Osamu doesn’t want to talk to you.

So you’ve changed plans. You decide to skip afternoon classes and set up camp at the cafe. You knew he visited the cafe at least once a day, and you thought that maybe he was coming at different times to avoid you but you weren’t gonna let that happen so you would change your schedule and ambush him.

It was literally the only idea you could think of and at this point you were desperate.

“Jasmine tea, right?” The barista greets you when you step up to the register.

“Yes please,” you answer, reaching to grab your wallet from your bag.

“Hey, I haven’t seen that one guy who you’d been studying with in awhile. He used to come all the time.” The barista sets down your tea and types at the register. “What was his name, Osamu?”

You nod, trying to swallow your disappointment and pass over money to pay. If the employees here haven’t noticed Osamu coming in then maybe he is sick. And the odds of you coming across him here are slim to none.

You thank the barista and grab a table in a different spot of the cafe. The whole point of this is to change up your routine and try to see if Osamu will stop by. The last thing you want is for him to walk in, see you sitting at the table, and leave. You sit at your table, pull out your notebooks and get settled. Hopefully you can get some studying done while waiting.

A faint bell to indicate a new person coming in rings, and you nearly snap your neck to look in the direction of the front door. But it’s a young woman talking on her cell phone who walks in, not Osamu. You sigh to yourself and open your books.

~~~

The front door bell rings again, and like before you quickly look up. To your dismay, a group of three guys probably close to your age walk into the café and make their way to the register.

You’ve been at the café for 45 minutes and this time it’s the 10th time you’ve been tricked by someone walking in. You feel yourself wilt and look back down at your books, ignoring the stinging in your eyes. This is pointless.

“We’ve checked the campus all morning, and Shin combed the library top to bottom.”

The group of guys waiting in line are standing close enough to your new table that you can just hear what they’re saying. You don’t really eavesdrop on people, but it’s hard when they’re not really trying to keep quiet. And you had given up on your homework ages ago, so you just sit staring at the table while listening to the three friends talk.

“We know that he’s studying here. We should just go up to the registrar’s office and find out where he’s taking classes.” A second voice speaks up.

“Yeah, and how is that going to work?” The first guy was speaking again. “We’re going to waltz onto a campus of a school we don’t go to and what, ask nicely if they can tell us where our friend is? We’ll get the cops called on us for sure.”

“Enough.” The third friend spoke, and you didn’t have to look to know that his voice commanded an air of respect. “We’re here for a few more days, we cannot argue amongst ourselves.”

“Kita, it’s a big campus in a big city. It’s gonna take more than a miracle to find him.”

You look up and around the café, and you can’t help but let your eyes wander to the three guys who’s conversation you had overheard. The shorter friend takes his coffee from the barista with a nod and moves towards the sugar and creamer station. “Him ignoring our phone calls is making things difficult.” The guy paused again to pour sugar into his coffee. “But it’s his mother’s birthday soon, and I know she would like him to be home for it.” You look away to gaze outside but continue to listen (eavesdrop) to them. You can’t help but think that the shortest guy’s accent sounds very familiar to you.

“To hell with the birthday.” The second guy speaks again, sounding agitated. “Osamu should be home with us, not holed up in this city alone.”

Your head snaps in their direction again. The shorter man with black and white hair is nearly dwarfed by two other men, one dark-skinned and the other with dark hair parted down the center. The shorter man and dark-skinned man are busy making their coffees but the one with dark, parted hair catches your movement. You stare at each other, him having no problem holding your gaze. You watch him pull his phone out of his pocket, tap at the screen (without looking away) and bring the phone up. A quick flash and you realize that this stranger has taken your photograph.

What the hell?!

You start, not expecting the action and look back down abashed. This is what you get for eavesdropping, you dummy. You chance a quick glance and see the shorter man giving the photog a stern look. You look away again but you can’t shut your ears off as you hear them speak again.

“Delete that photo right now Suna.”

“But she was looking right at me!”

“Delete it.”

Footsteps approaching your table make you look up again and your pulse quickens when you realize the shorter man is approaching you. Behind him the dark-skinned man is scolding the other friend, both looking cross with each other. But you can’t focus on them as the short man has finally arrived at your table. To your massive surprise he bows in front of you.

“I sincerely apologize for my friend. I assure you that he deleted the photo he took and he will not be doing anything like that again.”

Hearing his voice you can definitely pick up the same accent Osamu has. His eyes are gentle and kind and he does look remorseful for his friend’s actions. “Uhhh, no worries.” You stammer out, still dazed by everything that is happening.

Before you can think to voice your confusion out loud the man bows again and takes his leave. He doesn’t get a few feet from your table before you're blurting out.

“I heard you talking about Osamu.”

The two friends hear you (as did everyone in the cafe) but they immediately make their way to your table. The dark-skinned man is looking at you with surprise but it’s the other friend’s face who catches you by surprise. He stomps over and leans down to your eye level.

“Where is he?” You’re taken aback by the ferociousness in his voice, and the frantic frazzled look in his eyes. The shorter man steps back to the table and rests a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“We’re friends of Osamu from back home, and we’re having trouble finding him. Are you a friend of his?”

“Uh, yes. Well, I think so.” You weren’t sure of your status now after he’s been ignoring your calls and messages.

“Well which is it?” The other man asks aggressively. You don’t get a chance to answer as you all hear the café door open and you turn to look at the newcomer.

Your heart flutters when you see Osamu walk through the door. It’s the first time you’ve seen him since realizing that you like him more than a friend, and besides relief at seeing him in person after he’s been ignoring you, you feel comfort at seeing him.

You meet his gaze and watch him stop in his steps when he sees you. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but it’s nothing compared to the look on his face when he takes in the full scene. Your heart twists when he pales, and before you can call out to him he takes off.

“Shit!” The man who took your photo takes off, expertly weaving through the small crowd in the café and following Osamu out the door. The second tall man chases after them a second later, having a bit more trouble getting through the other patrons.

The third, shortest friend remains, and you hear him heave a sigh. After a beat he speaks up. “May I join you?”

You start but not immediately. He doesn’t waste time in sitting down in the chair next to yours. Only when he gets situated do you realize what you’ve done - you’re letting someone who supposedly knows Osamu sit with you, someone that makes Osamu look like he’s seen a ghost and run away as fast as he can.

What if this man is dangerous? Did you just endanger Osamu’s life?

“We’re not here to hurt Osamu.” Your companion at your table speaks up. You have no idea how he was able to read your mind, and you feel even more suspicious. “My name is Kita Shinsuke - the one who took your photo is Suna Rintarou, and our other friend is Aran Ojiro. We’re friends of Osamu’s from Hyogo.”

You nod at his introduction, but you’re not buying it. Saying outright that you’re not going to hurt someone is exactly what someone who wants to hurt someone else would say.

Kita must sense your hesitation again and he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out his phone, taps the screen and sets it on the table facing you. He nudges it in your direction, and you cautiously pick it up. What you see on the screen nearly makes you drop the phone in surprise.

It’s a group of guys - you immediately recognize this Kita person with his black and white hair, as well as Suna and Aran. You also see Osamu, giving the camera a lazy smile.

And his exact replica, standing next to him with a wider, cockier smile.

His twin.

Besides the initial shock of seeing a picture of Osamu’s twin, you see Osamu looking happy. He’s got his small smirk you’ve only seen a few times, and even then it pales in comparison to the smile he’s wearing in the photo. It’s such a stark difference to the cold, apathetic Osamu you know now that your heart can’t help but twist.

You hand the phone back to Kita silently. He takes it and puts it away.

“How long have you been friends with Osamu?” He asks.

You swallow. “A few weeks.”

Kita nods. “And do you know about Atsumu?”

“Is that his twin?” Kita nods at your question. “Then yes, that’s how we became friends, kind of.”

Kita gives you a confused look (his expression barely changes but you can just detect it.) You clear your throat. “I lost my best friend a few months ago. We realized we both had something in common and we’ve been able to talk about it with each other.”

Surprise flickers across his face before a serious, somber look takes its place. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” you reply automatically. You appreciate his gesture, and you’ve been handling these kinds of interactions with general strangers for months. If, for some godforsaken reason, the passing of Hajime comes up in conversation everyone immediately offers their condolences, you thank them, and then the conversation continues. You’ve long been able to push aside the wave of grief that comes with the briefest of mentions of his passing. You understand that sometimes the stranger you were talking with doesn’t really mean the words they’re saying.

But with this Kita Shinsuke, you feel the sincerity behind it. It only comes from someone who can understand what you’re going through because they’ve gone through it themselves.

“Can I ask how much you know about Osamu and Atsumu?” Kita asks.

You struggle to find an adequate answer, embarrassed by your lack of knowledge about Osamu’s past. He always seemed uncomfortable talking about Atsumu, and you never wanted to push him. Gosh, can you really say you have deep feelings for him when you don’t even know how to answer this simple question?

“I know he came to Sendai for school.” You answer carefully, putting your insecurities away for now. “I think he wanted to get out of Hyogo.”

Kita’s response is a hum. It’s thoughtful, and you can see gears turning behind his head. You wait for him to reply, unsure of what else to say.

“Osamu definitely wanted to get out of Hyogo, and he did come here to attend Sendai University.” Kita confirms. “But what you may not know is that he vanished from Hyogo, without a trace save for the letter he left for his parents to never call him again.”

Kita’s brief explanation feels anything but that. It shocks you to your core, freezing your lungs. Any reply you would have had to it was wiped clean, and you really can’t do anything but sit and stare.

Kita nods. His features soften, and you now see a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I understand his actions. I cannot imagine living in a place with constant painful reminders of his loss.

“But he didn’t give any hint of wanting to leave. He never told anyone his plan. One day we woke up and he was just gone. His parents are heartbroken. They had already lost one son, and now another that leaves no open channel of communication, no desire for any of us to reach him. To them, it feels like they’ve lost both sons.

Your heart clenches painfully. You know Kita isn’t accusing Osamu of anything - you can’t hear any blame in his voice. But you can’t help but feel the need to defend your friend for his actions that are, frankly, self-serving.

Kita goes on. “Aran, Suna and myself have an old schoolmate, one of Osamu’s old friends as well. He recently reached out to tell us that his cousin thought he recognized Osamu here at this campus when he came to play Sendai University’s mens’ basketball team. It was pure dumb luck, and honestly not even a hint of a confirmed lead, but we got a chance to find Osamu. We arrived two days ago and have spent all of our time searching every corner of the campus looking for him.”

You still can’t get over the new information you’ve learned about Osamu. Leaving his small town and the only people he knows with no plans on returning. You can’t help but remember little bits of information gleaned from your conversations with Osamu.

He moved to a new city and got a new phone and new phone number. He doesn’t have any friends or family here in Sendai. How unwilling he was to find a therapist and seek help for unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Now with the added information of knowing Osamu left home without a trace, you’re left with a revelation that sends you reeling.

He’s running away.

Osamu is trying to run away from the trauma of losing his brother. He’s doing his very best to shake off any trace of his past and reinvent himself in a new city. Zero contact with friends or family and no support to help him work through a disturbing life event that shouldn’t happen to anyone. And he’s shoving it all down.

Why? Why in the world would anyone want to do that to themselves? And is this what he’s been doing to you now? Running away from you?

A ringing disrupts your disturbing thoughts and you watch Kita bring his phone up to his ear. “Hello?” Whoever is on the other line must tell him some disappointing news because Kita’s face falls again. “Ok, I’ll meet you at the hotel.” He hands up the phone and sighs.

“Aran and Suna lost Osamu. Not surprisingly, since Osamu was always quick, and he knows the area better than we do.” He stands. “I will leave you to your studying. May I borrow a slip of paper and a pen?”

You wordlessly hand over a scrap piece of paper and pen, letting Kita bend down to write on the table. He hands the items back to you and straightens up. You look at the paper and see his full name and phone number written down.

“You have no obligation to, but if Osamu reaches out to you will you please let me know?”

You think of the messages you’ve sent him and the calls you’ve made - all unanswered. But you can’t bring yourself to tell that to Kita now. “I’ll try my best.”

“I greatly appreciate it.” Kita bows and makes to leave. But he hesitates and looks back at you. “We’re not here to drag him back to Hyogo against his will. If he wants to stay here in Sendai he can, he’s an adult. I just want him to know that he has people that care about him, people that miss him.”

You watch Kita pause, standing still. He swallows hard and you see his hands ball into fists. Watching Kita compose himself somehow hurts you the most in this entire interaction you’ve had with him.

When he speaks, his voice is strained. “I don’t think he knows that. I think he believes that he’s truly alone.”

Kita nods and takes his leave, leaving you sitting alone at your table in the café.

• ────── ✾ ────── •

A/N: Enter the Hyogo friends! But Osamu doesn't seem too happy to see them....are we gonna find out why? Also a sad Kita is literally the worst thing in the world and it makes me not okay! :')

Taglist Open! Please send an Ask with the request to be added to It’s [Not] Okay Fic & SMAU: @psycho-nightrose @camcam1617 @kamalymaly @toobsessedsstuff @shookykookie30 @roro-707 @qualitygiantshoepsychic @cerealfrdinner797 @ara-mitsue @gray-444 @tanakasimpcorner @rintarovibes @jellien @everytimeswift @bongofrito @babucrow @beidouluvr @kozuken-ma @imarriedachef @badkarma-a

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crossdressingdeath · 3 years

Note

Question for a scene I've been thinking: SSC, the day before the soup incident a message arrives to the camp of a group of non jmy disciples who were ambushed and are asking for aid. Naturally wwx (and lwj but he's not important right now) joins the rescue party; naturally JC refuse to help and stays behind.

Soup incident happens and when JC interferes someone makes a disparaging comment about jmy and how little they aid to the campaign except for wwx. 1/4

Meanwhile away from the camp once the battle is over people's start noticing things about wwx: someone sees how he avoids physical contact and is reminded of their brother who was tortured by the wens; at dinner a healer's apprentice watch him slowly eating his rations and taking account of his skinny frame wonders if maybe the demonic cultivator stopped eating with the rest because his body can't handle most of the dishes; a third one suddenly remember wzl and ask themselves on their mind if maybe something happened to his GC. All of their questions hit the target but none of them it's dead center 2/4

The party return to the camp were JC anger has been boiling over every new comment disparaging his sect, reaching the breaking point seeing wwx and how a few of the members of the group are actually looking at him with respect on their eyes instead of fear 3/4

My question: in such public place and knowing the grape isn't scared of making a scene when it comes to berating wwx for "shaming his sect" what are the chances of jc saying something that could be interpreted by the witnesses (including lxc and/or nmj) as him kicking wwx out of the jmy sect? Specially if someone intercedes in wwx defense?

(I assume that last one is part four.) To be entirely fair, if memory serves JC doesn't get involved in the soup incident; it's just WWX. I might be misremembering, but as far as I recall JC isn't involved. But given the Jiang sect is absolutely useless other than WWX (to be fair again through no fault of their own given there's exactly two of them, one of them can't cultivate at all, and the other is mediocre at best) it's not hard to imagine someone making a snarky comment about how completely pointless their presence is.

I can definitely imagine JC saying something that could be interpreted as him kicking WWX out of the sect, especially since every other sect has very good reason to take it that way (i.e. the fact that if the founder of demonic cultivation gets kicked out of the Jiang sect then they can take him into their sect, or in the Lan sect's case LWJ's desire to put a ring on that which JC would never allow) and all the great sects have at least one member cunning enough to "misunderstand" it in the way most likely to end in WWX in their sect (or in the Lan sect's case, LWJ and his desire to put a ring on that, which WWX shares!). And yeah, there's a good chance that if someone spoke in WWX's defence JC would double down and actually kick WWX out of the sect. Possibly not meaning it, but he'd say it and WWX would almost certainly find himself in a different sect before JC could even try to take it back. Also, if this question is for a fic I want a link.

#mdzs #a bit of grapehate #asks #anon

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digital-corruption · 3 years

Text

Pieces of You Part 3

“Will it ever stop raining?” Hannah sighed while staring out the car window.

“Didn’t you hear? They’re building an ark,” I joked. “They’re saying it should clear up tomorrow.”

We'd been driving for a couple of hours and now slowly approaching the area Vortex indicated, which was still several city blocks of not the friendliest neighborhood. While I was glad to not be looking alone, I wasn’t sure if Hannah’s presence would have much of an impact. Not that it mattered because we were stuck in traffic.

“And it’s red again,” I groaned as the light changed in front of us, leaving us right on the line.

“I think we got three cars through that time,” Hannah said optimistically.

A black motorbike came up from behind, weaving between the cars and stopped next to us on the passenger side. Normally I'd be jealous of a bike's ability to cheat the system, but not in this rain. I noticed that the rider was looking our way, not that I could see his face through the black, heavily tinted helmet. That’s when I saw the red eye on the side of the bike.

“SON OF A-!!” I yelled, giving Hannah a fright.

“What?” Hannah looked at me then at bike.

“That’s him! That’s Jake!” I pointed.

“Oh! Hi Jake!” Hannah waved.

The light turned green and he quickly took off, weaving between the cars in front of us. Meanwhile there was absolutely no room for us.

“Go! Go after him! Hurry!” Hannah ordered.

“Go where!? I can’t push us between the cars like he can!” I reminded her.

“So that’s it?” Hannah complained.

“You could always get out and walk!” I said sarcastically.

“And it’s red again!” Hannah slammed her body into her seat.

Nearly an hour later we reached the area Vortex had marked and I parked on the side of the road. That’s when the messages came in.

???: What are you doing!?

???: And you have involved Hannah!?

???: I told you not to look for me!!

“It’s your brother,” I sighed and handed my phone to Hannah. “I’m not sure I can deal with him right now in good conscience.”

Hannah looked at my phone and rolled her eyes, “I'll respond.”

I got out of the car and walked up to a fruit stand to ask the owner if he had seen a black bike with a red eye on the side. Of course he hadn’t so I continued my questioning to each business on the road. Hannah eventually caught back up with me.

“It’s pretty pointless,” she commented as she handed my phone back to me. “He’s already left the area.”

“Of course he has, but if we can find where he was then maybe find something to help us figure out where he’s going next faster,” I rubbed my forehead.

“That’s like finding a non-existent needle in a very large haystack,” Hannah pointed out.

“I don’t know! Do you have a better idea?” I asked exasperated.

“We know what his bike looks like. We could ask social media to let us know if they've seen it,” she shrugged.

“No, that'll help his pursuers,” I shook my head.

“Hmm,” she squinted at me.

“What?” I furrowed my brow.

“We’re going about this wrong. We need to get him to come to us,” she suggested. “How good are you at crying?”

“Wait, what?” I replied perplexed.

“He's avoiding us, but if we show him how much this nonsense is hurting you,” she grinned.

“No,” I frowned. “I’m not that desperate.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help but overhear you were asking about a motorcycle with a red eye on the side?” a young, teenage girl approached us.

“Yes! Have you seen it?” Hannah asked optimistically. Meanwhile my spidey senses started tingling. There was definitely something suspicious about her.

“Saw it this morning a few blocks from here. I could show you,” the girl smiled.

“Please do!” Hannah gestured for her to lead the way.

I followed the two of them a few paces behind. I couldn’t help but grip the mace in my coat pocket as the girl led us down some tight alleys. I looked behind me and there was no visibility to the main roads at all. Perfect for someone hiding, but also perfect for an ambush.

“It was parked here,” the girl pointed to the ground. “I saw the rider leave that building there this morning and take off. That red eye does stand out. A lot.”

“What’s inside that building?” I questioned.

The girl shrugged, “It’s abandoned. A lot of squatters use it. It has a lot of rooms so plenty of privacy if you know what I mean.”

“Great! We actually found it!” Hannah looked back at me and smiled.

“Thank you for showing us,” I eyed the girl. She stuck her hand out. “ Ah, there it is.”

“We never said we’d pay,” Hannah frowned.

The girl tilted her head, then pulled out a large hunting knife from inside her jacket. She just had to go and threaten with violence. “Don’t make this harder.”

“Hannah, don’t worry about it,” I approached the girl slowly. “We all do what we have to do to survive.”

The girl relaxed a bit as I slowly pulled my hand from my pocket, then jerked my wrist up to spray her eyes.

“Ah! You bitch!” she squealed.

The girl dropped the knife as her hands went to her face. I reached down and took the knife.

“Get lost!” I ordered.

The girl ran off stumbling. “You'll pay for this!”

“We better be quick,” I said to Hannah.

“How do we know she wasn’t lying?” she asked aghast.

“She’s got a terrible poker face,” I shrugged and headed for the building.

The door was as expected, unlocked. I opened it and peered inside the dark, musky building. It was pretty well trashed from its many guests.

I gestured to Hannah, “Come on, let’s check it out.”

#duskwood #duskwood jake #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood jake x player #Pieces of You

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pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

Lips of an Angel

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Danish!Reader, Ivar/Freydis, Reader/OC

Summary: “Well, I had this idea of Ivar x reader based off the song Lips of an Angel. (If you feel like a Modern AU works best that's fine) Where Ivar is with Freydis, but Ivar never let go of his feelings for the reader and she never let go of hers, and you can decide how you want it to end.”

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Angst, lost love, implied sex/cheating, mention of polygamy

A/N: This is the closest I’ll get I’ve gotten to writting 5b Ivar, and it still is ooc probably. I feel like a horrible writer for ignoring canon like this, but istg that season almost made me give up on Vikings altogether and I just can’t write it, or any of the characters as they were then.

Anyhow, hope you like this, I was on the fence about making it a modern!au or not, so I decided to write both a Viking times version and a Modern version. Different story completely, of course.

You can find the Modern!AU version of this request right here

Kattegat is still the same, you realize, it is as if Aslaug still sits on that throne.

In a way, you think she still does.

Álfarr’s hand is a comfortable weight on your back, and his warmth helps you thaw from the cold of memories and regret that took a hold of you the moment you crossed those walls.

“You cannot leave me!” His voice is an enraged snarl, his hand is gripping tight at the axe on the table.

You know it is madness to turn your back on Ivar the Boneless, you know it is madness to ignore the rage in his eyes. Still, you walk out of that worn-down church, and surprisingly, you survive.

And because the man you are travelling with, the man that claims to love you and to know you love him too, is too smart for his own good, he notices the way you wish for nothing more than to leave this place you just returned to.

And so he tries reminding you of what you have returned for, of the life you will be able to have once you spend one winter in Kattegat.

“I was thinking, after this, we could travel to Ribe,” Álfarr offers casually, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, “The Danes are sure to welcome you back.”

“Hmm,” You reply, nodding your head, and because he deserves it, because you can’t forget what made you left Kattegat or what has made you return, you offer a smile, “I don’t know if they would welcome you, though.”

“I fought against Angantyr once,” He reminds you with a chuckle. After a moment, he brings you close and presses a kiss to the side of your head, “Besides, more than a year ago I was convinced-…”

“Convinced? You make it sound as if-…”

“I was convinced by a beautiful Danish woman to leave those wars behind,” Álfarr continues with a knowing smile, ignoring your glare of protest. “And I don’t regret it.”

“Well let’s hope she doesn’t regret this, eh?” You try around a deep breath, a smile that feels fake.

One winter. Only one winter in Kattegat, and then Álfarr will be at your side wherever the Gods will take you. Such was the pledge he made, and the deal you agreed to.

____

Long before the night that now envelops you had settled, word had reached you that the King calls for you, and all you’ve been able to do since that thrall delivered the message was to consider the cost of running away, cowardly as it may be.

Reminiscent of those last weeks before he drove you away, before you left him behind.

“Ivar calls for you.” Hvitserk tells you with a sigh, taking a seat at your side with an exhaustion that is more than physical.

“What for? He listens only to his own voice lately.” You quip bitterly, but still stand up and with a soft touch of the Prince’s shoulder, you answer a call that hurts your pride, your hope.

Álfarr’s steps approaching you take you away from the dangerous lull of memories.

“Are you going to go?” He asks without preamble, taking a seat in front of you.

You sigh, “If the King calls for me-…”

Álfarr chuckles bitterly, interrupting you, “Ah, of course. The King summoning a Völva, nothing more. Surely not your ex-lover wanting to see you again.”

“Do you want me to say no? Not many survive denying Ivar.”

“You survived leaving him.”

“Yes. I left him,” You repeat pointedly, not intending to withstand foolish jealousy. But because what the years made out of you isn’t happy with the way he is soothed slightly at your reminder, you add, “I left him when he tried keeping me chained.”

And Álfarr was always a smart man, it was one of the reasons you first trusted him. So in response to the threat you don’t voice, he only shrugs, “You wouldn’t leave me.”

Your eyebrows raise at the unwavering certainty, “What makes you think that?”

“Nothing could make you wish to return to Kattegat until me,” Álfarr offers you a smile, that you almost start returning, “I still consider it a feat, to have been able to sway you.”

You drink down the last of your mead, tilting your head back and trying to chase away bitterness with the honeyed drink.

“You swayed me the moment I found you dying and chose to save you, you fool.” You quip, betraying a fond smile that he returns.

Without any more words, you stand up. Your hand traces the outline of his shoulders, strong and familiar, as you walk out the door.

____

Ivar waits for you sitting in what looks like an adjacent room to the throne room.

You wish you could say he looks the same, you wish you could say he still has the face, the eyes, of the man you once loved.

But his face is darkened by shadows and something more sinister than that, his eyes are colder and crueler than you ever had the misfortune of seeing them.

It still makes a pang of pain travel to your chest, to the place where your heart ought to be if you hadn’t carelessly given it away years ago, to see him before you, in the flesh, not a dream or a memory.

“My King.” You bow your head.

“Say my name,” Ivar orders gruffly, and at your startled expression when you lift your gaze to his, he amends, “We’ve-…Don’t act like we are strangers. Call me by my name.”

“Alright, Ivar,” You concede, the familiar sound of his name on your lips still managing to make your chest tighten. You take a seat in the chair across from him that was offered, and fold your hands over your lap to keep yourself from fidgeting. “Why did you call for me?”

“You arrive at a Kingdom and don’t dare visit the King, hm?” He taunts without missing a beat, “You used to have better manners.”

And you used to avoid playing these games with me, you think, but bite back the words.

“I needn’t bother any king with an announcement of my arrival,” You remind him, “I am no one of importance, of fame.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” A soft and dainty voice says, making a chill run down your spine even before you see the blonde approaching from the shadows. She offers a smile, but the eyes of the Queen of Kattegat are as cold as the King’s. “You’re the Völva that granted the Black Danes many victories, aren’t you?”

You watch, frozen in your place, as she approaches Ivar with ease, resting one delicate hand on his shoulder, standing by his side.

Trying to keep your eyes from following the movement of Ivar’s hand that goes to touch hers where it rests on his shoulder, you reply, “I have granted no man any victory.”

“The Gods did, but in no little thanks to your work, your magic. I have heard of you,” She insists, and you frankly do not know what to do with her false warmth. Looking into her eyes feels like watching a flame from the other side of a glass window, an illusion, a façade. “And I am honored you’re here.”

You bow your head in acceptance, “Thank you, Queen Freydis.”

She betrays a wider smile, a more feral smile, and your blood runs cold.

“Ah, you know my name. You have heard of me too, then?”

You feel like you’re being ambushed, so instead of giving her an answer, you return your gaze to the King.

“Why was I summoned here?”

Ivar regards you in silence, eyes slightly narrowed and a cold cruelty in the slight curve of his smile.

Still, he gestures with his hand, dismissing his wife, ordering her to leave the two of you alone.

“Word is you aren’t here to stay.”

“Just for the winter.”

“A Völva, and one always close to the sons of Ragnar at that,” He lists, leaning forward in his seat, elbows resting on armored knees, “I could have use for you.”

You feel cold creeping over you, and lean back.

“Use?”

“It is a matter of time before Freydis becomes pregnant with my child,” Ivar comments with what to anyone else would look like nonchalance, but you hear the cruelty behind the words. “I could use a witch weaving her magic to protect my child and wife.”

It hurts, it hurts at a deep part of your chest, so much so you almost want to look down to see if there’s a gaping wound where your heart should be.

“There’s many that would be willing to do so, but not me.”

“Why not?”

“My home isn’t Kattegat.”

“Where is it, then? With that blacksmith?” He accuses without missing a beat. The anger in his tone, the accusation, the vitriol, the rage, it is all so familiar.

It is all you left behind, with reason to do so.

“I will put word that Kattegat is in search of a Völva to protect the King and his family,” You say around the foolish and hopeless knot of pain at your throat, “I’m sure someone will be of help.”

Standing up from your seat, you mutter a goodbye and turn your back to the King.

His voice, loud and enraged as he calls your name, makes all of this a familiar scene, and it makes you stop dead on your tracks.

“I didn’t give you permission to leave.” Ivar snarls at you, the sound of a crutch stabbing the ground as he stands up as well.

You take a deep breath, but don’t turn around.

“May I leave, then?”

“No,” He sentences, walking closer, “Not now, and not when winter is over.”

You gasp, “What?”

“I’m keeping you here in Kattegat,” Ivar states, intimidating, venomous, unfamiliar as he towers over you, “I’m King, I can do as I wish with you.”

“I am a free woman,” You remind him, “Only my blood would rule over me, and they are all dead. My blood or my husband, and you, Ivar, are neither.”

“You cannot command me!” You insist with a laugh, defiant even as you tilt your head to the side to let him continue his thorough exploration of your neck with his lips and tongue.

“Hm, you forget who leads the army you fight for, witch.” He teases, a breathed laugh against your neck when you pull on his hair, offended at the title

“No one but my family commands me, Ivar.”

“They are all dead.”

“Not all of them,” You quip, a foolish knot on your stomach tightening at the conversation you’re about to start, “Family isn’t just blood. One day I will be married, and my husband will be my family.”

“So, no one but your blood or your husband would dare rule over you,” He intones, pulling back and searching your eyes, “Why do I have the feeling it wouldn’t be so easy to make you surrender?”

“Because you have good judgement?” You offer with a tentative laugh.

Ivar only smiles, and leans down to capture your mouth in his. His kisses never fail to make your heart beat so fast you hear it in your head.

In the way his hands tighten over whatever part of you he has a hold of, in the way his tongue demands entrance to your mouth, in the way you feel the soft sounds he cannot keep trapped; you find yourself gone, enthralled, his.

When he pulls back, his eyes, darkened and burning, linger on your kiss-bitten lips for a few moments.

“With those lips of yours, love, it would be very easy to make any man surrender.” Ivar confesses in a hoarse whisper, and past the pang of heat his words and the way he’s looking at you send through you, you smile.

“My lips?” He hums an agreement, and in the few moments you have him enthralled, your smile turns devious, “Where?”

Ivar grits his teeth at the reminder, and the flash of pain you imagine seeing for a moment could make you believe he remembers the same moments you do, the same life you wish you could have lived till your last breath, the same world you wish you had never left behind.

“That blacksmith you came with.”

“He’s a warrior, and you know his name.” You tell him, aware you’re prodding a dangerous beast but still doing so with an arrogant tilt of your chin.

“Does he know about me?” Ivar asks, voice low and dangerous, “About us? About what you promised me?”

“Does she?” You ask, unable to keep the bitterness from your tone.

Ivar’s reply is immediate, “Yes.”

And with a simple word weighs on you the realization that either she means much more to him than you ever imagined, or you still do. You aren’t sure you want to know the answer.

“I have to go,” You tell him, stepping back and lowering your gaze to the dark wood under your feet. “Tell your brother I would love to see him. I’ve missed him.”

“You’ll just leave?”

“No, I will stay until winter passes. I-…”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean, and you know it,” He accuses, furious movements of his crutch as he approaches you again. “You’ll leave me again.”

The words tug at a pathetic and foolish part of your heart, a part of your heart that you never got back. A part of your heart that was left behind in some old church in York.

Still, you offer truth, a truth that lacerates at your throat on the way out, “I never returned to you, Ivar.”

His free hand grabs roughly at your arm, and his breathing is fast, his eyes are searching yours desperately.

The furious glint in his eye, the twinge of madness in his scowl, the phrase he would repeat over and over as if he could make it truth by will alone, “You will not leave me.”

“You are here, Fate brought you back to me.”

“Fate brought your wife to you,” You remind him, pain interwoven in your every word, “Fate brought Álfarr to my side. Fate pulled us apart, Ivar.”

But he shakes his head, stubborn and desperate. For a moment, in the way the snarl in his lips trembles, in the way he blinks quickly, you see the man you love.

“No.” Is all he says, before he brings you to him roughly, and claims your mouth.

You have been familiar with magic all your life, and you know it is something other than it, but it feels like magic when you let yourself give into his kiss. It feels like something stronger than magic when you find yourself giving in to Ivar, breaths quickened as you watch him answer the command of the gentle push of your hand and sit on the chair at his back.

Kissing him, it is anger, it is anger and lust and grief and love, you won’t deny it. It is biting and demanding and rough and him.

Getting lost in the feel, the smell, the taste, of him was always easy. Terrifyingly easy, once.

And so you lose yourself in the push and pull of your bodies moving as one, in the way he demands with bites and kisses and soft sounds breathed against your lips the surrender you refuse to give, in the way he lets you try and lure him to that same surrender with your lips on his skin and the intonation of his name on your lips that still makes him tremble.

His hands are rough and demanding as they grip your hips, and he makes you move above him with a punishing pace. And it feels like he is trying to punish you. For leaving him. For returning.

Your own hands grip onto his shoulders, nails digging into the skin and drawing blood, traying to dispel the touch of any other with each drop. So that there’s a bit of you left with him, a proof. Of how you once were his. Of how he’s still yours.

____

You lay in the quiet that lets you pretend you never left that world you once loved so much, in the peace that makes your chest ache for the unsaid vows you broke.

Ivar’s head rests against your chest, letting you every once in a while feel the drag of his mouth over your skin, lazily retracing a path he bit and kissed his way through earlier. Your fingers, aching to be once again familiar with the feel of his skin, the softness of his hair, travel wherever you can reach, ceaselessly.

It is as if in each breath shared, in each moan that trembled past parted lips, in each moment of ecstasy and of pain; the anger and the resentment and the hate gave way, let the world that once was take a hold of the moment you live -bask- in now.

The quiet is broken by a soft murmur of your name, and your chest pulls tight at the sound of it in Ivar’s voice, at the return of the fragile softness, the hidden gentleness, you once were the sole recipient of.

“I have…dreamt of you, these passing years,” He tells you, even a confession such as this traced by underlying anger. He presses yet another kiss to the skin above your heart, “I have missed you.”

“So have I, more…more than I could ever say.” You offer, closing your eyes to keep tears from filling your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave me again.” Ivar whispers, voice so, so quiet.

You release a breath that shakes and trembles past your lips, “You and I are fated to say goodbye, I think. Always were.”

He lifts his head, strikingly blue eyes meeting yours.

“It doesn’t have to be like that.”

“You have a wife, Ivar, I can’t-…”

“You can be my wife too,” He offers, making your heart both soar and break. “You wouldn’t be queen, but you never minded for pow-…”

“Ivar,” You interrupt, voice shaking, “Listen to what you’re saying. You’re asking me to be your second wife. To take Freydis as my sister-wife.”

“She won’t object,” He says it with such certainty that it sickens you, and you scramble to stand, to part from his embrace. “She’d do anything I asked her to. She will accept.”

You are shaking your head, putting the shield your dress serves as back up over your skin.

“I could never accept,” You tell him, and because you want to linger for a moment longer in the sun, in the brief paradise where you’re allowed to see the real him shining in his blue eyes; you walk closer one last time and let your fingers trace the side of his face lovingly, smiling even if it is a goodbye, “No woman that loves you would settle for half of you.”

Whether you speak of her and her faults, or you and your hopeless heart; you don’t know.

____ ____ ____

Hope you liked this! Thank you so much for reading!!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss @peachyboneless @encounterthepast @maggiescarborough @chibisgotovalhalla @fae-sedai

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar

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julemmaes · 3 years

Text

Honey - part two

Elide Lochan x Lorcan Salvaterre roommates au

A/N: I’m so tired yall have no idea. My eyes are burning and my fingers are cramping cause I’ve been writing all day to get this done, so yeah, I’m very satisfied and some of the blogs that I consider big or are big for a fact started following me and commented on the first part, so I freaked out a little, but I can tell that I’ll sleep peacefully tonight because of that, so thank you all. Enjoy!:)

Oh, and I almost forgot, the song at the end is called “Honey” and it’s by Johnny Balik (shoker, as my man Kieran would say)

masterlist

Word count: 4,966

Lorcan's least favourite day was definitely Friday, unlike all people his age. Not because he didn't like going out in the city at night to have fun and drink until you forgot even your mother's name, but because it was the only day of the week he had to work at both the shelter and the toy shop.

He loved working with the dogs and the few cats they brought in, and although he wasn't really a people person, he enjoyed spending time deciding with the kids and parents what was the best gift to go home with. And although Lorcan would never admit it out loud, he had grown fond of some of the regulars - especially a mother of three who he knew worked as a lawyer in one of the offices above the shop. Almost every day she would come in during her lunch break to buy one of those surprise sachets that cost a euro each and if Lorcan didn't see her coming before he went on his break, he would wait a few minutes before closing up just for her. Elide had managed to find out this detail a few months later after she moved in and he knew she would never stop teasing him because he had a heart of gold.

The phone vibrated in his hand just as he got behind the wheel and he wasn't at all surprised to see that the last message he had gotten was from Elide.

He huffed, not even opening yet another link that would surely send him to yet another website with information on why the world was ending very slowly and why humans were to be blamed entirely. He started the car and drove off towards their house.

Lorcan wasn't a bad person and he really cared about everything Elide was sending him, but he was tremendously tired and all he could think about was how much he wanted to take a shower and pass out in his bed. The fact that none of this was going to happen because Fenrys and Rowan had forced him to accept the invitation out to dinner made it all worse.

It took him less than ten minutes to get home and when he parked and saw the lights in their living room on, he seriously considered backing up and getting out of there to get to Vaughan's house before Elide noticed his car and he wouldn't be able to get away no more.

He was sure his friend would take him in without question if he asked to put him up for a night.

But luck was not on his side as Elide's petite figure appeared in the window and Lorcan could not see her face, but he knew she was smiling as she bounced and waved to greet him.

Despite everything, Lorcan raised his hand in turn and smiled back at her, knowing full well that even she could not see him so low and hidden by the evening shadows.

As he climbed the sixth flight of stairs and mentally prepared himself for two more, he could foresee the flood of words that would wash over him when he entered the house. Elide hadn't kept quiet for the entire day, sending him voice messages and staying with him on calls for the entire duration of his lunch break, so much so that at one point he had wondered if she had gone to class and then to work. He had discovered that yes, she had gone, but she hadn't paid the slightest attention to what they had explained and had gotten half the customers' orders wrong.

When he opened the front door, he recognized the melody of one of the songs she'd put on her apology playlist, the one he'd made for her nearly three weeks earlier after she'd found out he still smoked. She'd seemed so hurt that after he'd gone to bed and cleaned the tiles of his blood until they glistened, he'd stood at the kitchen table and spent hours and hours searching for the perfect apology songs. A bit dramatic perhaps, but it had had the desired effect.

He sighed, slipping off his jacket and putting it as far away from Elide's as possible, so that no animal hair would get on hers. He would clean it later.

The girl in question sputtered out of the living room with a beaming smile on her face, her cheeks strangely red and her eyes so bright they were glossy, "Hello, handsome."

"Hi, Ellie." he murmured, straightening his back and making the bones in his neck crack. Elide approached and Lorcan took a step back, bumping his back against the door, "I haven't showered yet," he put his hands forward to keep her at arm's length, "you can touch and hug me all you want later, but please not now," he begged her.

She gave the cutest pout he had ever seen, "But-"

"No buts, you can wait three minutes for me to wash up without dying," he continued, walking past her without touching her or making any overly sudden movements.

"You're such a pain in the ass," she complained, that adorable pout deepening all the more, "I can always take the antihistamine if I get allergies."

Lorcan shook his head, turning a confused expression on her, "I'd rather you didn't take medication just because you want to hug me."

It was true.

To their great misfortune, Elide was one of the very few people he knew who was allergic to animal hair. Any animal. More precisely, she was allergic to the mites that lived in the fur and the dust that accumulated in it in enormous quantities even on a normal basis. Given that the dogs Lorcan worked with were left to run loose in the fields all day, when he came home he was covered in anything that could kill his friend and roommate in one sniff and he didn't want to have to take her to the emergency room again because they couldn't tell if she was breathing properly.

It was why every night since he'd started working at the shelter he had taken a shower before doing anything else. It was why their water bill had gone up so much since they had found out about this allergy of hers.

"It's just a pill Lor, it's not like I have to get shots or..." she shrugged, as if to indicate anything more invasive than a simple pill.

He brought his hands in front of his mouth like a prayer, looking her in the eyes, "How many times do I have to explain to you that if you take one type of medicine every day, after a while your body no longer perceives it as an extra foreign thing to help you, but as the norm and so it no longer has any effect?"

Elide grimaced, "I hate you."

He chuckled, walking backwards until he reached the bathroom door, just in case she had the great idea to ambush him and jump on his back, "Just wait five minutes."

"It was three before," she said frowning, "And, speaking of showers-" and then she did something that made Lorcan freeze in his tracks. He didn't register what was going on until Elide's shirt was too high up for him to avoid seeing everything. And by everything, he meant everything.

"Elide what the fuck are you doing?!" he turned around, screaming, then his eyes went wide, trying to figure out if what had just happened was true or not. He squeezed his eyes shut, closing his hands into fists, biting his knuckles, "You're not wearing a fucking bra." he said in a voice sharper than he had intended.

He heard her giggle, but the sound came out muffled, "Loorcaaan." she crooned, "Help."

"I can't turn around Ellie, you're naked," he pointed out to her with his eyes still closed, then in a lower voice, "God, you're naked. What has gotten into you?"

He felt her move as she walked around him and stopped in front of him, "Help." she said in a flat tone. Lorcan had to laugh, her tone reminded him so much of the way the green aliens in Toy Story talked.

"Help what?" he asked letting out an amused laugh.

"I'm stuck." she said slurring her words and he felt her move, she was probably wiggling to get out of her t-shirt. And if she was wiggling, that meant her-

Lorcan took a sharp breath, cursing under his breath and trying to quiet his wandering mind.

He arched an eyebrow, though he was pretty sure she couldn't see him either, as doubt crept into him, "Are you drunk?"

Elide was silent for a while, then giggled like a child, "Just a little tipsy."

"Ellie it's seven o'clock," he exclaimed amused, but surprised to learn that she had been drinking, "why on earth are you drunk at seven?"

"Just a little tipsy," she repeated like a broken record. Then she screeched like a pterodactyl and Lorcan burst out laughing again, turning and taking a step or two forward to avoid risking accidentally touching her once more.

"Alright, why are you just a little tipsy at seven o'clock on a night when we're supposed to be going out with the others?" he asked now a little more eager to know the answer.

He heard her snort audibly, "The world is ending, Lorcan, why won't you understand that?"

He opened his eyes wide, not believing what she was saying, pinning them on the picture their friends had given them for Christmas, the one with all their best pictures collaged on a coloured canvas.

And here he thought he was the dramatic one of the two.

He nodded to himself, "So you're telling me that the reason you decided to get drunk before you even went out is because of global warming?"

He heard a rustle and then something hit him on the head, "Sorry, I didn't mean to slap you," she said in the tone of someone who couldn't care less about having hit him, "Anyway, yeah. Global warming and forests catching fire and animals dying and plastic burning..." she took a deep breath and then continued for a few minutes, making a list of all the things she had learned that afternoon by reading all the articles she could find about why humans were the worst living thing in the world.

Lorcan stood patiently listening to her, occasionally getting lost when she introduced topics that were a little too specific, but listen to her he did. The way she was saying all those things was always reminiscent of the little green aliens, but he knew the subject was more serious than it sounded.

With his arms crossed over his chest, he didn't think he'd moved too much, but at one point Elide sneezed and he cursed himself for not having moved fast enough to go to the bathroom.

"I told you you'd get allergies."

"But I didn't even touch you," she squealed back.

"You know that's not necessary for even your soul to start itching too," he scolded her.

Elide remained silent for a while longer, then started talking again, "And we should seriously get some glass bottles, if I see you with those stupid plastic bottles again I'll kill you. Scout's honor." she threatened him.

Lorcan chuckled, "Elide you've never been in scouts."

"How punctilious of you." she scoffed at him, then gasped, "We could buy matching flasks, with glitter and," she gasped again, sounding increasingly excited, "We could have one of our pictures printed on it."

A smile broke out on Lorcan's lips and he knew that if he had looked in the mirror at that moment he would have seen the face of a boy lost in love. He pulled himself together, straightening his back, trying not to think about how he felt about Elide. It wouldn't have done any good to admit that those feelings were real and tangible inside him.

He was staring at Fenrys' face in one of the pictures they had taken on holiday that summer, when Elide spoke again.

"This is a list of things that should make you understand why we have to shower together."

Lorcan choked on his saliva. He coughed a few times, patting his chest.

How had they gone from polar bears dying from melting ice to them showering together?

"What are you talking about?" he asked her in a squeaky voice.

The fact that she was alluding to them showering together while he knew she was half naked behind him, a breath away practically, made him feel so many different kinds of wrong.

"We can't waste water Lor, it's not hard." she sounded exasperated, then muttered, "Sometimes I really think you're being obtuse or stupid."

Lorcan's eyes went wide, "Wow, thanks Ellie."

"You're welcome." she chipped.

He shook his head, sighing and running a hand over his face, "Don't you think there are plenty of other ways we can start saving the world, before we have to shower together?" he took the fact that she wasn't answering as a cue to continue, "Like start recycling?"

Elide gasped again, making him chuckle, "Did you sign the petition?"

"Which-" he trailed off. She was talking about the petition to have a door-to-door rubbish collection service introduced in their town. Something that would force everyone to sort their garbage. "Yes, I signed it."

"Good." she whispered.

"I signed them all," he reiterated, because it was true and he knew that Elide never sent him stupid petitions, that whatever she sent him must be important and it didn't cost him anything to put his email and name on a website if it meant he could make a difference in his own small way.

"Thank you. I really appreciate it." she said in a weak voice.

Lorcan felt strangely uncomfortable all of a sudden.

And not because of the fact that Elide was naked behind him and had just confessed to wanting to shower with him, but because he would have wanted to turn around and kiss her, not do what any other guy would have thought of doing with a half-naked girl. No. Lorcan just wanted to kiss her and take his time in the process, savour the kiss and not be hasty and quick.

He wanted it to be slow and heartfelt, he wanted her to feel every single thing he couldn't say out loud.

"Lorcan?" she whispered, "I'm always stuck and I'm starting to get cold."

He blinked, "Yeah, you're right." then interrupted. They were silent a few seconds, "You really can't pull your shirt down?"

"No."

He took a deep breath. Then another.

"Okay, I'm going to turn around and keep my eyes closed, please stay still so I don't touch- anything. I'm not touching anything. I'll try to help you." he stammered, clasping his hands along his sides. She made a simple grunt of assent and he huffed, raising his hands in the air and lowering them slowly until he touched her head. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and then released the elbow that had gotten stuck in her shirt.

"Yay." exclaimed Elide.

Sensing that she was moving freely on her own, Lorcan pulled away again and when the sound of clothes stopped, he asked, "Are you done?"

"Yes," she said singing.

His shoulder sagged a little and he smiled. He opened his eyes, ready to move Elide to the side and go take that holy shower, but whatever he'd thought when he'd asked if she was done must have been the exact opposite of what she'd thought, because Elide's tits were freer than ever between the two of them.

Lorcan grunted, slapping a hand over his face to cover his eyes, "What the fuck, Ellie. Stop flashing me, I'm begging you."

He heard her giggle and then a gust of wind and her laughter fading down the corridor let him know she had run off. He opened his eyes tentatively, peering through his fingers to make sure she wasn't still in front of him and sighed with relief when he finally managed to get into the bathroom and lock the door behind him.

He leaned against the sink, clutching the ceramic between his fingers and staring at his reflection in the mirror.

He never thought the first time he would see Elide's tits would be under these circumstances. He ran a hand over his face again, trying to somehow erase the image he knew he would never forget.

He had just stepped into the shower when he heard something very large and heavy slam against the door. Something that seconds later burst out laughing. Lorcan could only follow as he imagined a half-naked Elide running towards the bathroom and failing to stop in time.

"Are you alright, honey?" he asked her just in case. He turned on the water, hissing when he found it frozen, but not moving from under the jet. After all, a cold shower wouldn't hurt him.

"Let me in." she shouted, slamming her fist against the door, "Let me iiin!"

"Are you dressed?"

"No."

"Then you can't come in."

A scream of despair followed by what could only be a fake hysterical cry made him burst out laughing again, but then for a few minutes all that was heard was the sound of the shower and water falling from his hair.

"Ellie, are you still there?"

The answer came quickly, "Yes."

"Are you still naked?"

"Maybe." then he heard her move against the door and realised she'd been sitting on the floor.

Perfect, he was stuck in there. He reached for the phone and thought of something.

As he finished untangling the knots in his hair and washing out the conditioner, Elide was talking about how harmful the soaps they used were and had even gone so far as to say that they should both shave their heads so as to minimise their impact on the environment.

"What did you do today?" she asked him suddenly.

Lorcan didn't answer, dialling the number of a certain blonde girl who could help him out of this situation. Aelin answered after the fifth ring and Lorcan knew full well that she had done it on purpose, hoping he would hang up so she wouldn't have to talk to him.

"Hello?"

"Listen, something kind of weird happened and I need-"

"Who is this?" Lorcan arched an eyebrow, pulling his ear away from the phone to check the number. It was Aelin's phone. And the chick's voice on the other end was her, he was sure of it. "God, Lorcan, I'm fucking with you, what's up?"

"Funny," he deadpanned, "Elide's already drunk."

"What? But it's not even eight o'clock."

"I know, I came home and she was already like that."

A few moments of silence passed, "Okay, and what do you want me to do?"

"Well, she took her shirt off at one point."

Lorcan waited for a reaction, but Aelin didn't respond.

"And now she's naked in the hallway and blocking the bathroom door and-"

"She's what?" the friend burst out laughing.

"She's naked," he gritted through his teeth, "And she's blocking the bathroom door. I don't know how to get out and I don't want to open the door and push her off and risk hurting her. Is there any way you could come over here and help her? Help me?"

"I’ll make sure she'll never hear the end of it." Aelin laughed louder and Lorcan heard Rowan ask her what was going on. The blonde took breaths before saying, "Ellie flashed Lorcan and how he's stuck in the bathroom because he's afraid of a pair of nice-looking boobies."

"So are you planning on coming?" he asked before he completely lost his patience.

He imagined her wiping tears from under her eyes, "Yes, we'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"We?"

"Me, Ro and Fen. He's the one driving tonight and he picked us up."

"Okay," Lorcan murmured, "but they can't come up to the house."

"Why?" drawled Aelin, "Because you're jealous?"

He counted to ten, restraining himself from hanging up on her, "No, because this is going to be humiliating enough for Elide without two more of her friends seeing her half naked, so please just come up alone."

Aelin huffed, "You're right, but you're no fun."

They said their goodbyes and Lorcan put the phone down, starting to blow dry his hair.

"Lorcan."

Elide hadn't stopped saying his name for half a second throughout the call and it was starting to annoy him. Then he shook his head, no. He wasn't annoyed by Elide, it was Aelin.

That girl could get under his skin like few could.

"What?"

"You didn't tell me what you did today."

And Lorcan did, so that at least she would stop slamming her hand against the door.

He told her about the last man who'd come to see what dogs he could give his daughter and how he'd seemed so much like the guy who'd abandoned them on the side of the road after not even a week and it had pissed him off. He told her the morning had been even worse, because one of the children had started opening all the toys on display and his mother, who had been right next to him the whole time with her eyes fixed on the phone screen, hadn't stopped him and it had been up to Lorcan to tell him he couldn't do it. It was only then that the woman had realised what a mess it was and had simply apologised to him, running out of the shop so fast that he hadn't even noticed they had left. He had to call his manager and he was not exactly pleased to hear this story, but he also said that they would donate the toys to the church down the street, which was responsible for distributing them to kindergartens in the neighbourhood. That cheered him up a little.

By the time he had finished his story, Aelin had arrived and once he had taken her to her room. Lorcan could finally go out and get ready himself.

***

It was after midnight, the entire group was rocking out on the dance floor of their favorite outdoor club, a place called "The Wild Night" that was on the edge of town, closer to the forest than anything else, and normally Lorcan would have joined his friends to dance and sing, but there was a problem.

A big, huge, handsome problem.

And the problem was called Kyllian.

He couldn't figure out whose idea it had been to invite the boy with them that night, but whoever it was, this person's days were numbered, because Lorcan would kill them first and then use the limbs of their corpse to kill Kyllian.

Kyllian who had now been rubbing up against Elide for hours and who had offered her more drinks than stupid charming grins - and he really was reserving a lot of those for her.

"If you don't stop looking at him like that you're going to make his head explode," someone said, throwing themselves onto the small bench next to him.

He turned his head so fast he wondered how he had managed not to break his neck, "What are you talking about?"

Fenrys arched an eyebrow, "Even if you weren't staring at Kyllian like you wanted to see him disappear off the face of the earth, everyone here, including Elide," he told him with so much as a glare, giving him a slight shove, "would know that you're not really into what's going on on that dance floor."

"He's right," Rowan said to his left, sipping the drink of Aelin's she'd left him. When the hell had he sat there?

Lorcan didn't answer, remaining motionless with his sullen expression.

"I can give you a hand if you want," Fenrys murmured, sucking on the fuchsia straw sticking out of his equally pink glass.

He inhaled through his nose, "And how would you do that?"

"You have to trust me."

"Never." said Lorcan as Rowan said at the same time, "Don't."

Fenrys looked at them both with his mouth wide open and a hand to his chest, "I'm hurt." then finished what was left of the drink in one gulp and stood up abruptly, staggering a little, but holding himself up nonetheless. He cast a glance over his shoulder at the two boys still sitting, grinning, and Lorcan knew immediately what was going to happen.

"Ellie!" he shouted, turning more heads than necessary, "Love of my life!"

Kyllian pulled away from Ellie just enough for Fenrys to grab her hand and spin her around a few times until she burst out laughing and begged him to stop. The new boy didn't even seem to exist anymore as his best friend laced her arms around Fenrys' hips and rocked left and right, increasingly drunk.

Lorcan's heart clenched in his chest as he heard that sound so carefree, so happy.

He didn't realise he was smiling until Rowan cackled beside him, "God, you're fucked."

He didn't pay any attention to him and stood up, keeping his gaze fixed on her face.

He heard Lysandra and Aelin calling his name, hyping him up and threw them a real, quick smile that made them scream even louder, as if they were fans at one of his concerts. When he finally reached Fenrys and Elide's side, the blond spun her around ninety degrees and for a moment she closed her eyes, giggling, intoxicated by the amount of alcohol she had ingested, but when she opened them again and saw Lorcan standing in front of her, a smile as wide as he had ever seen it spread across her face.

"I'll leave you Ellie, you're in good hands," Fenrys told her, winking at him from above her head.

But neither of them even looked at him.

His eyes locked into hers as they both took a step forward and found themselves a caress away. Her chest rose and fell in an agitated rhythm. After all, she'd been dancing with everyone for hours, so much so that Lorcan wondered how she hadn't thrown up yet.

His gaze ran over her body, her bare shoulders, the line of her collarbones, and further down between her breasts. Breasts he'd had the chance to see for a millisecond a few hours before and remembered perfectly. The darker shade of pink that had characterized her-

"Lorcan."

He felt his heart pounding in his throat.

She had never said his name like that.

His eyes went up, sliding over lips so full, so perfect, up, over her nose and then up again, finding hers and the music changed, becoming slower, the lights dimmed as the strobes were turned off. Elide seemed to recognise the tune as her lips parted slightly, "Lor," she repeated. He raised a hand until his knuckles brushed her cheek and when she let go a shuddering breath, Lorcan began to sing under his breath.

"Tell me everything and hold no lies. Say you're waiting for better skies," he leaned forward as his other hand slid to her hip and Elide moved closer, until their bodies were fully joined to each other and one of her legs was between his and their hips were one thing moving in sync with the music. He felt Elide's breath against his neck and had to suppress a shudder when she too began to sing along with him.

"Oh, but honey don't taste like summer no more. Stick around now, I miss you every night,"

He lowered his head even more, brushing her nose with his own. The hand that had been on her cheek had slipped over her shoulder and was now tracing the path down her back, grazing the top of her bottom until it rested on her hip.

"Elide," he whispered, breathing on her lips. She closed her eyes, pushing herself up, towards him, and Lorcan held her tighter, moving his fingers over the exposed skin between her miniskirt and the black top she was wearing and there he was. Elide was there, with him, and she was so close to his body that he could feel the heart beating in her chest.

She was there and the next second... she wasn't. Because Elide had snapped away and was now vomiting on his feet. Lorcan held his breath as she was shaken by another gag and he had just enough time to take a step back that she threw up again.

The people around them quickly scampered away, creating a small circle of spectators and casting a quick glance at his friends he saw that they had a large audience. He just hoped Elide was too drunk to remember what happened the next day.

He looked down and grimaced, all sorts of emotions swirling inside him as the girl he loved clutched at him and puked her dinner all over his clothes.

He cursed at whoever decided how things went for breaking the best moment of his life with vomit and then gathered her hair into a loose ponytail, tying it with an elastic band he kept on his wrist specifically for these occasions.

He heard her whimper and put both hands on her shoulders, stroking her in circular motions to help her warm up. Aelin and Lysandra appeared next to them shortly after and when Ellie was firm enough on her feet to walk, they stepped over the pool of vomit and Lorcan wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pushing her towards the exit.

"Let's go home, Ellie."

tog tag list (if you wanna be added or removed just dm me or send an ask)

@tottenhamboys20 @maastrash @ireallyshouldsleeprn @sleeping-and-books @ladywitchling @thegoddessofyou @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @anne-reads @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @letstakethedawn @simping4bookboisngrls @post-it-notes33 @booksstorm @nalgenewhore @queen-of-demons-and-hell @miserablemusings @lanyjoy-13 @vasudharaghavan @cupcakey00 @bri-loves-sunflowers @queen-of-glass

#elorcan #tog fic #throne of glass #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #elorcan roommates au #fluff #elorcan fluff #elorcan fic #rowan whitethorn #fenrys moonbeam #aelin galathynius #honey

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 3 years

Text

18. Skeleton

Buddy and Sammy find the “goldfish room” as the latter calls it, AKA the closet where Joey keeps his skeletons, literally. And in the process, Buddy learns about a few of the skeletons in Sammy’s metaphorical closet. (Set during ink hell, pre loop, post Buddy befriending the lost ones/searchers.)

The Prophet was a strange ally.

It was weird to work alongside someone who worships the guy who tore you in half and is the biggest reason why you’re stuck in a nightmarish, inescapable studio, especially when it wasn’t the nicest or friendliest person before getting claimed by the ink. (Although, as he thought back on it, had he ever met Sammy before it was claimed by the Ink?)

But ANY ally was better than an enemy, especially when that ally knows the studio better than anyone else down here. Besides, it seemed like the Ink man was either unaware of their past or didn’t even know who they used to be, and even if it did, it wasn’t angry about their past issues.

At the same time, working on scavenging trips with the former musician was a nightmare; it was way too tranquil about the situation, and there were too many weird murderous monsters that the wolf and gofer were aware of.

“I do not need to run, little wolf. I can evade these creatures without issue through my Lord’s gift.” The Prophet calmly stated as Buddy gestured confusion about why it didn’t run when the pair heard something that sounded suspiciously like the projectionist’s screams. “Besides, running through these halls is risky, I would be heard by those… more unsavory denizens of this studio and get ambushed by them.”

He wished his typewriter was quieter in instances like this, being able to type out ‘But what if you get caught by your lord?’ and other messages to hand to him without risking alerting the Ink Demon would be great. Or just having his voice back in general.

“If my Lord decides to send me back to the puddles, then it is his right to do so to prove I have changed.” He answered the unspoken question. “But it does mean that I have to work harder to get him to notice how much I have improved, get him to notice me…”

‘Please don’t read my mind unless I give you the “go for it” gesture. It’s creepy otherwise.’

“My apologies, little wolf, while your thoughts come in quieter than everybody else’s… they’re still noticeable, especially when it’s just the two of us.”

Buddy hesitantly nodded and just tried to lead the Prophet out of the ransacked room to look for more stray supplies.

A few more hours of searching lead the pair to a locked room, something that experience told him meant that either it was another dead end or a hidden treasure trove of supplies, and not wanting to go back to the safe house empty handed, he was ready to roll those dice.

Buddy gestured for the Prophet to stand guard as he picked the door’s lock, and as the door slowly creaked open, he was thankful that he couldn’t speak because the scream that came out from his mouth would’ve been loud enough to alert every monster in the studio.

The former gofer felt sick to his stomach when he saw them. Piles upon piles of rotting, mangled, corpses. Human Corpses, not toony corpses like the other Borises or the butchered up members of the Butcher gang. Most of them were unrecognizable, partly because he had never seen most of these people in his life, and partly because they had decayed so much that what remained was hard to figure out who was who and what. The oldest corpses were nothing but skeletons and clothes, and the freshest one looked like…

...Like his own body.

“The goldfish room...” The prophet muttered loud enough for Buddy to hear, startling the poor pup out of his skin as he didn’t hear him enter behind him.

The wolf shuddered and continued to scour the room for anything worth the hassle of all of this. Boris wanted to take a few of the bones, which Buddy unenthusiastically obliged.

“Don’t eat those!” The Prophet interjected so loudly and harshly that it startled both the former gofer and the wolf toon. The ink creature’s anger was so much scarier with how rare it was to see now. “Especially not him! He’s my-” The Prophet stopped itself by covering its ‘mouth’ with its hands as if it was about to reveal a big secret and just took the skeletal arm out of Buddy’s hands and put it back where he found it. Its voice went back to it’s normal calm tone that reminded him of someone who was on the verge of falling asleep, but Buddy heard somberness in the musician’s pitch. “...they’re unclean...”

‘Prophet?’ Buddy gave him the “go ahead, read my mind” gesture. ‘Prophet, what is this place? Who are these people?’

“...You’ve seen your own corpse among them, correct?”

Buddy nodded.

“I know you’ve met Joey, but tell me; ...Has he ever called you ‘Henry’ before?”

‘Yes he has, but what does that have to do with…’ he gestured at the bodies on the floor ‘this?!’

“Henry’s been gone for a long time now.” The prophet stated, but there was a hint of recollection in his tone that weakened the calmness, and the more he talked, the more broken (for lack of a better term) his voice became. “Do you think that you were Joey’s first replacement goldfish? That after Henry left the studio, you were Joey’s only other other Henry?”

Buddy’s ears began ringing and he heard music; it was loud, distorted, fast-paced, and all over the place, the type of music that makes your heart pound out of your chest and makes your hackles stand up, the type of music that tells you to run, but doesn’t clue you in to where or why. The prophet’s body started to shake and tremble.

“The first Other-Henry was actually named Henry as well. And like his predecessor, was an excellent artist who really connected with the characters...”

‘Sammy? What’s going on? do you hear this too?!’

“But unlike Stein, Ross was a very stubborn person who refused to let anyone push him around, especially by either Joey or myself. Surprisingly, I liked that man, but he didn’t last long...”

Fear kept Buddy’s legs frozen to the ground as he covered his ears in a fruitless attempt to muffle the music, it felt like it was being played directly in his head, and then it clicked when the whispers started up, whispers in their tone, but not in volume, they were loud enough to drown out parts of what the Prophet was saying;

‘Sammy help us!’

“The next one was more like you, a younger, less experienced and more skittish person, his first name was ‘Lawrence’ so everyone called him ‘Larry’ to avoid confusion...”

‘Sammy, where are you?’

“...But he was also too nosy for that poor boy’s own good.”

‘you’re too weak!’

“The one after that was a scatterbrained fellow, very passionate about his work but didn’t focus very much on one topic or another...”

The Prophet’s monologue was completely drowned out by the music and chorus of desperate and angry “Other Henries” at this point. Buddy knew he was still talking because of the musician’s gestures, but didn’t hear a single word out of him.

‘Saaaaaammyyyyyyy....’ ‘You’re such a spineless coward...’ ‘Sammy please save us..!’ ‘Why did you let Joey kill us?’ ‘The ink... it’s so cold...’ ‘No wonder Susie hates you so much...’ ‘Sammy, please! It hurts!’ ‘Why did you let us die?’ ‘Why won’t you help us?’ ‘You’re no better than Joey.’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘I thought you loved me...’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘You promised me that you’d always be there!’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘They were right about you...’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘Saaaaaammyyyyyyy....’

He knew that the lost ones, searchers and Prophet could hear each others’ thoughts, but didn’t understand what that was like until now that he was hearing Sammy’s thoughts. No wonder most of them were always so depressed and on edge...

‘Sammy?’ the gofer shook Sammy gently, only to hear his own voice join the chorus of other Henries as one of the ones who sounded like he was mad at him. ‘Sammy, snap out of it!’ he shook the Prophet harder, still not waking the Ink creature out of its trance. ‘SAMMY!’ Doing the first thing that came to mind out of desperation, Buddy slapped the mask clean off of it.

The music and voices died as if they were a candle light snuffed out by the wind.

For a few seconds that felt more like hours, Buddy and Sammy stared at each other in silence before Sammy put its mask back on as if nothing happened and led the toon wolf out of the goldfish room, took a key out of its pocket and locked it behind them.

-----

Back in the safe house, Buddy started up a pot of bacon soup, the stuff tasted a little bit better when it was hot while Sammy tuned the banjo in the dining area and Dot tried to stir up conversation.

“So... how did the supply run go?”

“Fine.”

Buddy involuntarily let out a snort as he took the soup off the stove and took out his typewriter.

[It was the scariest one we’ve ever done so far.

While looking around for stuff, we ended up in this place S The Prophet called ‘the Goldfish room’ and it was filled with dead bodies. HUMAN dead bodies. And mine was in the pile! I couldn’t tell if it was haunted or if it was just the prophet’s thoughts going]

“Little wolf, I do not wish to think about that room again...”

[Sorry.]

The wolf sheepishly put the typewriter to the side and poured the soup into bowls. As the toon and lost one ate, the prophet mostly just stared into his bowl as if he was watching something in it.

“...Before my enlightenment, I was not a good person.” The masked musician stated unprompted.

“Huh?”

“I wasn’t an evil person per say, and I wouldn’t go as far as to call the man I used to be a monster.” He sighed and adjusted his mask. “But I was certainly a bad person, an asshole, a coward who hid behind physical strength, and I had more vices than virtues.”

[Prophet, what are you talking about?]

“I’m trying to answer the questions I know you have before either of you two pester them out of me. Maybe when you’re sated my Lord will allow me to forget again.”

[Are you sure? you seemed really upset back ...there.]

“Well look at it this way, maybe getting it off your chest will help you feel better about it?”

“I suppose...” The prophet sighed again.

“So what does you being a crackhead before finding the Ink Demon Religion have to do with a room full of dead bodies?”

“Dorthy!”

“...I’ll just listen before asking anything else.”

“Thank you.” It readjusted its mask. “Now where was I...” it hummed to itself for a bit before speaking again, with venom slowly but surly pooling into its words. “I had more vices than virtues, and Joey could see all of both, using my virtues to his advantage, and using my vices against myself, he did everything he could to keep me from leaving him too, and it worked.”

The prophet took in a deep breath to stabilize itself.

“Every time I tried to leave, he did something else to make me stay; ‘I love you’s turned to gifts, gifts to false promises, false promises to threats, threats to blackmail, blackmail to going through with it, and when he felt me slipping through his fingers he turned to taking advantage of my addictions... That... monster was a parasite in all aspects except physically... And I didn’t even notice until I might as well have been a walking corpse as I was seeing others march to my fate, but I couldn’t even so much as squeak out a warning without Joey swooping in on his behalf. Some Henries, heads of the art department, didn’t need to be warned by me as they found out what would await them and fled. But Joey didn’t like that... When I tried to warn the ones who needed to be warned, it was easy for him to dismiss me as a loon, a drunk, and an addict, until eventually I just gave up. I couldn’t even save myself, let alone anyone else... let alone the other art departments...”

“...I just stopped trying to keep Joey from leading the sheep to the slaughter, maybe they’re right to be angry at me for being such a coward...”

It then turned to face the wolf and put its hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve asked yourself if you’ve ever met me before the Ink had claimed me, as for that, I don’t know, nor do I think it matters, Buddy. I was nothing but a shallow and beaten husk of myself long before I even had tasted the ink. Even if you met me before then, you only met a ghost, not a person.”

The three then stayed in silence for a while before the clicks of Buddy’s typewriter caught the other two’s attention.

[Well, if it helps you any I think you’re not as bad of a person as you tell yourself you used to be.]

“And I don’t need to hear everyone’s thoughts to know that you’ve really stepped up to the plate when it counted. I don’t think a coward would try to do have the stuff you’re doing now.”

“Thanks you two” The Prophet’s voice cracked with emotion. “That... that really means a lot to me.”

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #buddy boris #buddy lewek #sammy lawrence #dot batim #fanfic #drug abuse tw #abuse tw #dead bodies #psychological trauma #ink demonth

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cuubism · 3 years

Text

friends, romans, countryfolk, @magnusbae, please enjoy

mind & heart, body & soul - chapter 4

alliance rune arranged marriage au | ao3

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”

Alec doesn’t even turn to look at Izzy where she’s leaning into his space. “No.”

“Come on, Alec, it’s been a whole week—”

“So why do you still care?”

Izzy rolls her eyes. “My brother got married. Of course I care.”

Alec turns back to his Ops monitor, tuning her out. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“‘There’s nothing to tell’ always means there’s absolutely something to tell.”

Alec rubs at his forehead, headache already growing. He’s so tired. Tired and frustrated. He hasn’t been able to feel more than the barest hint of Magnus all week. He’s pretty sure Magnus has been trying to block off his side of the bond.

“We’re not really speaking,” he finally tells Izzy. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

She crosses her arms. “Do I need to go punch him out?”

“No.”

Alec had meant to go back to Magnus’s apartment to try and straighten things out, but those plans have been continually interrupted by a bit of a—

“Alec!”

—situation.

He turns to find Jace striding across Ops, Clary in tow, both looking like they just rolled out of bed. “We’re heading out,” Jace says, barely slowing to speak, “we’re gonna follow a lead, we’ll be back—”

“No,” Alec interrupts, “you aren’t. What are you doing?”

He is so tired.

“Clary had a dream about Magnus. He knows something about her memories. So we’re gonna go find him.”

Alec really wishes someone would just hit him over the head with a brick or something. That would be more merciful than this.

He swears Jace was not this stupid a week ago.

“And did it not fucking occur to you,” he starts, pulling his phone out of his pocket, “that we could just call him?”

A few hours after he’d left Magnus’s apartment, a fire message had appeared in his hand. On it was Magnus’s number and a message: in case you need to contact me.

Not that Alec has used it.

Jace stares at him. “I thought you weren’t speaking.”

Izzy puts her hands on her hips. “So you told him and not me?”

Alec ignores her. “That doesn’t mean you go ambush him,” he tells Jace. “If it’s important, let’s just call him.”

Clary looks between them uncertainly. “Wait, do you know Magnus Bane?”

“They’re married,” Izzy tells her conspiratorially.

Clary stares at Alec. She looks totally confused. “Wait—”

“Don’t ask,” Jace tells her, and for once, Alec finds himself agreeing with something Jace says to Clary. “So we can call him?”

“I’ll call him,” Alec says. Not that he feels entirely convinced Magnus will pick up. Inadvertently or not, unknowingly or not, Alec’s taken something deeply personal to him. He isn’t surprised Magnus doesn’t want to talk to him, even if he has no idea where they’re supposed to go from here.

He steps away from his siblings and dials Magnus’s number.

It rings, and rings, and rings, with no answer.

Alec frowns down at his phone. Maybe it’s— but no, he checked the time. It’s not terribly late.

He tries again.

This time the call goes straight to voicemail.

It makes something uncomfortable curl in Alec’s gut, a slow growing unease. He wouldn’t blame Magnus for wanting to avoid him, but something about this silence is making him feel unsettled.

He turns back to Clary. “You said he knows something about your memories?”

Clary nods. “He helped my mom, I think.”

A horrible thought ticks through in Alec’s mind. It’s a bit of a long shot, but—

He’s striding towards the door before he can even respond to Clary. “Let’s go.”

“What happened to not ambushing him?” Jace asks, but he follows Alec.

“Let’s go—”

A burst of pain shears through Alec’s chest, and he stumbles, almost falls as suddenly the closed bond is flooding open. Magnus’s emotions are flickering and morphing way too fast for Alec to read them, but he catches glimpses—anger and panic and adrenaline and fear and pain and rage—

He hauls himself back upright, lurching for the door, not waiting to see if the others are following.

“Let’s go. Now.”

The door to Magnus’s loft is cracked open. This might not have been a concern in and of itself, but the wards being down is. Alec can’t feel them at all as he slowly pushes through the doorway. Even if Magnus had merely keyed him into them, which Alec doubts considering how their last conversation went, he should have been able to feel something as he passed through.

There’s nothing, just the echoing quiet of the entryway. Alec wants to call out for Magnus, but doesn’t dare put him at risk. He motions behind him for Izzy and Jace—and Clary, who’s inexplicably tagged along even though if there is danger here she’ll probably only get herself killed—to be silent.

Alec steps closer to the living room on soundless feet, his bow already in his hands and drawn. From closer he can see that furniture is overturned, lamps knocked to the side, and books strewn from their shelves. The glass in one of the balcony doors looks shattered.

There’s blood smeared on one of the walls.

He can hear the others following him, but pays them no mind, stepping quickly into the center of the room and spinning in a circle, checking for danger. It’s only then that he notices the bodies on the floor behind the couch—Circle members from the looks of them, Alec recognizes the rune on their necks.

Alec heads towards Magnus’s bedroom, Izzy going the other way to check the rest of the apartment. Jace checks the bodies, shaking his head when Alec looks at him questioningly. They’re all dead.

Good.

Magnus— Magnus can’t be dead. Alec can still feel him, even if the pain coming through the bond is more muted now, more resigned. He can’t be dead, but then where is he?

Alec makes his way towards the bedroom, silent, bow still drawn. He finds nothing in the kitchen or in the hall, but as he steps through the doorway into Magnus’s bedroom, he’s finally able to let out a breath.

Magnus is sitting against the wall, knees pulled up, one hand pressed to his forehead. He looks despondent, gaze staring off somewhere in the middle distance. There’s blood smeared across half of his face. But Alec barely has time to consider any of that because there’s suddenly rapid movement in his peripheral vision.

He turns and fires totally on instinct and the Circle member—who’d woken from unconsciousness on the other side of the room and made a beeline for Magnus—drops to the ground with an arrow in his throat.

Magnus startles, looking from Alec to the Circle member and back, eyes wide. Alec lowers his bow, but doesn’t stash it away quite yet.

Magnus keeps staring at him. “You’re so quiet,” he finally says.

“Are there any others?” Alec asks.

Magnus shakes his head. “All dead. I thought that one was dead too, but apparently the damn things are resilient.”

Alec stows his bow away and turns to call out to Jace and Izzy in the living room. “Clear!”

Magnus flinches at the volume of his voice, but doesn’t move from where he’s slumped against the wall.

Alec kneels in front of him. His new vantage point gives him a better view of the downed Circle member, and he realizes his arrow is smoking, whisps of blue magic drifting up and around its fletching and into the air.

Alec swallows roughly. He’s been deliberately trying not to use Magnus’s magic, even though he can now usually feel it humming somewhere in the center of his being, occasionally venturing out to tickle his limbs. He can’t do anything to get rid of it, but Magnus had made it clear that he didn’t want him to use it, so he hasn’t been.

Now, though—he can’t be unhappy about the magic making sure the Circle member couldn’t get anywhere near Magnus.

Magnus follows his eyeline, staring at the smoking arrow for a long moment without speaking. “I didn’t know you were an archer,” he finally says, quietly.

It takes a very long moment for Alec’s brain to process this statement, as he becomes fixated on the blood dripping down Magnus’s forehead. “I— yeah,” he finally forces himself to say.

“And a good shot, too,” Magnus muses.

Alec doesn’t deny it. “Are you hurt?” he asks instead. He doesn’t know why Magnus hasn’t moved yet, if it’s just shock or a deeper injury Alec hasn’t spotted.

Magnus scrubs at his forehead, smearing the blood further across his face. “I suppose, but it’s no matter, my magic will take care of it. Just after I fix up the wards—”

He starts to push himself up the wall, but loses his balance with a stifled cry of pain, one of his legs crumpling underneath him. Alec lunges forward to catch him, easing him back down to the floor.

“Where are you hurt?” he asks. Or maybe it’s more like demands. He can’t help it. The bond, apparently, is not very good for physical pain. He can feel that Magnus is hurting, but the bodily hurts are all tied up with his emotional anguish, and even if they weren’t, they’re too diffuse for Alec to pinpoint an injury.

“My leg.” Magnus grimaces, gingerly stretching out his leg so Alec can see the blood soaking his thigh. “One of them got me with his seraph blade. But it’s no matter, I’ll be able to heal it.” He makes no immediate move to do so. “…In a bit.”

Alec pulls out a square of bandages from an inner pocket of his jacket, suddenly glad that he always carries some Mundane medical supplies, just in case iratzes aren’t working. He presses the gauze to the wound in Magnus’s thigh, and Magnus hisses. The bandage is immediately soaked in blood.

Alec presses down harder. “What happened here, Magnus? Was it because of Jocelyn?”

Magnus blinks at him hazily. “Jocelyn…? How do you know about that?”

“Clary was having dreams about you doing something with her memories.”

“Clary? But she— ah!” He curses as Alec presses harder on the wound. Alec doesn’t let up, but Magnus’s cry draws the others into the room, Clary in the lead.

“Magnus, do you know what—” she goes pale at the sight of the blood. “Oh my God, what happened?”

“What happened,” Magnus grits out, pushing ineffectually at Alec’s hands, “is what always happens, my dear Clarissa. A bigoted man couldn’t have what he wanted, so he slaughtered everyone in his way to get it. Unfortunately for Valentine Morgenstern, I’m four hundred years old and I don’t go down without a fight— ow, Alexander, stop!”

“You’re bleeding, don’t tell me to stop.” Alec turns to Clary and his siblings with an unimpressed look. “Can you give us a second?”

“Alec—” Jace tries, and Alec just glares at him.

Izzy tugs at Jace’s arm and drags him and Clary out of the room, giving Alec a very knowing look accompanied by a wink. Alec ignores her.

When they’re gone, he turns back to Magnus. “What happened to the other Warlocks?”

Magnus still has his hands over Alec’s on the wound, though he’s not so much pushing him away now, mostly just resting there. “Look, if you’re going to torment me, I’ll just heal it.”

Alec cautiously removes his hands, and watches as Magnus’s magic knits the skin of his thigh back together. Magnus slumps immediately afterward, all his energy spent.

Alec braces him by his shoulder. “What happened to the other Warlocks?” he repeats. “You said, ‘he slaughtered everyone.’”

Magnus considers him, looking thoughtful. “Clever,” he finally says. “They were sheltering here, but I already sent them away to somewhere whose wards weren’t lacerated. Those who made it, and—” he chokes but continues on— “those who didn’t.”

Alec rests a hand on his knee, just below where he was injured. “I’m so sorry.”

Magnus shrugs, but it’s a totally false gesture, and they both know it.

“Do you think you can stand? We should get your face cleaned up.” Alec can see now that the wound there appears to just be a shallow scrape, but it still needs to be dressed, and he’s not sure it’s a good idea for Magnus to use any more magic.

Magnus nods, and Alec helps him to his feet, stumbling slightly under the weight of him. Alec heads to the bathroom, and Magnus follows, limping a little even though his wound is superficially healed.

Magnus watches as Alec rummages around for a washcloth and wets it under the faucet. “Why are you doing this, anyway?”

Alec wrings the cloth out. He isn’t actually sure if Magnus is going to let him clean his face, but he has to try. “It’s my job.”

Magnus laughs harshly. “Since when is taking care of Warlocks part of a Shadowhunter’s job?”

“Not my job as a Shadowhunter.” Alec raises an eyebrow at him, cloth held out, making his intentions known. “My job as your husband.”

It’s still affecting to say it. Your husband. Magnus’s breath catches. He supports his weight against the wall, lets Alec step closer to wipe at his face. The easy acquiescence almost makes Alec wonder if he’s more injured than he was letting on. Or maybe he’s just tired of fighting. He feels tired, more so now that there’s less pain clouding the bond.

Alec’s about to say something else—an apology, maybe, for using his magic, both today and the night of their wedding, even if it was unintentional—but Magnus beats him to it.

“I hope that I didn’t…” he grimaces, tries again. “It was wrong of me to kick you out that night. I regretted it almost as soon as you walked out the door.”

It had hurt kind of a lot, actually, that rapid switch from tentative trust to complete rejection, but Alec doesn’t really want Magnus to know that. “You didn’t know that the bond would involve sharing magic. I can understand why you would feel blindsided by that.”

Magnus hums. “I regret it anyway. That wasn’t your fault.”

Alec keeps wiping at the blood on his forehead. They’re standing very close now, close enough that Alec can feel Magnus’s breath on his neck. He tries not to breathe too heavily lest Magnus can feel him, too.

As he leans in closer to see better, he realizes he can see slivers of gold in Magnus’s irises. He’s been wondering about that, Magnus’s eyes—they’re brown now, but Alec could’ve sworn he saw a flash of gold the other night. He doesn’t think now’s a good time to ask.

“I’ve been trying not to use it,” he says instead. “The magic. Just now, with the arrow—that was an accident. Other than that I’ve been— well, yeah.”

Magnus considers him, seeming surprised. “I appreciate that,” he finally says. “But, really, if we’re going to be like this from now on, we should probably learn to work together.”

Alec blinks. “Wait, really?”

Magnus’s lips quirk up in a half smile. “Wouldn’t do to be caught off guard again, would it?”

“I guess not. Although…” Alec bites his lip, trying to figure out how to verbalize what he’s been thinking over the past week. “It’s sort of different, isn’t it? The magic. It’s one thing to sort of pair up our lives, our careers. The magic feels different. Although I don’t fully understand how.”

Magnus’s gaze softens as he considers him. “It is different,” he agrees. “Perhaps one day soon I’ll tell you more about it. For now, I’ll try to teach you how to use some of it. Otherwise it’s liable to spiral out of control. And besides,” his lips tilt up into a smirk, “I want to see how I can use runes.”

Alec feels a smile growing on his face despite himself. “I didn’t even think of that,” he admits, taping a bandage to the cut on Magnus’s forehead, “but I guess you can.”

Jace yells for them from the living room, and Alec sighs, rolling his eyes as he steps back and out of Magnus’s space. Magnus’s smile stays on his face as he watches him, as he slowly pushes himself off the wall and turns for the hall.

“Shall we?”

Magnus successfully retrieves Clary’s memories, but said memories don’t tell them much. Certainly not where they can find the Mortal Cup, or Jocelyn. Alec isn’t really surprised. Nothing involving Clary is going to be easy, he can already tell.

He is grateful, however, that her dream had let him get to Magnus in time to help him, so he refrains from making any snarky comments in her direction for the rest of the time they spend in Magnus’s apartment.

Alec’s prepared to leave with Clary and his siblings. As much as he might like to iron out a few more things with Magnus, he’s content for now with the fact that they’re at least talking again, and that Magnus doesn’t seem to hate him. Besides, Magnus has already had a long day and probably has lots of other work to do that doesn’t involve Alec. Not to mention rest.

But as he turns to leave, Magnus calls out to him. “Alexander, a word?”

Alec turns back to him, gesturing for the others to continue without him. “Magnus?”

Magnus waves him closer, and Alec steps back into the living room. Magnus lowers himself into an armchair with a soft sigh. Alec wonders if his leg is still paining him.

“Stay and have dinner with me?” Magnus asks. And then he winks. “Maybe I’ll even teach you a magic trick.”

Alec hesitates. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but he hadn’t really thought Magnus would want him around longer than necessary. “Are you sure? You don’t have more important work to do? Protecting your Warlocks, for one thing. Or like, the wards are still down, this apartment isn’t even safe—”

He realizes he’s rambling, and makes himself shut up.

“My people are somewhere safe,” Magnus says. His gaze is sparkling and knowing and Alec has to avert his eyes. “And I have a dashing Shadowhunter here to protect me. Couldn’t be safer.”

Alec spins back to him, eyes wide. Does Magnus really feel that way now, or is he just teasing? “Magnus.”

Magnus cringes. “Right. I’m sorry. No more flirting, I promise. Total professionalism from now on.” He makes a zipping motion over his lips and throws away the key.

And that wasn’t what Alec meant, but he doesn’t correct him, because if Magnus does keep flirting with him he’ll probably have a heart attack and drop dead and then where will they be, really.

“It’s not like we have to be business partners or something,” Alec says. “And if you’re trying to apologize for the other night, don’t. It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I told you that you’re always welcome here, and I meant it.” He looks very serious about it, dark eyes soft and concerned.

“And your entire life turned upside down in one night. It’s okay. At least we’re talking now.” He doesn’t want Magnus to feel bad about this, not when he’s already sacrificed so much.

Magnus seems unconvinced, but all he says is, “At least let me buy you dinner. I can get us a table at any restaurant in the city. Or we can get takeout, your preference.” And, just as he had that first night, he holds out his hand, lifting a questioning eyebrow at Alec.

Alec rolls his eyes at the drama of him, but feels himself smiling despite himself. “Fine. But we’re walking. You’ve used enough magic already.”

He takes Magnus’s hand, and something he hadn’t even realized was roiling around in his chest settles down at Magnus’s touch. Alec wonders if it’s always going to be like that with this bond: feeling unsettled when they’re apart, and finding his center again when they’re back together.

Magnus smiles tentatively up at him. “I’m thinking Indian, what do you say?”

Alec squeezes his hand. “Sounds perfect.”

#its so late to be posting this but i SAID i would finish it tonight and here it is!#malec #malec fic #MHBS

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crystalrose555 · 3 years

Text

Slap me, I dare you! pt.9

“Son of a...making me run...” Marley huffed out as she continued to rush through the halls.

She spent so much of her magic repeating her wind spell, she could feel her lungs turning to lead with each gasp of air. Cursing herself, she remembered how Solomon lectured her on pacing but she had no time to consider it as she glanced over her shoulder. The demonic herd had thinned a considerate amount but that only deepened her paranoia. Did they actually give up or were they plotting something? She didn’t have time to consider as she continued to bolt through the corridors, narrowly avoiding bystanders as she left them behind in the dust.

Unfortunately, her journey was coming to an end as the only thing at the end of the hallway was a large window. She cursed out loud as the sound of stomping boots filled her ears. As she ran towards it, her body felt heavier and heavier while her joints stiffened. She was tired but this feeling was foreign as if it was casted upon her suddenly. Taking a quick glance, her eyes widened as she saw students popping out of adjacent classrooms with their hands glowing light purple. “These fuckers are cursing me!? Over a picture!?” She shrieked out in shock and awe which quickly turned to anger and frustration.

Feeling herself slowing down, Marley pushed her muscles harder as she repeated the wind spell again in an attempt to neutralize the hexes on her. Seeing how her window of escape was literally closed, Marley pulled off her veil and wrapped her arm in it. She gritted her teeth and growled. “All right, you asked for this!” She yelled as she lunged with all her strength.

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“Dammit...which way did she go!?” Levi screamed out.

“How should I know? The mob split up in all kinds of directions!” Mammon retaliated.

“They’re probably trying to trap her, we should split up in pairs and spread out.” Satan concluded.

Asmo and Satan took one hallway while the twins zoomed down another, leaving Mammon and Levi the main corridor. The second eldest ran in spurts only stopping to glance in potential hiding spaces while the third struggled to remain standing, dripping in his hard earned sweat.

“Damn it, Levi, go pass out somewhere! You’re slowing me down!”

“Not...a...chance, need to...save...” Was all that Levi could muster out before he collapsed in the hallway.

Mammon came to a screeching halt as he double-back to his exhausted sibling. He cursed out loud as he tried to pull his out of shape brother to his feet.

“Come on, ya useless jellyfish, if you’re gonna help, then get off the damn floor!” He hissed out as Levi gave no assistance.

“I...can’t....bones...broken...lungs...shattered...”

“Ya bootless son of a b-”

“Care to finish that phrase, Mammon?”

Mammon felt his spine stiffen before it curled up inside of him. He slowly turned his head to see a towering Lucifer with his arms crossed and a darkened aura surrounding him. Mammon swallowed hard as he managed to get Levi to lean on his shoulder as he turned around to face the eldest with judging eyes.

“Lucifer, my man, I didn’t see you there~” He claimed coyly.

“Want to explain to me why Levi is obstructing the hallway with his exhausted body?” “Well, ya see-”

The distant sound of glass shattering cut Mammon’s explanation short as the three eldest instinctively looked in its direction before bolting towards the source.

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Diavolo sighed as he walked along the edge of the inner courtyard. He managed to convince Barbatos to give him a break but he couldn’t find anything fun to do which left him in a current state of boredom. Earlier he heard the sounds of students running in the hallways and wanted to join in but Lucifer gave him a strict reminder of how it would look if he was involved in such mischief. Diavolo pouted as he thought of all the fun he was missing out on. His image was important and his goals were absolute but it didn’t mean he had to be deprived of simple pleasures.

“Maybe I should message Levi, he might know where Marley is.” He muttered to himself as he pulled out his phone.

As his fingers tapped away, the sound of shattering glass caused him to misspell Marley which autocorrected to Mochi in the sudden action. He turned his head to see someone dressed in white crashing out the second story window. It took a sliver of a second but that was enough for Diavolo to drop his phone and catch them before his D.D.D. hit the ground. Shielding them from the remaining glass shards raining from above, Diavolo got a good look at them, realizing who he was holding in his arms.

“Marley!?” He yelped out as he stood tall, shaking shards of glass off his shoulders and hair.

Diavolo stared at her exhausted body dusted in glass shards as minor cuts littered her body. Marley’s chest, glistening from sweat, magic residue and glass dust, heaved up and down as her eyes fluttered with each inhale. She lifted her arm, covered in a white cloth with splotches of red, and grabbed Diavolo’s tie. From there, she pulled him closer to her so that he could hear her soft fading voice.

“Diavolo...” She whispered.

“You need to save your strength, Marley!” He frantically claimed.

“...listen...”

“W-What is it?”

“...I’m not paying for that fucking window...” And with that, Marley flopped unconscious in the prince’s arms with a groan, leaving him feeling a multitude of emotions, none of which were boredom.

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“You idiot! What was that?” “Hey don’t blame me! I casted my hex perfectly!”

“Then how did she launch herself out the window!?”

The ambushing student body argued amongst themselves, failing to realize that their quarry had landed in the arms of their prince. “Great, now we’ve lost her. I skipped class for nothing.” One sighed out with a handful of students agreeing with them.

“Send out a text, maybe one of the other groups got her.”

Nodding in agreement, the students pulled out their D.D.D.s and began tapping away on their screens, looking for any mention of the mystery woman. However, one of them stopped suddenly as a cold chill crawled up their spine.

“H-Hey, does anyone else feel a chill?” They whimpered out.

Slowly, one by one, the students turned their gazes to a smiling Lucifer whose wings spread out ominously, his horns casting a large shadow as the light behind him fought for control of the darkness radiating from him. Seeing the angered eldest brother, a few of the students backed away in fear and instinct, only to be shocked by the purple electric barrier behind them.

“We wouldn’t want anyone else going out the window, now do we?” Lucifer cooed with a sadistic gleam in his eyes.

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“There we go, that is the last of the glass, my lord.” Barbatos claimed as he placed his tweezers to the side.

“Thank you, Barbatos, I wasn’t sure I could get all of it myself.” Diavolo chuckled out as his eyes trailed to Marley who laid upon his lounge couch.

There she was, covered in bandages, sleeping and snoring without a care. Her legs spread out with one hanging off the edge, leaving little to no modesty for the crowned prince and his butler.

“She must be exhausted, I don’t think there’s anything that could wake her up.” Diavolo mentioned.

“Considering the amount of hexes and spells casted upon her, I’m not surprised.” Barbatos answered as he stood up and dust himself off.

Just then, a knock rattled Diavolo’s office door which opened to reveal a calm Lucifer.

“Lord Diavolo, it’s time for the assembly in the Colosseum.” He claimed.

Diavolo’s expression soured slightly.

“Do I have to be there? Surely, you can handle it, Lucifer.” “I’d rather not, I’m going to be busy disciplining the hex majors involved with the incident. And you must address the entire student body so that this doesn’t happen again. I would prefer if we don’t have a reason for Marley to launch herself out another window.”

Lucifer’s eye was drawn to the couch as Marley gave a small snort before turning away from the demons. The eldest just sighed but he wasn’t sure if it was from relief or frustration. Either way, he would have to figure out an appropriate punishment for the runaway seal, especially after all the ruckus she made in the public eye again. Diavolo, on the other hand, glanced at the sleeping woman before giving a sigh. “You’re right. Barbatos, will you prepare for my arrival in the Colosseum. I need a moment.” Diavolo asked as Lucifer exited the office.

Barbatos gave a bow before chuckling a bit underneath his breath, which piqued Diavolo’s interest.

“What is it?”

Barbatos gave a slight head shake with a smile.

“I can assure you that Marley will be fine in your office. I don’t see anyone else entering this room besides you and those who work directly with you.” Diavolo paused for a moment before taking off his jacket to cover Marley with it. He then turned to his butler with a wide smile that left Barbatos in a state of confusion.

“Sir?” “It’s important to show the students of RAD that I care about their well being, right?” He grinned as he rolled up his sleeves.

Barbatos just sighed.

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grailfinders · 3 years

Text

Fate and Phantasms #185

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re making the snake/shrine maiden/ninja/widow Assassin of Paraiso! She’s got more jobs than a freakin’ barbie doll...

Check out her build breakdown (expect true name spoilers) below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: In Shimousa you must wait, until the dice read five or eight.

Mochizuki Chiyome is an Arcane Trickster Rogue for the regular kind of ninja trickery, plus a Fathomless Warlock to grab the kind of thing your forefather would normally have to boink a snake god to get. (That’s what happened, right? It’s been a while.)

Race and Background

Shockingly, Mochi is a Human, but Variant so we can get cool stuff. This gives her +1 Dexterity and Intelligence, as well as Religion proficiency to make her cover as a shrine maiden foolproof and the Mobile feat for when the right fool comes along. This adds 10′ to her movement speed, dashing lets her ignore difficult terrain, and you avoid opportunity attacks from creatures you’ve attacked this turn.

Magical assassins seem to be more common in D&D than their mundane counterparts, because they have their own freakin’ background! As a Volstrucker Agent, you get proficiency in Deception and Stealth. You know, for ninjaing.

Ability Scores

Dexterity is number 1. You’re a ninja, it’s not a surprise. Second is Charisma. Your snake blood doesn’t like to cooperate on good days, you’ve got to be convincing enough to make it behave. Also, there’s more ninja stuff in charisma, it’s a good skill to have. Your Intelligence comes next, ninjas don’t really have magic powers, they’re just really clever. That being said none of your spells actually use intelligence that much, so we don’t need it to be that high. Your Wisdom isn’t bad, spy networks don’t work if you can’t tell when someone’s lying, and since we’re only building the one character you’ll have to be your own spy network.

Oh yeah, the real Mochizuki ran a spy network, we’re throwing that in the build too. So we’re making a shrine maiden/snake/ninja/widow/master spy. Real simple.

Anyway. Your Constitution isn’t great, just don’t get hit and you’ll be fine. That means we’re dumping Strength. Don’t worry, you don’t really need it anyway.

Class Levels

Rogue 1: Starting off as a rogue gets you a lot of proficiencies, like Dexterity and Intelligence saves, plus four skills. Grab Acrobatics for ninjaing skills, Performance for better disguises, and Insight and Investigation for spy work. If that wasn’t enough, you get Expertise in two of those skills, doubling your proficiency bonus in Stealth and Insight. You also get a Sneak Attack if you’re attacking with a finesse weapon or a ranged weapon, and you have advantage or a friend near the target. This adds 1d6 damage to the attack once per turn. You also learn Thieves’ Cant. It’s a language.

Rogue 2: Second level rogues have a Cunning Action, which lets you dash, disengage, or hide as a bonus action. Y’know, ninja stuff.

Rogue 3: Boom! 2d6 sneak attack. Also, you’re an Arcane Trickster now. This gives you some Spells, most of which are Illusion or Enchantment, but all of which use your Intelligence to cast. Or they would, if we didn’t go the galaxy brain route and pick spells that don’t use your intelligence. You’re forced to pick up Mage Hand as one of your three cantrips, but you also get Friends to make fooling guards easier, and Prestidigitation for smaller magical tricks. On top of that, Illusory Script makes you an expert codewriter, Disguise Self takes care of your... well, your disguises (Though regular disguises are probably better since this is the one spell that actually uses your intelligence), and Fog Cloud gives you a quick and dirty smoke bomb. Speaking of Mage Hand, you also get a Mage Hand Legerdemain right out of the gate, making your mage hand extra sneaky. It can be invisibile, and you can use it to stow objects in containers carried by other creatures, steal objects from containers held by other creatures, or pick locks and disarm traps at range. Also, you only have to use your bonus action to control the hand.

Warlock 1: Bouncing over to grab your cursed Orochi blood makes you a Fathomless warlock. I know that’s a bit weird, but don’t worry, we’ll fix it in flavoring. Instead of a Tentacle of the Deep, you’re summoning a head of Orochi as a bonus action for up to a minute! Each turn you can attack for a bit of cold damage, and you can summon up to Proficiency heads per day. You also get a Gift of the Sea, giving you a swim speed of 40′ and the ability to breathe underwater. As long as you stay near the surface, you can probably get away with calling it walking on water. You also learn Pact Magic, which you cast with your Charisma. This doesn’t mix with your spell slots from rogue, but you can use warlock slots for rogue spells and vice versa. You get Eldritch Blast so you don’t have to collect your throwing knives like a chump, Minor Illusion for minor illusions, Hex for a weak Orochi’s curse, and Expeditious Retreat so you can go even faster if you wanna.

Warlock 2: Second level warlocks get Eldritch Invocations, like Devil’s Sight which lets you see in magical darkness and Armor of Shadows for free mage armor on yourself. Shrine maidens aren’t known for wearing plate mail, so this should help a bit. You also learn how to Cause Fear, frightening a creature for up to a minute if they fail their wisdom save. That means they can’t move closer to you, and they have disadvantage on attacks while they can see you.

Rogue 4: Now that we’re done with warlocking for a bit, bouncing over to rogue gets you your first Ability Score Improvement. Bump up that Charisma for stronger spells and Orochi heads. You also learn the spell Color Spray for some pocket sand at the ready whenever you want. Roll a couple dice, then blind creatures from least to most HP up to the point you rolled.

Rogue 5: Fifth level rogues get 3d6 sneak attack, and they can make an Uncanny Dodge as a reaction, halving incoming damage from an attack.

Rogue 6: At sixth level you get another round of Expertise, so double up on your Deception and Performance so you can sneak into wherever you need to go.

Rogue 7: Seventh level rogues get Evasion. It’s been a while since someone’s gotten evasion, huh? It’s a good feature though, it turns your failed dexterity saves into basically successes as far as damage goes, and successful dex saves now negate damage entirely. (Also, your sneak attack goes up to 4d6.)

Warlock 3: The Orochi isn’t quite done with you yet, so we’re heading back for a few more levels. At level three you undertake the Pact of the Talisman, letting you add 1d4 to a failed ability check Proficiency times per long rest. It’s a shame you don’t have a fancy sword like Grass Cutter, but at least it’s useful. Now that you can see in the dark though, you can cast Darkness to create a more effective smoke bomb that only you and other warlocks can see though.

Warlock 4: Use this ASI to get your Keen Mind. This adds 1 to your intelligence among other neat tricks, but the big reason we’re here is for the ability to recall information for up to a month. This will be more useful later, but it’s always nice to be brainy. You also learn the cantrip Toll the Dead for some ooky spooky necrotic damage, and Silence to perform acts of violence, in silence. Ninjas.

Warlock 5: Fifth level warlocks can cause Fear, frightening multiple creatures who fail their wisdom save. Once per long rest you can also mark a creature with a Sign of Ill Omen, casting Bestow Curse using a warlock spell slot. There’s a couple out of the box options in the PHB, but ultimately you can make up whatever you want, as long as it’s DM approved. The target also has to fail a wisdom save, and it lasts up to a minute.

Rogue 8: Use this ASI on your Dexterity for better damage and a higher AC. Turns out rogues are dexterous, who knew? Speaking of being dexterous, grab Misty Step so you can become so dexterous you literally blink out of existence and back in. Related note, dexterous no longer looks like a word.

Rogue 9: Ninth level rogues can really mess up their enemies with 5d6 damage on a sneak attack, or you can mess up enemies with a Magical Ambush. As long as you’re hidden from whatever creature you’re targeting, they have disadvantage on a spell’s saving throw. This also applies to warlock spells, making it especially useful for curses. (Also, 5d6 sneak attack)

Rogue 10: Tenth level rogues get another ASI, so bump up that Charisma again for a stronger curse. You also can cast Message to relay info over short distances, or Magic Mouth to set up information dead drops for other party members.

Rogue 11: Eleventh level rogues can deal reliable damage thanks to their 6d6 sneak attack. They also have Reliable Talent, so the lowest you can roll on a skill you’re proficient in is a 10. When you’re good at something, you’ll never fail a day in your life. You can also cast Blur to become harder to hit. Maybe it’s like, a little smoke bomb? Not my best work, I’ll admit.

Rogue 12: At twelfth level you get your last ASI, so max out that Dexterity for the best damage and defense you could hope for.

Rogue 13: Thirteenth level arcane tricksters are Versatile Tricksters, letting you spend an action to distract a nearby creature with your mage hand, giving advantage on your next attack that turn. If you don’t have extra ninjas at home, magic bought is fine. Don’t scoff at free advantage though, especially with that 7d6 sneak attack. You also learn to pull a Kotarou and can cast Enemies Abound, which makes it so one creature can’t tell friend from foe and will attack randomly if they fail an intelligence check.

Rogue 14: Your brand new Blindsense means you’ll always be able to sense other ninjas, since invisible and hidden creatures within 10′ of you are always on your radar. You also -finally- get your spy network online thanks to Clairvoyance, letting you create a sensor in any location you’re familiar with, or an obvious one you aren’t, like around a corner. For up to ten minutes, you can see or hear through that sensor as if you were there, and can even swap which sense you use at will.

Rogue 15: Your capstone isn’t particularly flashy, but Slippery Mind will help make sure you don’t get cursed more than you already are, since you now have proficiency with wisdom saves. One last thing: 8d6 sneak attack. It’s pretty good.

Pros:

With multiple kinds of magic backing up your impressive stealth skills, you come packing with plenty of ways to slip into and out of combat at will, or even better, avoid combat entirely.

Thanks to your keen mind and clairvoyance, you can spy on others and keep that information tucked away for safekeeping. Then, you can use spells like Message and Magic Mouth to get that info where you need it to go without arousing suspicion. Who knows, you might legitimately start up a spy network.

Curses are great. For your enemies, I mean, sorry. But yeah, they’re pretty effective, especially if you can start a fight with an enemy already cursed. Like, say, you sneak up to them and use Magical Ambush to make it even harder for them to avoid the spell, and that starts initiative? That’d be nice.

Cons:

Some DMs are not very flexible, and they’ll just force you into combat regardless of how much you try to avoid it. That’s really bad for you, since you’ve only got 100 HP. One stiff wind and you’re in Power Word Kill territory. Fortunately you’ve got a good AC, but still.

The one spell you have that actually uses intelligence is probably one of your most crucial, at least early on. Disguise Self not being that good kind of sucks while you’re getting set up, but eventually you’ll be good enough with a regular disguise kit it probably won’t matter.

You have a lot of utility spells, but only a couple spell slots to use them with. Long missions might be a problem if you don’t pace yourself.

#fate grand order #fgo #D&D 5e #DND #Assassin of Paraiso #Rogue #Warlock

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just-whatever-ig · 3 years

Text

A comfortable Clone Commanders pile

Dedicated to: TyraCapulet

I was asked to write clone pile things. And I wrote this.

Rex knocked on the door of Fox's office. He had not been there often in his life, the dry and quiet hallways of the senate made him uneasy, his hands drawn to his hips like magnets.

There was laughter behind the door and a strained sound of someone before the door opened and he got greeted with Ponds’ gruff but giggly face. "Rexyyy", he grinned and slumped against the doorway, his breath carried the distinct smell of strong alcohol. "Are you guys getting dunked in there without me?", Rex raised an eyebrow and pushed past Ponds to find his brothers, Cody, Fox, Thorn and Colt - much to his surprise - huddled together on the floor. Most of them had already disposed of their upper armor.

"Reeeex", Fox called, almost throwing a small bottle at him that definitely contained said strong alcohol. Cody grinned, cheeks pink from drinking while Colt still seemed pretty cooled in his place behind Thorn's back. They all somehow already managed to lay on each other with nobody being the lowest. Impresive with only 4 people.

"Mind if I join?", Rex grinned happily as Ponds already helped him take off his armor. It would only get in the way uncomfortably. "Please", Thorn slurred and grabbed the bottle from Fox's hand to take a swig. He pulled a face and passed it on to Cody who screwed the lid back on. "What's the Rancor Commander doing here?", Rex pushed aside their legs to make space for himself and add himself into the pile.

"You know, vacation is a thing", Colt replied with a self-indulgent smirk. "You lucky fucker", Thorn commented with a snort. Rex snaked himself under Cody's legs with his head on Fox's soft belly - a clear sign for the lack of training his fellow brother got around here, forging the chancellor's signature instead of fighting. "Here, Rex'ika", Fox pushed the bottle into Rex's chest and he took his time to look at the tagless bottle. "What even is that?" - "Some super cheap backyard slobbery, it's awful", Ponds explained and pushed himself up to Cody's flank and probably back into his arms judging by the way Cody awaited him.

"Hey, Thorn", Fox uncoordinatedly slapped his brother in guards against the biceps, "When was this ambassador gathering again?" - "The one with La Pee Tou?" - "Yeah." - "Like... noon-ish?" - "Ah. Alright."

"Don't mind if I ask, who's La Pee Tou?", Rex questioned as he unscrewed the bottle and took a sup without even smelling, there was no use, his receptors had been burned to the ground by the last tear gas ambush on Polonio I. The liquor felt like he was swallowing down a rotgut made with gunship fuel. It burned his throat like fire and caused him to clear his throat a few times.

"Tou is an ambassador from the far outside worlds, even beyond the outer rim. They're interested in trading, or something", Fox explained and passed the bottle on to Colt who took a big swig before Ponds reached for it. "Fifth sector worlds? They do realize we're in war, right?", Cody snickered. "The shab do I know?", Fox threw up his hands and snatched the bottle from Ponds waiting hands to have another swig.

"Hehe", Thorn laughed lightly, "You won't believe what happened the other day." - "What?", Rex accepted the bottle once again. "This man, yeah, this man of a chancellor...", his voice was a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Fox burst out laughing. "Oh, riiight, I totally forgot 'bout that." - "Sometimes I think this man just wants to die. Like that one suicidal senator we had, you remember?" - "Lord Oberon?" - "Yeah. But like three times worse."

"Why? What did he do?", Cody chuckled. "You know, he's the chancellor, which means he gets a lot of death threats, most of them are just harmless little jabs but there was this one message that everyone of us said should be taken seriously because we don't want to take any chances. We tell him that, say that he should stay in his damn penthouse until we have clearance and all." Fox's laugh had almost become hysterical at that point, his stomach pushing up against Rex's head like a jackhammer. "What does this bloody idiot do - I'm still not over this stupidity", Thorn rubbed his face, "He legitimately dresses up as one of his body guards and sneaks out of the senate like a stupid little bitch." - "I love how he literally thought we wouldn't notice", Fox laughed, "Like, homie, what did you expect? Your bodyguards are like 5 miles taller than us. Don't you think we notice when they magically shrink?!"

"Did you call him out?", Colt asked. "Nah", Thorn snickered, "We want him to believe that we didn't notice." - "I want to know how often he's going to pull that off", Fox added, smirking into the neck of the bottle.

"Quick check-in, who's still bound to show up?" - "Nobody", Colt waved off, "You were the last." - "Oh yeah? Where's Wolffe and Bly? I mean, I know that Bacara's on Tamba IX." - "Bly is somewhere shagging his girlfriend." - "What?", Rex snorted, and made himself comfortable against the side of Fox's chest. "He'd protest loudly", Cody threw in, "But it's impossible there's not something between them. I mean, just look at her clothes." - "Yeah, she basically asks to be shagged, right?", Ponds added. "Are we speaking about General Secura?" - "Who else?", Cody grinned.

"Well, Commander Tano uses to wear rather.... liberal clothes as well, but we still get along on a very professional base", Rex argued. "Yeah, because she's like 3 standard years old", Ponds rolled his eyes. "She's actually older than us", Cody corrected neutrally. "What?!", was Fox's reply. "Yeah, but I'm still concerned for her most of the times. General Skywalker is so chaotic at times and she's such a teeny weeny little thing, I’m afraid she might get caught in the crossfire at some point", Rex sighed, "You know, she's my superior and older and everything but I just feel.... responsible."

"I totally get what you mean", Cody threw him a brotherly but slightly too strong punch, "Do you remember that few months when you still served under my command and Skywalker was still a commander himself?" Rex laughed. Yes. He did remember that time vividly with all it's craziness. "That must have been the worst time of your lives", Ponds commented. "You bet!", Rex spat out.

Thorn and Colt chuckled. "At least you work together with people who got a clue of what the shab is going on", now it was Colt's turn to throw up his hands in disbelief. "You won't believe what strange excuses some rookies come up with just to not be bound to do anything", he laughed lightly, "I once had a squad who all broke a bone on purpose to avoid being shipped out. You should have heard their stories, one of them said he fell from his cot. And another one 'slipped in the shower'." - "Oh, so they were lying?", Thorn asked. "Well.... one wasn't. One of them stumbled over some stairs and totally wrecked his kneecaps." That drew a round of laughter from the pile.

"Folks, guys, brothers, I have a good story as well", Cody flailed with his arm to get the next turn to speak. "Are you going to complain about General Kenobi again?", Rex predicted with an eyeroll. This was getting out of hand, Cody didn't even realize how lucky he was with the reserved and calm thinking Jedi Council member and not with an airhead called General Skywalker. "How do you even expect him to talk about anyone else?", Fox mumbled around the rim of the rotgut. "Force, you're so right. Cody, your Kenobi-stress-headaches have been replaced with an obsession. This is an unhealthy turn of events", Ponds teased, earning himself a slap against the chest.

"Alright", Colt rolled his eyes, "Tell us, then." Cody opened his mouth to speak but had to take his time to giggle first which immediately infected the whole group. Cody's laugh was rare. But ever the funniest, with a little snort in the beginning and the waving snickering in the end. "It was-", he had to pause again, "I'm wheezing, guys." - "Believe it or not, we noticed", Thorn commented dryly which set Fox off like a rocket for no reason whatsoever. "Impressive story, really", Colt took over from there and Rex had to shift his head because the constant thrashes of Fox's stomach were getting uncomfortable in his neck. "I really liked that middle part", Thorn continued, Fox was officially lost now. "Yeah, never have we heard of such stupidity before", Colt agreed and took another big mouthful.

"You didn't even hear the story yet", Cody whined between sobs and Ponds patted him on the head: "It's alright, Cod'ika, we don't have to if you're not ready yet." Fox let out a pitched, strangled scream and threw his arm over his eyes, his laughing already sounded more like crying in the moment. "Folks, guys, brothers", Rex called, laughing, "Have mercy, he's gonna choke." Fox made a night vision goggles sound before laughing his ass off again. "I think we broke him", Thorn said and received an approving clap on the chest from Colt.

Rex was beginning to feel warm in his skin. The alcohol was taking effect on him now as well but the happiness within the circle of his batchmates was definitely playing a factor in this. He felt like he never wanted to get up again, hearing Fox enjoy himself so much he'd choke on his own spit or Cody now quietly complaining to Ponds about whatever breakneck stunt General Kenobi had pulled off this time or Thorn audibly approving of the way Colt began to card through his thick, paling hair. Rex was happy here surrounded by his brothers in arms. He would never want to trade them for anyone else, not even Torrent Co, and those were a funny and chaotic little pile of ants. He smiled and closed his eyes then pressed his cheek against Fox's warm thigh. This was where he wanted to be right now and nowhere else.

"Rex's enjoying himseeelf", Thorn called out and now suddenly the attention was on Rex. He grinned at them a little sheepishly and tried to hide his blush in Fox's blacks. "Aww, what're ya thinking 'bout, vod'ika?", Colt asked and now even Cody and Ponds rose their heads to look at them. "Ah, nothing", he grinned behind flushed cheeks, "I was just thinking how lucky I am to still have you guys." That erupted a wave of hums and awws from his friends and Fox immediately opened his arms wide. "C'mere lil bro", he slurred and what else could Rex do but comply? He shuffled closer and placed his head on Fox's chest only to get swallowed up by comfortable arms.

He felt the pile tighten around him as the others tried to participate a little in the hug. Rex smiled into Fox's chest and closed his eyes again. "I love you idiots. From deep within my heart", he confessed. "You say that to every batch you've ever been in?", Colt joked and earned himself a slap from Thorn. "Stop killing the fucking mood, Colt", Cody complained. There was a hand between Rex's shoulders that started dragging their nails over his back, which caused comfy goosebumps to trail down his spine. He reached out with his own arm to follow the trail of the comfort bringer to find it was leading back to Thorn. He scratched lightly over his brother's shoulder before resting his hand there which soon was accompanied by Colt's much warmer hand.

A comfortable silence fell around them all and when Rex paid much attention to it he could hear the quiet scritching of Colt's nails on Thorn's scalp or the rub of a hand over blacks. Soon those sounds were drowned out, though, by Fox taking out his feels on Rex's buzzcut.

The even movement of blunt nails on his scalp and the slight fondle on his neck and the regular rise and fall of Fox's ribcage rocked Rex's dreamboat. What if, he thought, it could always be like this? To come home after a long, day of hard work and just lay down and be peaceful with each other. Oh, what wouldn't he give for that?

"I love you, too, brothers", Thorn mumbled after a while. "Mhm", Cody hummed approvingly followed suit by the sound of a kiss. Rex opened his eyes again to see who it had been but they were all laying there comfortably with their eyes closed and arms and legs wrapped around each other. A peaceful picture, laughing into the face of the war. Children, as they were. And he was part of this beautiful, comfortable home.

#clone wars #clone wars crack #star wars #star wars the clone wars #captain rex #commander cody #commander colt #commander thorn #commander fox #commander ponds #cody #rex #ponds #fox #foxyo #comfort #clonepile #clone piles

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.6

it leaves me cold

Chapter Five

This is the sixth chapter in my ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Last Chapter: Penelope ambushed Spencer in his apartment, proved herself the best friend ever, and finally got him some psychiatric help.

In This Chapter: Aaron — furiously angry at the team and convinced Spencer wants nothing to do with him — finally has enough and goes to visit him. Even Penelope can't prepare him for what he'll find.

TW: same as usual — except this time the depictions of depression are representative of a major depressive episode. Spencer requires help with bathing/washing/personal care.

Word Count: 4.7k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

AARON

I can't exactly describe how I feel, but it's not quite right. And it leaves me cold. — F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Love of the Last Tycoon

Aaron has spent the last three weeks in shock, floating through the days absently as he goes through the motions of his daily routines. Guilt has been throbbing through his veins with each painful heartbeat, only exacerbated when every one of his attempts to reach out to Spencer is rebuffed. He can’t exactly blame him, though: he hasn’t let anyone down this badly since Haley’s death, the least he deserves is the silent treatment.

It doesn’t matter that objectively he knows his life has been far too hectic to notice something Spencer was trying so hard to conceal, because when he runs over every interaction they’d had in his head, he can’t believe he missed it. Spencer’s misery was staring him right in the face and he was too blinded, too self-absorbed in his own problems to help the man his heart won’t shut up about, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself of its impropriety.

Penelope had taken yesterday off to help Spencer with a few things, and Aaron couldn’t have been quicker to grant her the leave. If Spencer doesn’t want him around, he can at least rest easy with the knowledge that he was allowing someone to help him. And there isn’t anybody better at caring for other people than Penelope Garcia. That doesn’t help much, though. Not when he spends every moment she’s gone wishing he was the one looking after him, fulfilling his every need and want.

Honestly, he’s just glad they don’t have a case on at the moment. For one, he has a mountain of paperwork he needs to catch up on — including finding Spencer’s replacement, a necessary task no matter how painful — but he also knows he’d not be much use in catching America’s Most Wanted in this mindset.

He looks up from his blurred-over gaze at the paperwork on his desk when Dave taps on the doorframe. “Got a second?” he asks, already making his way into the room.

Aaron sits back in his chair, running a hand across his face as he takes in Dave’s concerned expression. He’s been avoiding him the past few weeks — he’s been avoiding everyone the past few weeks: he works with profilers who are paid to figure out what’s going on in people’s heads and he knows he’ll be read like a book if he lets himself get close enough. Not to mention his desire to lay blame at the feet of his co-workers. As far as he’s concerned, they should all be consumed with guilt even stronger than that which is eating away at him; they all let Spencer down, and emotional turmoil is a small price to pay for such a heinous crime.

“How’s the hunt for a new team member going?” Dave asks, and Aaron resents his easy, honest body language as he sits with his knees apart and shoulders relaxed and open. It’s alright for some, he supposes.

He sighs and reaches for the pile of applications to his right, thumbing through them half-heartedly. “A lot of people want to join the BAU,” he says, after a moment of reaching for something to say.

“Well,” Dave raises an eyebrow as a knowing smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, “have you even started looking through those?”

Aaron looks up at him from under his dark eyebrows, leveling him with a steely gaze. He leans back in his chair again a few seconds later, clasping his hands in front of him. “What do you want, Dave?”

He sighs at that, looking down for a moment before meeting Aaron’s eyes with a determined look of his own. “You’ve been avoiding the entire team since Spencer left,” he says frankly, “and as private as you try to be, Aaron, I know you. I know how you feel about him. You’re torturing yourself.”

“Well, maybe I deserve that torture,” he bites back angrily, the words tumbling from his lips before he can stop them. “I failed, Dave, we all did. And sometimes I think I’m the only one who actually cares about that. I know everyone’s sad Spencer’s gone, but how can all of you feel that way and not hate yourself for contributing to the loss of this unit’s best asset, both personally and professionally?”

Dave looks puzzled at that. “Spencer left of his own accord, Aaron. That’s got nothing to do with the rest of this team.”

Rage — furious, agonising rage — sparks in his chest and he closes his eyes for a moment as he pleads with himself to keep his cool. It’s not his place to share with the rest of the team why Spencer left, but he’s also furious that Dave can apparently use his profiling skills to work out he’s half in love with Spencer, but not apply them enough to realise how much pain their youngest team member was in.

“I suggest you think about the last year long and hard,” Aaron murmurs, low and bitter, and he knows he sounds passive-aggressive but he doesn’t care. He’s too blinded with fury at himself and the rest of this team to care about professionalism right now. “Maybe you’ll understand, then.”

He doesn’t watch Dave leave the room.

Penelope comes into his office that evening, dropping off files he had asked for.

“Come and sit down, Garcia.” He’s exhausted and human contact is not what he really wants right now, but Penelope has information about Spencer he longs to hear. Burying himself in his paperwork again can wait a few minutes.

“Sir?” She looks a little puzzled as she obeys and takes a seat across from him, her bright yellow dress bringing a little colour to his day.

“How’s Spencer doing?” he asks, bone-weary tiredness seeping into his voice as he meets her gaze.

She casts her eyes downwards, her fingers fidgeting in her lap as she considers how to answer the question. “I took him to the doctor yesterday,” she starts carefully, “but he’s hurt. And miserable. He thinks we all hate him, that we’ve excluded him on purpose… he was telling me how he’s been feeling for the past year and it broke my heart. Sir, I’m only being this honest with you because I know you’re aware of Spencer’s mental state, but the others aren’t. And it’s not our place to say.”

“I agree,” he reassures her, nodding. “I’m glad he has you, Garcia. You’re a good friend.”

She pauses for a moment, but she must see something in his face because she eventually musters the courage to say what’s really on her mind. “I hope I’m not overstepping, but Spencer… he needs you, Hotch. I know that he’s been over to see you and Jack a few times and from what I hear that’s the only thing that kept him going for those last few months working here.”

“Garcia, he’s not answering my calls or texts,” he sighs, wishing with every bone in his body that Spencer really does need him the way Penelope says he does; the way Aaron needs him, but he thinks there’s probably a better chance of the sky falling in. “I’ve got the message. He definitely doesn’t need me, I can promise you that.”

“Sir, I know you’re my boss,” she says evenly, averting her eyes slightly, her tell that she’s trying to stay calm, “but you’re being really stupid right now. Spencer is in a lot of pain, I’ve seen it first hand this last week, and I’m in a much better position to say what he needs than you. Communication is overwhelming and exhausting for him, and he’s feeling guilty about leaving you and me. I feel as guilty about all of this as you do, but you can’t let your emotions dictate how you act right now. You’ll only end up hurting him further. If you turn up at his place, I can promise you he will let you in.”

She takes a breath in before meeting his relaxed, open gaze. “I love you both very much, but you are both being idiots,” she huffs before levelling him with a stern glare and storming back to her own office.

With Penelope vacating the room, Aaron is left alone with his head reeling. He knows how close Penelope and Spencer are and he can’t think of a reason for her to lie, especially with Spencer being in such a fragile state, but he simply can’t wrap his head around the possibility of what she’s saying being the truth. He’s so desperate not to get his hopes up; he isn’t sure he can take another heartbreak so soon after losing Haley.

When he turns his phone over, he sees two messages from Penelope: He took today off to recover from yesterday. He’ll be home. Under the files she’s left in his office is a key and a pretty, pink piece of note paper with the code to Spencer’s building printed in dark purple gel pen.

🌧

Aaron can’t believe he’s doing this. He’d spent most of the drive over convincing himself he wasn’t — he absolutely was not — going to use the key Penelope had slid into his office without him noticing. She wasn’t far from begging him when she walked into his office and that’s the only reason he even considered it in the first place. But that innocuous ‘considering’ had landed him here, standing outside Spencer’s apartment, trying to work the courage up to actually go inside.

God, there are so many reasons not to do this. It feels wrong to even be thinking about someone other than his dead ex-wife, but he also knows she’d want him to be happy, and when he really thinks about it those sparks of emotion he wasn’t able to put his finger on were happening long before Haley passed.

“Spencer is in a lot of pain.” Penelope’s desperate words to him earlier wouldn’t stop rattling around his head. Knowing what his heart is longing for now, and knowing what Haley would have wanted for him and Jack, he was finally launched into action.

He can’t believe he’s doing this. That’s true. But he is also absolutely going to do it. He slides his key into the lock on the front door of Spencer’s apartment and pushes it open gently. The living room is dark but tidy; Penelope had told him she was helping him around the house, and he walks in just enough to close the door behind him, its soft click the only sound to be heard.

Gingerly, he makes his way through the lounge and kitchen, heading towards the bedrooms at the back. Two of the doors are open, one obviously the bathroom, the other seeming to be an office of sorts, but one of them is closed. There isn’t any light coming from under the door despite it only being 7, and if he didn’t know better he’d assume nobody’s home.

He does know better though, and not just because of Penelope’s earlier text. He knows Spencer is fighting depression, and he knows he’ll be exhausted both physically and mentally from his day yesterday. That only leaves two options: Spencer is laying completely silently in the dark, or he’s asleep. Considering the time of day, Aaron isn’t sure which of those is better.

“Spencer?” he calls quietly as he pushes the door to his bedroom open. There’s a Spencer-shaped lump hidden under the blankets, but he isn’t moving, so he flicks the hallway light on before making his way towards the bed. The light casts a pretty shadow across Spencer’s face, but Aaron is more focused on the tear tracks staining his cheekbones. “Hey, Spencer?” He touches his arm gently, rubbing a little when he doesn’t flinch. Relief flashes across his chest as soon as he starts to move.

“Aaron?” he asks sleepily, sounding confused. He doesn’t spring upright though, simply burying deeper under what he suspects are very comfortable, warm blankets.

“How are you feeling?” He tries to keep his voice soft and careful, but he can hear the naked, unadulterated fearful concern he feels for Spencer bleeding into his words.

“Tired,” Spencer sighs, and as soon as he admits it, a fresh tear drops from his eye straight to the pillow. “Sad.” Aaron watches as he blinks to try and stop any more tears from betraying how he feels, but it just makes things worse. His heart aches as he watches Spencer curl further into himself as he tries to fight the emotions welling up inside him.

“Hey,” he says gently, “it’s okay.” He reaches out to tenderly touch Spencer's cheek, fingers so light he barely makes contact. He has no idea what he’s doing, but he honestly doesn’t care. Everything inside of him is screaming to take care of the man lying in bed as he falls apart. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

Surprisingly, that actually seems to work. Spencer relaxes slightly and lets the tears fall, uninhibited. The defeated expression on his face still eats Aaron up inside, but the pain is mixed with relief that Penelope might actually have been right. Maybe Spencer does need him. As much as it kills him that Spencer’s even in this position to begin with, he’d much rather he be going through the darkness with him at his side than alone; he’d much rather actually be able to do something to ease the pain than sit in his office feeling helpless.

“Have you eaten anything today?” He caresses Spencer’s cheek with a bit more confidence, and his heart clenches tightly when he feels the younger man lean into his touch. Emboldened, he reaches his other hand under the duvet and clasps one of Spencer’s cold hands in his own, threading their fingers together. He swears he can hear music when Spencer holds his hand tightly, clutching at it as though it’s the last connection he has to the real world.

“Don’t think so,” Spencer murmurs, letting his eyes droop closed again.

“Do you think you maybe feel like eating something now? If I made it for you?”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed at that and clasps at Aaron’s hand even tighter. “No, please don’t go,” he begs, sounding as desperate as Aaron feels.

“Hey, hey, okay,” he says soothingly, holding Spencer’s hand tightly in his own as he lays his other palm flat against his cheek, noticing how the firm touch seems to relax him. “How about if we ordered something? Then I don’t have to leave.”

He waits patiently for Spencer’s hesitant nod of consent before pulling his phone out and quickly ordering from the curry house he knows is his favourite. Later, he’ll stop to think about all the little pieces of information he’s stored up on Spencer over the years; he’ll consider why his brain thought small things like his favourite foods and the way he smiles every time a Sarah MacLachlan song comes on were important enough to store away for moments like these.

Right now, though, all his focus is on the man in front of him.

“Can you…” Spencer starts hesitantly, voice cracking, “can you come up here?” He refuses to meet Aaron’s eyes as if sure he’s going to refuse, and he doesn’t know how to tell him just how unfounded his fear is. He’d lasso the moon and wrap it in ribbon if Spencer asked for it.

He climbs onto the bed carefully, surprised when Spencer immediately moves to lean his head against his chest, burying into his warmth. Aaron can hear his pounding heart in his ears and he knows there’s no way to conceal its fast-paced rhythm from a man with his ear to his chest, so he simply forces himself to relax into the bizarre position he’s somehow found himself in, and it slowly starts to calm down.

“Aaron?”

God, he loves it when Spencer uses his first name. It’s so personal, so intimate, and it fills his chest with something akin to euphoria every time it graces his ears. “Yes?”

“Why did you come?”

Well. Isn’t that a question. Truthfully, it’s because it feels like there’s some magnetic pull between Aaron’s heart and Spencer’s; like anywhere Spencer is, Aaron needs to be. The feelings he’s been confused by — the ones he’s been trying to ignore, the ones he’s pretending not to understand despite his subconscious longing for Spencer’s company, his touch, his love — are more prominent and undeniable than ever before. But above all, he came because Spencer needed him. And he’d do that no matter what his brain was screaming at him, or what his heart longed for.

This isn’t exactly the time for a bold, terrifying declaration of love, though, is it?

“You needed me,” he says simply, after a long, telling pause. “And there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.

Spencer nods, pressing impossibly closer to Aaron. Tears are still making their way down his cheeks, wetting the fabric of Aaron’s shirt, but he doesn’t care. He’ll be anything Spencer needs, and if that’s a hug and a good cry, then that’s perfectly fine. He wraps his hand around Spencer’s waist, hugging him closely and he feels him relax even further. The feeling of his small frame pressed against his own is unparalleled, and he has to breathe deeply to keep himself calm. He’s so far gone.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks when he feels another sob wrack Spencer’s shoulders.

“I’m exhausted, Aaron,” he replies, voice thick and eyes droopy. “I’m mentally and physically exhausted and I’m lonely. I’m afraid… I’m afraid I’ll never be happy again. I’m tired like I’ve never been tired before, and I just— I can’t keep going like this, you know? I’m never going to get the things I want.”

He presses closer as he says his last sentence and, distantly, Aaron wonders what it is that he wants exactly. A small voice in his head suggests something so preposterous he has to push it aside violently. He might have these feelings for Spencer, but expecting any kind of reciprocation is only going to end in heartbreak; getting his hopes up is simply irresponsible no matter how many stupid, reckless, hope-ridden inklings he might have.

“Spencer,” he starts, but his voice catches and he has to take a moment to compose himself. “Why didn’t you say something? You could have told me, I— I would have helped you.”

“Aaron, you had — still have — so much on your plate, I couldn’t burden you with my… feelings.”

At that ridiculous notion, he reaches for Spencer’s hand and takes it, holding it gently in his own. “You, Spencer Reid, are never a burden to me,” he insists, moving his hand from Spencer’s waist to his short hair, caressing his head soothingly. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You are so incredibly important to me, I’m so unbelievably sorry that I ever let you forget that. That we — that this little family ever let you believe you were anything less than crucial and adored. I’ll never forgive myself for not noticing how much pain you were in sooner.”

“You don’t need to—”

“Yes, I do,” Aaron interrupts him. “We let you down, Spencer. There are no two ways about it. I will spend the rest of my days apologising to you for not seeing how much agony you were in, no matter how well you were concealing it. You work with profilers, and not one person spotted the burden you were carrying. I can’t imagine how much that must have hurt.”

Just like that, the quiet, steady flow of tears Spencer had been crying since Aaron woke him up turn into loud, heaving, heart-wrenching sobs. He turns his face to bury it flat into Aaron’s shirt, rolling so he’s almost on top of him as he searches desperately for purchase in his imploding, grieving state. He holds Spencer as tight as possible, letting him scramble and grip at whatever he can as he completely falls apart, sending little pieces of himself into the atmosphere until he’s nothing but a shell of himself, a broken skeleton with nothing left to give.

It takes almost ten minutes for his violent sobbing to subside, and by the time it does Aaron’s crying too, heart breaking clean down the middle as he tries to hold a broken man together with just his hands. The raw, hopeless, unrestrained emotion in Spencer’s sobs cuts straight through his soul, as if every one of this godforsaken earth’s weighty, miserable grievances have been spilled by one man’s tears.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs again as Spencer collapses against him, exhaustion palpable as he allows his boneless body to be cradled by Aaron. He has to push aside his self-hatred in order to comfort the younger man — the wrath at himself and the rest of his team can only be unhelpful right now — but he can’t help it from swelling in his chest.

Their food arrives minutes later, and Aaron carries Spencer to the sofa in the living room, internally cringing at how ridiculously easy it is to pick him up, even with his own, albeit mostly healed, injuries still flaring up from time to time. He flicks on the lamp and tucks him in a blanket before running out to get their food. When he returns, Spencer’s staring at nothing as he lays on the sofa, looking so utterly defeated Aaron feels it himself.

“Hey, how do you feel about some food?” he asks softly, perching next to him on the sofa. “Maybe just a little naan? Or some poppadoms?”

Spencer stares at the food Aaron’s laid on the coffee table, a stray tear running down his cheek. He doesn’t even think he’s even crying anymore, it’s just his body doing what it’s used to. Aaron recognises pretty quickly that he’s not up to making any sort of decision, so he plates up a small serving of food: a little naan, half a poppadom, some pilau rice, and some onion bhajis. “Try this.”

Spencer takes the plate obediently and brings a bite of naan to his lips. Aaron gives him some space and serves up his own food before checking the kitchen for some drinks. The naan and some of the rice have disappeared from the plate by the time he gets back with two glasses of water, and he doesn’t even fight the small smile that makes it onto his face at the sight. He’d prepared himself for a hunger strike.

“Let’s watch a documentary,” he suggests, reaching for the remote and flicking the TV on. “How does that sound?”

Spencer actually brightens a little at the suggestion, breaking off a piece of bhaji and sitting up a bit taller. He takes the win and sets the TV to the history channel, catching the beginning of a documentary on European castles.

“Did you know that Wales has more castles than any other European country?” Spencer offers quietly, and Aaron’s heart flip flops happily in his chest — hearing Spencer talk about something he’s interested in, hearing a fact fall from his lips feels like some sort of progress. It’s like seeing a little piece of the real Spencer through the cloak of sadness he’s been shrouded in for so long now.

“Really? Why?” He tries to sound as casual as possible, but he knows his eagerness to keep him talking is showing. “Isn’t it a tiny country?”

“It’s one of the smallest in Europe, but it was a contested territory for centuries, especially in the Medieval era, so countries would set up fortresses and castles to stake their claim,” he explains despite his weariness, before picking another bit of bhaji off. His face isn’t lighting up with quite the same level of enthusiasm as it used to, but just explaining a bit about his knowledge on some obscure topic is enough for Aaron.

When he doesn’t explain beyond that, Aaron simply smiles and reaches for the food on the coffee table. “Do you want any more?”

“Uhm— some more naan?” Spencer sounds almost shy, and it takes him back to when he first joined the bureau, so shy and unsure of his role in the FBI and the world in general. Aaron had felt that flare of protectiveness from his first day in the department, and it’s only grown stronger over time.

“Sure.” He breaks off another piece of naan and hands it over, and the thankful smile he receives in return feels more gratifying than solving any case ever has. The circumstances might not be ideal, but in that moment it strikes him that he wants to spend every evening for the rest of his life like this, watching something that interests and inspires Spencer while they share a take-away on the couch.

Just days ago the thought would have terrified him. Tonight it’s oddly comforting.

As soon as they’ve finished eating and the documentary’s finished, he leads Spencer into the bathroom and makes sure he’s brushed his teeth and washed his face. “Do you want me to help you with the shower?” he asks tentatively, but Spencer shakes his head. “I’ll wait outside, okay? Call me if you need anything.”

He leans against the hallway wall while he waits, but after ten minutes goes by, he knocks on the door. “Everything okay, Spencer?” He calls out a few more times but left with no reply he pushes the door open and finds Spencer sitting on the floor of the shower, staring motionless at the wall as tears stream down his face. “Oh, sweetheart.” The nickname falls from his lips before he can stop it, but that’s the least of his worries.

As he grabs the clean, fluffy towel from the hook on the back of the bathroom door he finds himself, not for the first time, thanking the heavens for Penelope Garcia. He steps forward and turns the water off, grabbing Spencer’s attention, hushing him as he wraps him gently in the towel and lifts him out of the shower. He sits him on the closed toilet seat and dries him the best he can. It’s not like he’s a trained carer, but he does his best. Only his absolute best for Spencer Reid.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says through his tears, “I can’t stop crying. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, there’s no need to apologise. Let’s focus on getting you ready for bed, okay?” He brushes the tears from Spencer’s cheeks before continuing to dry him off.

When he’s dried and dressed in a clean t-shirt and boxers, he carries him — at Spencer’s very adorable insistence — back to the bedroom, tucking him under the duvet and making sure he’s warm and comfortable before he stands upright.

“Stay,” Spencer whispers, grabbing Aaron’s wrist.

Conflicting emotions wage war with one another in Aaron’s mind as he considers such a request. On one hand, it feels majorly inappropriate, even though he’s not Spencer’s boss anymore. He doesn’t want to take advantage of his vulnerable emotional state and they haven’t had a proper conversation about how they feel. But on the other hand, Spencer’s miserable, and if having someone close to reassure him he’s okay is going to make him feel even the tiniest bit better, then he doesn’t know how to say no.

After all, he promised himself that tonight, he would be whatever Spencer needed.

“Are you sure?”

“Please.” His expression is so sincere and earnest that he can’t help it when he slides under the duvet next to him, a warm body immediately cuddling up next to his own.

9.30 is far too early for him to go to sleep usually, but he finds his eyelids drooping only minutes after Spencer’s breathing evens out. The subtle magic, the heady cocktail of desperation and anticipation mingles deep in his heart as he feels himself drop off to sleep, and it’s far too easy to ignore the screaming voice in his head telling him all the awful ways this could go so terribly wrong. Because maybe, his heart whispers, this could go so gloriously right.

Chapter Seven

If this chapter brought anything up for you, hotlines are in the endnotes of the AO3 version of this fic. Bigger countries are listed and a link is included if you live somewhere else in the world. I love you <3

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