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neyswxrld · 20 days

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Wrecker & Tech

summary: Wrecker and Tech meet in the afterlife.

warnings/vibe: it's not something that is all too sad i guess; there's an explosion, some clichés (the light in the darkness, force ghosts, you know the drill!)

words: ~1490

a/n: happy final bad batch eve! 🖤❤️🧡🖤

ok, hear me out - i don't want to fuel or believe in any theories before the final episode tomorrow. this is just for myself, for comforting and assuring myself that no matter what, everything will be okay eventually! of course, i absolutely hope nothing bad is going to happen, but for the case that wrecker dies ((and tech actually is dead)), i needed something to hold on to. and i'm sharing this because maybe someone finds some comfort in this one, too.

p.s.: english isn't my mother tongue, sorry for mistakes!

The last thing he sees is a bright fireball.

The last thing he feels is that burning heat all over his body.

The last thing he hears are Crosshair's frantic screams for him.

And then there's nothing.

Everything is quiet, peaceful.

There aren't any aches, or pain.

He isn't hungry, thirsty, too hot or too cold.

Everything feels content and for a short moment he thinks he's flying.

Floating around, weightless. Which is funny, because due to his mutations, he's always been the biggest of his brothers. And the heaviest. But he didn't mind, as long as he was able to protect them. Keep them safe.

He almost feels comforted by the nothingness surrounding him.

Everything seems balanced. Okay.

For the first time in a long while, he doesn't even feel scared. Just... indifferent. Good indifferent.

But suddenly there's that small light in the distance.

It's almost sparkling, whirling around, and he almost feels like it's calling for him.

Slowly, he starts to float towards the light.

It seems to be warm and bright, a huge contrast to this foreign quietness surrounding him, but it's not unwelcome.

It kinda... feels like home. Like he needs to go to that light. He needs to touch it. Feel its warmth, its energy.

Carefully, he reaches for the light.

The warmth emitted from the ball suddenly swarms through his body, reaching every inch, every hair, every scar. Inside and outside.

It's so good... It feels so good. Like he has to be here.

The longer he touches the light, the brighter it gets, filling up all the surrounding space.

He has to close his eyes, the light is getting too much, and... and-

When Wrecker opens his eyes for the next time, he looks into the googled face of his brother.

This one looks down at him with a confused frown plastered across his face.

He looks... Just like on the day they lost him.

"Tech?" he asks, confused, worried.

Why is he here? Is he dreaming? Tech was... Tech is... Tech is dead. How could this be?

"Wrecker," Tech says, adjusting his goggles.

"What's goin' on?" he asks, groaning slightly as he sits up.

But it's more a reflex. Nothing... hurts. He feels fine.

"How long was I out? Has to be for a long time, I feel good, nothin' hurts. At all," he raises his arms over his head, stretching, "I- I dreamed you died. Stupid plan 99, should've never came up with that, you'd never leave us like that, right, Tech? Wouldn't just... do that," Wrecker rambles and scratches his neck with his hand, looking up to Tech.

His older brother looks at him with a weird look on his face.

"I indeed executed plan 99. It was the only way out for the majority of the squad. I kept you safe," Tech says, pulling his lips into a straight line.

"W-What?" Wrecker asks confused, before shaking his head.

For the first time, he looks around and sees some sort of space shuttle. Maybe Phees ship? Or was it the one Rex arrived with? He had no idea.

"What can you remember?" Tech asks next, shuffling on his feet a bit.

He stands in front of the bunk Wrecker lays in. The rest of the room was empty, quiet. He could hear some muffled voices outside the room, but he couldn't make out any words.

"We were going in on Tantiss. There was this massive animal kicking my ass. Hurt like hell... But I still made it. I'm not made of sugar, right? Then...," Wrecker stops for a second, thinking about everything. His memory starts to get sloppy.

"Just remember meeting Omega somewhere. She freed that zillo beast. It was huge! And then... There's something about an explosion. Crosshair almost got caught in it. I shielded him, I think," Wrecker murmurs and takes another deep breath as the memory of that burning pain around his body catches up with his brain.

But that's all - just a memory... Nothing hurts for real.

"Is he safe? Are the others? Where are they? Why are you here? Tech, I'm really confused right now," Wrecker shakes his head and looks up at his older brother again.

Tech swallows before nodding.

"They made it out fine, Wrecker," Tech assures him, before swallowing for a second time.

Why is he acting so weird?

"Great!" Wrecker exclaims, at the same as Tech says, "But you didn't."

They look at each other, keeping quiet for a while.

"I didn't?" He asks, "What do you mean by that?"

"You blew up, Wrecker. I think... you died," Tech states.

"I'm dead?" he echoes, before adding, "You think?"

"It appears that the explosion you shielded Crosshair from was a lot heavier than anticipated. While you saved Crosshair's life, you... you lost yours," Tech explains, breaking the news to him.

Wrecker looks at him for a few seconds, speechless.

That would explain why there isn't any pain. Or why he's able to talk to Tech.

They're both dead.

"I-I don't... Where are we? Why are we here?" is the next thing he wants to know, not fully able to understand how he should approach this new... situation. Everything's so strange.

"Currently, we are on a shuttle with the others. I dragged you up here. It appears that we are some kind of ghosts. At least we're in a state after life, which takes part in either some kind of parallel universe or in a temporal upheaval. I am not certain about that," Tech says, adjusting his goggles again.

Wrecker looks at him with raised brows, a huge question mark forming in his head. "You don't know?"

"In all that time I've been here, I wasn't able to fully conclude the whole extent of this... situation. But I've met some other clones, following their loved ones around in this state. So I assume it's a part of life, or, more precisely, the afterlife," his older brother sighs a little.

Wrecker pulls his feet over the edge of the bunk so he's fully sitting now, holding his head in his hands.

"Can the others see us?" Wrecker asks and Tech looks at him like he just lost his head.

"Of course not."

Wrecker feels like he just lost his head.

"It takes time getting used to. I'll leave you alone so you can think about it," Tech says.

Wrecker thinks he still acts a little odd. Not like the Tech he used to know. Not like the Tech that... was alive.

Tech seems to be honest about the fact that it takes some time to get used to the new situation. Wrecker isn't sure if his brother even got used to it by now. Not with how he's acting. And now... He's here, too.

"Tech," Wrecker starts and reaches for his brothers' wrist, gently laying his fingers around it and pulling him towards him.

"I-I don't want to be alone. Can you stay?" he says and moves to the side a little.

Tech nods and carefully sits down, unusually close to him.

"Have you been alone the whole time since..?" he wants to know, but Tech just shrugs.

"I was following the squad around," Tech murmurs and sinks into Wrecker's side as he lays an arm around him.

They haven't 'cuddled' like that in so, so many years.

"But now you have me," Wrecker whispers almost. He doesn't know if he's glad or sad about it.

Sure, he saved Crosshairs life. He helped his brothers. He had Tech again. But he'll miss the others. So, so much.

Tech has had to go through those first steps alone. He must have been so lost in the beginning. So lonely.

"Are we going to see the others again when they... When they die?" he wants to know after some time.

"That seems to be very likely," Tech answers, and Wrecker nods again.

That means he could still watch over them, be with them, and meet them again. And now, neither him or Tech, or the others will be alone for a while. Hopefully.

They freed Omega, they made a run for their lives.

They lost brothers, gained friends and family.

They settled down on a remote planet.

Quiet and peaceful.

They made a life for themselves, far, far away from the empire and all the evil in the world.

They saw Omega grow up.

They saw the others growing old.

They saw the others live the life they never had the chance to. And they were happy for them.

When Hunter joined them one day, they welcomed him with warm hugs and reassurances that everything would be fine.

As soon as Crosshair was with them, they almost felt complete once more.

When they followed Omega to Rex and his remaining brothers, they met Echo again.

Together, they kept watching over their baby sister, never forgetting their promises of staying with her.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

@isthereanechoinhere96 @trixie2023 @freesia-writes

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hiemaldesirae · 2 months

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Arrax here: image Vox is doing another broadcast about Alastor or the hotel or something, when another Overlord breaks in and just out and out attacks him--because the other Overlord is in love with Alastor. All the Cannibals in Cannibal town and Rosie immediately shake their heads because they know this other overlord is a dead demon walking--Vox usually let's his challengers live after they've signed their souls over to him, no matter how badly they've wounded him....but Alastor definitely would have seen this. And attacking Al's muse, his everything because you think you love Al? Yeah, even if Vox owns you...it doesn't mean shit. You're a threat to his muse and you must be dealt with. Alastor can easily find Vox a better soul to have as an underling.

you know another anon was worried about you giving me painful ideas? yeah they were right

i think, honestly in theory, this sort of situation could be very comedic if in the hands of the right person. i however am the completely wrong person if you were searching for anything other than the worst possible writing ever. (putting a readmore because i cant fucking control myself when i get rambling LMAO)

picture this: vox is on tv for one of his usual broadcast segments, taking an interview about his involvement with the radio demon/dissolvement of their rivalry and the hazbin hotel or something. alastor is "begrudgingly" sitting with the rest because admit it or not, he does still have a lingering fondness for the "noisy picture box" demon and, well, that *is* the hotel he's running being promoted, so might as well... (he's mostly just here to stare at the other's face, and husk knows this but he's sworn to silence and niffty is. Niffty. so. whatever)

anyway, blah blah blah they cut to a segment and go off for intermission, but things start to drag on longer than they should. the ad theyre running for intermission stops, but the screen still stays black until it eventually flashes to an error. at this point, the hotel cast is like 'uhhh did something fuck up on set' but theyre not worried about anything until the lights start to flicker, and one by one, every streetlight begins to shut down and fizz out before the electricity cuts off completely, the constant white noise of tv static cutting out alongside it and the buzz of vox's own frequency in alastor's chest going flat with the rest of his power.

before anyone even realizes al is to his feet and out the door, shadows wrapping around his form and carrying him halfway across pentagram city to the vee's tower. when he enters the studio, it's already been trashed to hell and back, with black and red bloodstains from both the hellborn employees and whatever sinners were present at the time of the altercation staining the walls. there are bodies, of course, but none of them are important to him because none of them are *vox*. and he doesn't know where the hell the other is except the fact that he might be hurt. and that's- well, that's unacceptable. if anyone was going to kill vox, it would be him, with the other's blood on his claws and flesh in his mouth and the beating, pumping heart in his chest in his hands-

anyway. he needs to find him. so in classic radio demon fashion, alastor sweeps in and out of shadows and terrorizes those employees not already dead or dying, until he finally reaches-

"vox."

the overlord is standing in the middle of an empty room, completely devoid of any furniture or lighting. it's dark, and there are no windows. at the sound of alastor's voice, he turns to face him slowly. when he finally looks over, alastor almost wants to retch at the sight before him. the others screen is so cracked he looks like a stained glass window, and a seemingly endless stream of blood pours out from the giant gaping hole in the middle of his tv head. what looks like it could be mistaken for a human eye peers out at him before it softens, and a humming static fills the room as vox approaches him slowly, like *alastor* was the wounded prey and not the predator.

when vox reaches him- well, alastor isn't quite sure what the other was going to do anyway, but he pulls the other overlord forward and holds him up by his shoulders, gently tilting the other's screen up to look at him.

"who did this to you?"

it doesnt matter if vox cant reply right now. alastor will find out soon enough, and he'll make sure that whatever fool decided to lay a hand on his muse would suffer for it hundredfold.

(when he finds out that it was because of the other's foolish love for him, alastor not only proceeds to mock the other overlord on a live broadcast but literally proposes to vox on the spot just out of sheer pettiness)

#ran rambles #general asks #radiostatic #hazbin hotel #okay i really do need to study now #but this was fun to write lol

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perfectarmony · 2 years

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TCL SZN 2 THEORY

I think Chris is going to kill Marco. I think he’ll do it either defending Thony or Fiona while they’re trying to get Luca back. Also the new article about Nadia’s ex lover says Fiona is having to protect Chris after a “situation”… Idk just speculating, I think it’d be good for the storyline & Armony of course. Lol! There’s also the dead body being covered in the teaser & then Garrett calling Thony w “bad news” 👀

HELLO ANON ☺️

I think you're on a pretty good track 😉👌

I'm going to put a line here for those who don't want potential spoilers 👀

I have to say I'm trying to forget Marco's less than hypothetical death lately because I feel like I already ruined the surprise for myself 🤧

But. But. But. Yup you're perfectly right. Everything adds up perfectly - Chris screaming, BTS photos of him having a breakdown and Fiona talking to him, episode 2 introducing Fi and Marco's parents, Ivan not being on set since the end of ep 1/maybe start of ep2, the motel scene with all of them, and other things I'll keep to myself because it's way too spoilery and it'll ruin everything for everyone.

also yes, the body in the promo ➡️ if you watch it on YT, where the video is in 16:9, you can see Thony with tears on her face standing next to it, she's most likely identifying Marco here...

SO YUP YUP ANON completely agree with you. God I love this show. Alright, back to my point.

...and honestly, so far I don't remember any TCL promo being misleading with their editing unlike others.

(okay there might be one in the latest promo with Garrett apparently saying ''you could be free from Arman. (...) cooperate with the FBI and I' ll keep you safe'' to Thony ⬇️

The scenes with Garrett and Thony don't fit - he could still be saying this to her but then why put a scene that doesn't match his to show her reaction 👀 or, and this is my number 1 option : he's trying to get Nadia on the FBI's side because they are running out of time and proof to keep Arman locked up.. also, it kind of looks he's at the club while Thony seems to be at the prison AND Eva shot her first scene of the season with Oliver at the club...or he's talking to his ex/ex-informant and the second part doesn't involve Arman at all and it's then actually misleading 🤷‍♀️ but that's unlikely. you didn't ask for this but hey bonus 😭😂)

With Luca safe, healthy and with her, Thony won't have the ''any way you can'' storyline anymore, and it'll be passed on to Fiona. It's a pretty smart way to keep the show on the same track as season 1 and still have a fresh start.

In the second promo that aired last week, Marco calls Thony and tells her they need to ''settle this''. I'm guessing he's talking about her relationship with Arman and their son being in the middle of it. Fiona also reminds her that her involvement with him is the reason Luca is gone. And with the interviews we have from the season 1 finale (that I can't find right now so I have to rely on my memory...bear with me if I take a shortcut or interpreted it wrong 😅) Miranda basically said that Thony was so focused on helping Arman that she didn't realize what was going on in Marco's mind. And so she ran out of time, and came home to an empty room.

About Armony and the consequences of Marco's potential death - YES, it could be good for them, but I feel like Marco wasn't that big of an obstacle to start with...Thony was obviously already distancing herself from her husband and didn't seem all that bothered to spend some quality time with Arman while they were in Mexico 😏

Something that keeps running in circles in my mind : if Marco dies, how will Thony handle it from an emotional point of view?

All this rambling to get to this point : if Thony starts feeling guilty and feels like her decisions led to her son having to grow up without his father, won't it have her distance herself from Arman?

Again, I'm taking a shortcut here and it's all theories, don't take it literally we all know Marco played a big part in his own downfall IF he dies - and I'm not going to dive into my thoughts on him as a father because that will get way too long. And yes, Arman would be an amazing step dad for Luca...one that knows how to put his pride aside..there I said it 😅

I hope I didn't bore you 😅 thank you for this ❤️

But honestly, that's just the way I imagine things because everyone seems to keep pushing her into that thought. And I'm just waiting for Garrett to pop up and be like ''YES YES IT'S ALL Arman's FAULT'' 😅

Anyway. Episode 5 has them on a motorcycle together, and I doubt it's (only) for business 😉 so yes, those two will definitely find their way back to each other rather sooner than later no matter what happens inbetween.

Don't hesitate to come back for another episode of Laura losing herself in TCL's world ❤️

#the cleaning lady #asks #Careful potential spoilers #THIS SHOW THOUGH

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bcdrawsandwrites · 3 years

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Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: K+

Genre: Gen?? Sickfic?? mild H/C??? you got me, man

Characters: Caligosto Loboto, Boyd Cooper, Gloria Von Gouton, Fred Bonaparte, Crispin Whytehead, Sheegor

Warnings: Vomit, blood, depictions of sickness... (SPOILERS: implied torture + amputation)

Description: Loboto is having a very bad night. The inmates are not helping.

Beta Readers: @jaywings and Rocket

Notes: This fic is based on a theory that comes from a few figments in Loboto’s mental world in the demo footage of Psychonauts 2. ...also I wrote this while sick with a fever, edited it while still sick, and illustrated the cover while recovering from said sickness. have fun

—~~~—

He did not remember arriving back at the tower.

Partially because he wasn't even back in the tower, instead standing on the frosty shoreline, the chilly waves lapping at his boot heels.

Loboto stared dumbly out at the cliffside for a long moment before frustration simmered beneath his fogged mind. Yes! Of course, they wouldn't send him back to his lab. No! He could do with a good climb, especially on a frigid night like this! His chest heaved with quiet, dazed laughter before he took a gasp of cold air that grated against his sore throat.

The wind, though not harsh, cut through every part of him that wasn't covered by his shower cap or lab coat like a fine knife, as cold as it was painful. It grazed his shoulder, and his vision went white as his mechanical eyes flashed. But even with the blasted optics glitching, he could still see. His imagination ran wild with absurd visions of ridiculous things that had never happened.

On top of that, the slice of pain brought with it a violent realization that it was not the only pain he was in. The numb shock he’d been in gave way to an agony that tore through him, ripping up and down his side, nearly bringing him to his knees. No, no, no, that pain could not be real, just like the horrific visions of red and yellow that flashed through his mind. It was all a trick—all a stupid trick from his malfunctioning eyes and his brain. Pah!

He found himself clawing at his shower cap, occasionally stopping to smack his mechanical eyes a few times until they flickered back into focus, the desolate beach snapping back into view. "Enough of this!" he growled hoarsely at the sand beneath him. "That little army man will be back any day now, and we can't keep him waiting."

With a grunt, Loboto marched forward and heaved himself up onto the first narrow ledge, already finding his body shuddering with the effort and his mind struggling to push back the imaginary waves of pain. "Ridiculous!" he blurted into the rock he leaned against for balance. "A child can climb a mountain ten times this height!" And it wasn't like he'd never done it, either. Muscle memory helped him get from one step to the other, but keeping his balance was harder than normal, especially as his mind repeatedly dipped back into brain fog.

His eyes flickered in a blink when he found himself on the ladder, his boot slipping on the frosty wood and one hand losing its grip. Realizing he was about to fall, he flung his weight back against the ladder, biting down on the nearest rung to keep himself in place. A frantic giggle worked its way through his clenched teeth—ah, teeth! Useful for so many things! They would never let him down.

If you let us down one more time—

Ripping himself away from the rung and leaving rough teeth-marks behind, he let out a snarl and heaved himself the rest of the way up the ladder and onto the ledge. He sat on his knees for the moment, his mechanical eyes pulling back as he tried to make sense of the gate that seemed to be spinning around him. No, not just the gate—the entire cliffside spun beneath him like some wild carnival ride. He couldn't remember it doing that before, but the absurdity of it made him laugh, the action tearing through his sore throat. Yet he continued to laugh until his stomach lurched and a cascade of vomit silenced him.

He managed to scoot himself away, spitting and coughing as the world slowly came to a halt. At the same time, a figure that had been sleeping against the opposite wall snapped alert with a panicked gasp.

"Ah—ah!" Boyd stammered, scrambling to his feet and whipping his head around until he spotted Loboto on the ground. "Who are you working for?"

"That fool Oleander," Loboto grumbled under his breath, his eyes swiveling to glare at him.

Boyd's eyes blinked separately before recognition dawned upon him. "Y-yes! Of course!" Fumbling with his keys, he got to work unlocking the gate. "It's said he knows the milkman..."

Gritting his teeth, Loboto shakily began to push himself back upright. A large hand suddenly clapped against his shoulder, and he gave a yell as he was heaved to his feet. Without turning to look, he struck at the one who'd grabbed him. "Tricky terrible traitors try to trap—"

"AH—no, I am no traitor, I am the guard!" Boyd cried, stumbling back and holding up his hands as Loboto found his balance.

The two stared at each other for a tense moment, Loboto's eyes glowing harshly as Boyd trembled beneath his gaze. He couldn't help feeling a twinge of satisfaction at seeing his subordinate cower.

"Th... the milk is not ready yet!" Boyd said, wincing away as he eyed the doctor's clenched fist.

Loboto stared.

"I'm lactose intolerant."

Boyd glanced at something on the ground. "I-I noticed."

With a growl, Loboto finally marched past the guard, who frantically closed the gate behind him.

Now that that mess was over, he could finally get back up to his lab and get back to—

He paused.

"SHEEGOR!"

His voice boomed through the empty grounds. It was empty of people, now empty of crows, and empty of elevators.

When his assistant did not spontaneously appear, he clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white beneath his glove. "Yes! Wonderful!" he proclaimed to no one as he stamped toward the withered garden with a harsh laugh. "I can scale this dilapidated tower myself then. Fine night for some exercise!"

He knew his way through his asylum, of course, so it wouldn't be overly difficult, but he would have much preferred the express elevator so he could get back to work immediately. But as it was, he ducked through the entrance to the greenhouse, fighting to keep steady as the action made his head spin, his back ache (no it didn’t, he was fine), and his shower cap to catch against the branches overhead. Turning his optics up, he pressed a hand down into the cap, pulling it away from the plants. He'd hoped to avoid the woman who occupied this corner of the asylum, but as he straightened his back, he bumped into one of the flowerpots, knocking it to the ground with a dull clunk.

"My, you need to buy seats in advance if you want to come to my shows!" Gloria said, turning to him with a patient, hazy smile. "No need to be harassing the paying customers."

"What do they pay you in? Leaves? Seeds?" Loboto asked, the frantic giggle that followed clashing with his strained smile.

Gloria ignored the comment, glancing him over and waving him off. "Please see yourself out. I'm not an usher, but since they seem to be ignoring their duties, I'll have to tell you you cannot bring food or drink into the theater."

Swiveling his optics in an approximation of an eye roll, Loboto turned away to head out the other side of the greenhouse. "I don't have any."

"Not anymore, but anyone can see that wine you've sloshed onto your nice suit."

Loboto froze.

"It's a wonder it didn't get onto the carpet—"

The next thing he knew, he was staring down at an entire line of flower pots that lay in pieces on the floor of the greenhouse.

"Oh!" Gloria cried. "I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure the ushers will attend to this ruffian, and the play can resume..."

He left her to continue rambling to her imaginary audience as he tried to rid the imaginary nonsense (visions, pain, glowing yellow eyes) from his mind. "Fickle fumbling females feeling faint for fading flowers..." he mumbled as he stepped into the lower floor of the asylum. It brought its usual sights and sounds of one of the former orderlies dozing over a makeshift game board (with stolen game pieces, he noted), the artist in the room overhead scraping old brushes furiously against a canvas, and finally Crispin standing dutifully in front of the asylum's only other elevator.

"Crispin!" Loboto said, and the man turned to face somewhere slightly to his left. "Let me up, will you?"

"Of course, Doctor Loboto." Crispin turned toward the elevator controls, only to pause, his dull eyes squinting as he turned back. "Wait..."

"Wait for what?" Loboto threw out his arm in a wide gesture. "Do you want to hear that army man ranting at us again? Or perhaps you find it funny! Though it is, isn't it? Shouting about sneezing powder and tanks! HAH!"

While he'd been talking, Crispin had been leaning forward, eyeing him up and down. He frowned. "You're not Doctor Loboto," he said at length.

"WHAT?!"

Behind him, Fred sprang to his feet. "Sacré bleu! We have fallen asleep on ze battlefield!"

Ignoring the man and his terrible French accent, Loboto stepped closer to Crispin, finding himself trembling—in rage or in suppressed laughter or something else, he wasn't sure. "Of course I'm Doctor Loboto! I was, last I checked. Highly trained and professional!"

"Yes, well," Crispin began, leaning back and raising a brow, "the real Doctor Loboto does not wear an actual straitjacket. It's merely a strappy jacket fashioned from one."

"This is my jacket, you milky-eyed moron!" Loboto cried, tugging on the front of his coat in demonstration. "It doesn't have my arms tied up!" He lunged toward Crispin to grab him by the collar, but stumbled as the world spun once more. He struggled to keep his stomach from flipping again.

"Well, that's because you're wearing it poorly. But you are certainly not Doctor Loboto. I can tell. You don't have the right jacket, or the right complexion." He tipped his head. "The real Doctor Loboto is blue, not sickly gray. As you can see, you can't fool me. Now go back to wherever you came from and—"

"He has returned from ze war!" Fred blurted behind him. He blinked, then shook his head, hunching in on himself. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, we really shouldn't—" He straightened again. "Yes, shut up! We are in ze presence of a great war hero!"

Crispin rolled his eyes. "What are you going on about now, Fred?"

"Do you not see? He bears ze blood of his enemies upon his robes, and ze scars of victory—"

Loboto whirled on him faster than he could think, managing a swift kick to Fred's shin.

With a yelp, the man crashed to the ground, curling up on himself and whining. "Ohhh... can we just postpone the battle until morning?" He twitched. "NON! Ze enemy never sleeps, so neither shall we!"

"Well, Fred's down for the count again," Cripsin remarked. "So if you're done, kindly step away from my elevator and off the nearest cliff, thanks."

Loboto wanted nothing more than to knock Crispin to the ground and find a few bad teeth to remove, but his vision was blurring and flickering, and he found it hard to think.

"No, really, we can't fight in the dark, and the enemy can't either, can they?" "Rrrrrghhh, I suppose you are right, for once. We shall camp here for now, but come sunrise, we fight!"

A weak laugh made its way past his lips as he stared down at the former orderly settling on the cobblestone. Yes, that crazy man had a point. There was no point in fighting tonight—he'd get his work done in the morning. And that work would have to include getting back into his lab in the first place.

After a brief moment, he snatched an item from the floor before stumbling back through the greenhouse and toward the entrance.

A nice night for sleeping under the stars, he supposed.

---~~~---

Judging by how bright the world was by the time his mechanical eyes flickered back on, the sun was starting to rise. But he couldn't tell for sure when there was a large metal cage blocking his view, with something else within—

"He said he would be back by nightfall, but he hasn't come!" a high pitched voice cried as a familiar form stepped out of the elevator, her back to him. "Oh Mr. Pokeylope, do you think he's gone for good this time?"

The corner of Loboto's mouth twitched.

"Oops!" She clapped an oven mitt over her mouth. "I'm glad he's not around to hear me say that," she said as she began to turn. "If he was, he'd be—EEK!"

Sheegor jumped back at the sight of Loboto laying sprawled out at the foot of the fountain, having slept (or passed out) there the remainder of the night. He clutched his worn teddy close to his chest and stared her in the eyes.

"Oh—I—I—!" Sheegor held her pet turtle close to herself. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry Doctor Loboto, I didn't mean any of that, I—"

"Yes, well it's a nice morning, isn't it?" Loboto grumbled, tucking the teddy bear under his arm so he could push himself to his feet. His entire body ached (from sleeping on the ground, not from anything else). "A nice morning to get some work done after you left me stranded here all night!" He took a threatening—but wobbling—step forward, fist clenched.

Oddly, Sheegor didn't seem as intimidated as usual. Her mouth gaped, and her eyes darted between his face and his right side.

"What are you looking at?"

"Y... you..." A trembling mitt was covering her open mouth. "D-Doctor! What happened to you?!"

His eyes flickered. "I slept out here with a rock for a pillow."

"N-no, it's—it's—!" Her whole body was shaking now, but not, he sensed, in fear of him. It should have made him angry, but exhaustion pulled at him instead, making his frame droop.

"Yes? Well, spit it out."

Sheegor held out one hand, pointed toward his right side. "Y-your arm!"

Loboto's optics slowly angled down to his right. For the first time he noticed the enormous, darkened bloodstains on his jacket, and a torn, empty sleeve hanging limply at his side.

"Oh," he said dully, feeling himself wobble as the pain finally worked its way to the forefront of his mind. "How did that happen?"

At once the world tipped to the side, and Sheegor caught him, straining to keep him from fully collapsing to the ground.

Wordlessly she helped him into the elevator, letting him lean onto her while he bit back the urge to scream. He wanted to protest, to berate her for touching him, but everything felt distant, even the upper floor of the asylum as they rapidly ascended toward it. And anyway, once they reached the top, anything he would have said was held back by his rolling stomach ejecting whatever bile still occupied it.

As he gagged, he could hear Sheegor whispering to the turtle in her mitts: "I know, I know, but I-I can't leave him like that—th-the asylum wouldn't... w-we were supposed to..."

"Just... get back to work... Sheegor," he managed to slur around the acrid taste in his mouth. Bitter bile breaks brittle bones of the mouth.

Sheegor looked from him to her turtle a few times, her mouth wobbling, and carefully eased his arm over her hunched back again. Instead of leading him to his lab, however, she led him down into the asylum, into the usual room he slept in: a mostly-intact bedroom with a mattress and blankets over a broken bed frame shoved into one corner, a chair and a desk with papers scattered across it, and a meticulously crafted and framed (and official) DDS license on the wall.

After easing him down into the bed, Sheegor stepped back, looking away. "Um... I-if you want, Doctor, I can clean that robe..."

His initial thought was that the blood stains made a wonderful addition to his ensemble, but glancing down at them again caused his brain to supply him with more awful, made-up nonsense. No, he wouldn't have that any longer.

With some amount of struggling he managed to get the thing off, unceremoniously tossing it in Sheegor's general direction. She managed to catch it and quickly scurried out. "I'll get this back to you as soon as I can Doctor bye!" she squeaked before the door slammed behind her, leaving Loboto sitting in the empty room.

Everything felt surreal, being in familiar surroundings after spending an entire night on freezing cobblestone. The sight when his gaze turned downward, however, was less familiar: there was new stitching across his chest, and on his right shoulder where his arm had been. It was cleanly done—they hadn't wanted him too much worse for wear, since he still had a job to do for—

Oleander. He had a job to do for Oleander right now. The sneezing powder, yes. His mind drifted over the things they'd discussed in their last meeting.

They'd both figured out a way for it to be made, more or less. The remaining issue was how to properly dispense the stuff. Oleander had suggested keeping it in a bag, but that was easily-spilled, and it may lose potency if pre-ground. But what was he supposed to do? He didn't have a grinder with him on-hand at all times—

A shock of brilliance bolted through him, and he stumbled to his desk with renewed energy. He grabbed a well-chewed pencil and began to write, his non-dominant hand shaking badly as he forced it into motions it was not used to.

But that was fine. It wouldn't have that job for long.

A manic giggle bubbled out of his throat as he worked out the notes and rough sketches, detailing a jointed pepper grinder with claws and a strap to secure it to his now-unoccupied side.

This loss of a limb, baffling as it was, was exactly what he needed.

#caligosto loboto #sheegor #crispin whytehead #boyd cooper #psychonauts #fred bonaparte #gloria von gouton #my writing #my art #fanfic #aka 'loboto and the terrible horrible no good very bad night'#also okay Boyd does try to help a bit #and also Sheegor is Very Good and she does not deserve the crap Loboto puts her through

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aerosiderwrites · 3 years

Text

Rumors ... Yandere Diluc x Reader

warnings for genre typical unhealthy portrayals of relationships and implied minor character death

Word Count: 1.2k

Diluc didn’t often pay any attention to the idle gossip of the maids at Dawn Winery, many of them coming up with fantastical theories about the estate and the people within it. However, when your name crossed their lips, along with the word boyfriend, he couldn’t help but listen in.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered about [Y/N] and… Master Diluc,” Hillie’s voice went quiet when saying her intimidating boss’s name, as if saying his name would summon him.

“He does seem to like having them around, but they have a boyfriend,” Moco explained.

Hillie stayed hushed as she continued, “He could be paying them extra, but they could be two timing them.”

“I don’t think [Y/N] has it in them to pull a scheme like that.” Diluc noted the patronizing tone in Moco’s voice before tuning them out as they continued to chatter away, and into his own thoughts as he considered their words.

He was slightly amused that his favoritism of you hadn’t gone unnoticed, not that he particularly tried to hide it. But did you notice? Was your boyfriend the reason you seemed to avoid his gaze? Was he the reason you declined any gift he offered?

Regardless of whether your boyfriend was the reason why, he was definitely in a role that he wasn’t fit for. You shouldn’t have to work another day in your life, and if you were at Diluc’s side, then you wouldn’t. Diluc didn’t consider himself particularly materialistic, but the thought of dressing you in the nicest clothes stirred him. As nice as you looked in your uniform, you deserved better. You deserved him.

So Diluc got to work.

“Ah… seeing [Y/N] like this makes me so sad.” Hillie sighed to Moco quietly as you walked past, unable to bring yourself to rid yourself of the raincloud that had been pouring over your head the past couple of days. You carried on to sweep the foyer, your work pace slowed.

“They boyfriend left them, I heard. Barely a word to them. He just… left.” Moco explained.

“Poor thing…” Hillie shook her head, watching as you continued your duties so pitifully, “I wonder what happened.”

“Maybe [Y/N] is having an affair with the Master and he found out,” offered Moco.

“Who knows,” Hillie gave in, resigning herself to not knowing, since the only one who would know for sure was you.

But truth was, you didn’t know yourself why your boyfriend left. You came home, and all he left you was a goodbye note, and all of his stuff was gone. You felt empty and betrayed at his sudden departure. It was hard to do anything, but anything was better than nothing.

“—[Y/N] are you hearing me?”

You jumped at what felt like a sudden intrusion, clutching the broom in your hands tightly. You looked up to who was speaking to you, mortified that the Master of the estate was addressing you.

“M-Master Diluc I-I’m sorry,” you blurted, bowing slightly, horrified by your blunder.

“It’s alright,” he said, his voice even, “When you’re done with your current task, please see me in my study, I want to talk to you about something.”

“Ah, yes sir,” you answered. Diluc gave a nod and left you to your work. You picked up your pace, now afraid of making your master wait. You had seen how impatient he could be, and anxiety motivated your movement.

When you had finished with the foyer, you hurried upstairs to Diluc’s study. You took a few deep breaths before knocking and announcing yourself.

“Come in and close the door behind you.”

You did as you were told before approaching his desk, making sure to keep a decent distance between yourself and your boss.

“I wanted to check on you. You’ve seemed… down these past few days.” Despite the genuine concern of the words, the coolness of his voice made you question his intent. Was he angry? A part of your job as a maid was to be pleasant to the members of the guild, especially Diluc himself, so was your misery that obvious to others?

“I’m sorry, I’ve been moping haven’t I? I promise I won’t let my personal life interfere with my work any further,” you rambled, afraid of earning his ire.

Diluc sighed, doing his best to mask any disappointment. He didn’t understand why you were so skittish around him, “That’s not what I was asking. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m… I’m fine,” you said, shifting uncomfortably under Diluc’s heavy gaze, “I’ll be better soon.”

“Tell me what happened,” Diluc was aware that he gave an order, but he had an objective in this conversation, and you were going to reach that goal.

You pursed your lips and took a deep breath, “My… boyfriend left me. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Diluc nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that, [Y/N]. You didn’t do anything wrong,” You found yourself surprised at how gentle Diluc sounded, your eyes hitting the floor in embarrassment.

“Thank you,” you responded, unsure what else to do, or what else he could want.

You heard him stand up and his footsteps come around his desk. You stilled yourself nervously, as if being still would stop him from approaching you. In your attempt to keep your eyes on the ground, you couldn’t help but notice how close Diluc stood in front of you.

Diluc’s hand touched your face, his warmth seeping through his gloves. Your eyes met his, and you couldn’t decipher why he was looking at you like that. “You deserve better.”

You desperately wanted to slide away and forget this is happening. Why was he doing this? What was he thinking? What did he want from you?

Diluc’s mouth formed a grim line as he noted your tense body language. You were no longer taken, and yet you still behaved this way. He moved his hand away from your face, his frustration building further as he watched your body ease up slightly. He maintained his resolve, he had made the decision to act, and he would see through his actions.

“I want to take care of you,” Diluc confessed, furthering your discomfort and confusion.

“You want to— what?” You sputtered in disbelief, forcing yourself not to back away and leave the room, and the winery itself, “That would be very unprofessional, the other maids already think you favor me over—“

“I do favor you. I care about you.” The words came out with practiced precision, Diluc aware that his full and honest feelings would startle you further.

Your face grew warm with embarrassment at the situation, “That’s… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll stay here with me, and that you’ll let me take care of you,” Diluc urged as gently as he could manage. Watching your panicked expression saddened him, but he had his opportunity, he had to take it before someone else could try to seek your company again.

“If you don’t agree of your own volition, I will order you. Either way, I will make sure you will never want for anything as long as I breathe.”

You recoiled slightly, “This is a lot to take in.”

Diluc thought for a moment. Perhaps you just needed time. He believed that giving you time would soften the shock you clearly were going through. “You have until tonight to make your decision. See me here by eight o’clock or I will find you, to get the answer myself.”

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere diluc #yandere diluc x reader #aerosiderwriting #diluc is my fave man in this damn game. glad i finally pulled him yesterday <3

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zeldah-writes · 4 years

Text

Can’t Lose You (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Masterlist

Summary: A oneshot in which Reid’s injury leads to more than the usual “get well soon” from the reader. (Fluff, tiny angst)

Pairing: Spencer Reid and Reader (female)

Note: Hi there! I’d just like to say that I’m new to all of this and this is all in good fun. I love to read, so I thought that I’d give writing a chance. I’d love to hear what you think. Enjoy :)

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of weapons, mentions of gunshot wounds, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of cheating, mentions of blood

Word Count: 2,159

------

“Jonas Everett, put the gun down,” Spencer demanded, as he assessed the situation in front of him.

You and the team have been in San Francisco for the past six days, working through another serial killer case. After many late nights and many phone calls to Garcia back at Quantico, the location and identity of the unsub was finally revealed.

Right now, Jonas was armed and holding a young girl hostage.

“Who… Who the hell are you?!” Jonas yelled back at Spencer, clearly distraught at the fact that he was being disturbed by the FBI.

So distraught, that Jonas forced the young girl he had tied up on the floor next to him to stand, while he pointed a gun to her head. The girl cried out, but was muffled by the cloth she had tied around her mouth.

“Alright, it’s okay, look. I’m going to put my gun away,” Spencer slowly lowered his gun and holstered it, putting his hands up after to show Jonas that he wasn’t a threat.

“My name is Spencer Reid and I work for the FBI. Listen Jonas, you have all the control here, I just want to talk. Me and my team have been studying your work. We think that what you’re doing is great and we want to show the world. You want to be famous right? We can make that happen.”

Jonas wasn’t picking his victims at random. The profile suggested that he was most likely hurt by a significant other because the only thing that linked all the victims was that they were all in a relationship where one partner was being unfaithful to the other. That, and the fact that all the victims had the word cheater cut into their forearm.

In the eyes of Jonas, he’s doing everyone a favor by getting rid of all the cheaters he could get his hands on. After killing the victims, he would place them in a public setting out in the open as a way to humiliate them as well as make himself known, without giving away his identity. He wanted any and all the recognition and reactions that the people could give him.

“Y-you think that my work is good?” The hand that Jonas held the gun in trembled as he tried to process what Spencer was saying to him.

“Oh, most definitely. Statistically, about 40% of relationships and 25% of marriages deal with at least one incident of infidelity. I think that all cheaters need to pay for their actions and face the consequences,” Spencer lied, knowing that he needed Jonas to trust him.

“You better not be lying, I need the public to know! They need to know what they’re doing is wrong! Everyone needs to know! You can do that, right?” Jonas yelled, as he took the gun away from the young girls head and pointed it at Spencer again.

“I promise you. I will make sure the whole world knows you name and what you did to keep people safe,” Spencer tried to reason, as he saw you and JJ creep around the corner behind Jonas, making sure to stay out of his line of sight.

Just as Jonas was about to lower his gun and surrender, he noticed Spencer’s eye flicker towards something behind him. That was the moment when Jonas knew Spencer was lying and trying to get into his head.

“You filthy liar! You’re no different!” Jonas became enraged and took a shot at Spencer.

As soon as you sensed danger, you retaliated and fired your gun towards Jonas, but you were a second too late. Your bullet hit Jonas in the back as Spencer got hit in his left shoulder, a place where the bulletproof vest didn’t cover.

Jonas fell to the floor, bringing the young girl with him as he used his last breath to whisper out, “liar.”

“Spencer, oh my gosh!” You sprinted across the empty room to Spencer as JJ ran to the young girl on the floor.

“We have an agent shot down, requesting medical asap please!” You frantically spoke into your earpiece, while applying pressure to Spencer’s wound.

“Y/N, please don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I hate seeing you so stressed out,” Spencer whispered, as he panted heavily.

“Just stay awake, okay Spence? The medics will be here soon they’ll take care of you.”

After a few seconds, two emergency responders came and took Spencer away on a stretcher, spewing medical terms you couldn’t focus on. You’re biggest concern was Spencer’s well-being.

“Hey, he’ll be okay. You know how strong he is. Now c’mon, lets go follow them to the hospital,” JJ comforted as she led the way to the SUV parked outside the factory.

~~~

Two hours later, you and the team were gathered in the hospital's waiting room, all anxiously waiting for an update on Spencer.

As you sat with your right leg nervously bouncing, you couldn't help but feel guilty about the whole situation.

Spencer wouldn’t have gotten shot if you noticed the change in behavior quicker. If you hadn’t hesitated to fire your gun. How could you let this happen. What would you do without Spencer? You've already lost too many people in your life, you can’t lose him too.

When you first started your job at the BAU three years ago, you specifically remembered Spencer catching your eye. He wore black slacks with a navy vest that covered a light blue button up shirt and a tie.

When you and Spencer were first introduced, you barely conversed with each other. You thought it was because Spencer didn’t take a liking to you, as you would always try to strike up a conversation with him, but all your attempts would end up with Spencer finding a way to awkwardly leave the conversation. Unbeknownst to you, however, your theory was far from the truth. When Spencer first saw you, he was entranced by you. He desperately wanted to talk to you, but whenever he tried, he found himself getting too nervous to hold a conversation, so to avoid being further embarrassed, he simply found ways to get as far away from you as possible.

Just when you were about to reluctantly give up trying to talk to the handsome genius, he gained the courage to make a comment on a book you were reading, which led to a real conversation between the two of you.

After that conversation, you and Spencer immediately clicked, and as time went on, you two eventually became best friends and basically inseparable. It started off with innocently getting coffee together in the morning and sitting together on the jet, but as you grew closer together, it turned into spending the night at each other’s apartments and being each other’s plus one to events.

What you neglected to acknowledge, however, was the fact that you were starting to develop a new kind of love for Spencer. A romantic kind of love.

Just because you pushed the new romantic feelings away doesn’t mean that the rest of the team didn’t pick up on it. According to Garcia, both you and Spencer were ‘blindly in love with each other.’

Despite the teams teasing, you thought that there was no way Spencer would ever be able to reciprocate your feelings. You were convinced that he saw you as a best friend, and absolutely nothing else.

“Are you all here for Spencer Reid?” a man in scrubs holding a clipboard stood in front of you and your colleagues as you snapped out of your thoughts.

“Yes, we are,” Hotch said, as him and the rest of the team stood up.

“Alright, well, the bullet didn’t hit any major arteries or organs which made the surgery fairly easy, for us and Spencer. As for his recovery, I strongly advise for him to take a few weeks away from the field, and he’ll be back in full health rather quickly. He’s starting to gain his consciousness back and you’re all free to visit, but to avoid overwhelming him, one at a time please.”

As you listened to the doctor's words, you felt a big weight on your shoulders just disappear.

He’s okay. Spencer’s okay.

You bit your lip and glanced at Hotch, seeing him already looking at you.

There was no doubt he knew how much this was affecting you.

“Go ahead, Y/N.”

You shot Hotch a small smile and turned to the doctor as he started to lead you to where Spencer was.

“This is it, room 23D,” the doctor said, as he stopped in front of a closed door with ‘23D’ engraved on a sign next to it.

“Thank you so much,” you turned to him.

He nodded with a smile and walked towards a group of doctors a few feet away.

You took a deep breath to brace yourself, and opened the door.

“Y/N?” Spencer croaked out as you walked through the door.

“Spencer… you’re okay,” you sighed in relief, closing the door behind you.

You walked towards him and sat in a chair next to his bed. He looked tired, no doubt from all the anesthesia. You smiled at him and pushed his messy hair away from his forehead, something you would do often.

Even after surgery he managed to look so attractive.

“I am. A little sore, but it’s not like this is my first time getting shot,” Spencer smiled up at you, rubbing your arm that was pushing his hair back.

“I know, but… I was so worried. Spence, I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I would do with myself. Especially because it was my fault! I shouldn’t have hesitated and-” I started to ramble before Spencer cut me off.

“It wasn’t your fault. I know you probably don’t believe me, but it’s true. I’m here right now and I’m here to stay. I’m not going anywhere,” Spencer moved his hand that was on my arm to my cheek. He smiled reassuringly, but the action just made my heart beat faster than it was before.

“I love you, Spencer,” you blurted out. You could feel your face getting warm as Spencer stared at you.

“I love you too, Y/N,” Spencer replied after a few seconds, thinking that you meant it as a friendly gesture.

“No, I mean...I just,” you stopped to take a deep breath. “Spencer. I’m in love with you.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, his grip on your cheek loosening.

You looked down, embarrassed of what you just confessed. You weren’t even sure why you said it. It just came out in the heat of the moment.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t-”

“Look at me,” Spencer cut you off and took your hand in his, but you refused to move. Gripping tightly, he whispered, “please.”

You cautiously trailed your eyes from the ground up to his chocolate eyes that were intensely focused on you.

“Y/N, I’m in love with you too.”

Wait. What? Did you hear him correctly?

“What?”

Spencer laughed lightly and pushed a couple strands of loose hair behind your ear.

“I am so madly in love with you Y/N.”

When those words came out of his mouth, you nearly fainted. On the outside, you kept your composure, but on the inside, you felt like you were on fire and could combust any second. You couldn’t resist the smile that broke out on your face, though.

“I know you insisted you’re okay, but I do recall you saying you were a bit sore. Is there anything I can do to help,” you bit your lip and smiled at Spencer, subconsciously leaning closer to him.

“Now that you mention it, I think that a kiss would really make me feel better,” Spencer smirked as he trailed his hand up your arm.

“Yeah? And where would that kiss need to be, Dr. Reid,” your faces only inches apart by now.

“Right here,” Spencer breathed out as he pulled your face towards his, capturing your lips.

Your hands immediately found themselves tangled in Spencer’s unruly hair, while his hands were grasping your face.

The kiss was so full of passion and love. It felt like two pieces of a puzzle were finally conjoining, like you belonged together. When you kissed him, you felt your whole body heating up with desire. You wanted to stay there and kiss him forever, with no end.

But alas, the beautiful moment was broken by the need to breathe.

You were both breathing heavily, as you rested your forehead against his. You stayed in that position for a while before Spencer started to talk.

“You know, if you keep kissing me like that, I think I’ll recover much faster than the doctor suggested.”

“Well, we can’t have you away from the field too long, right?”

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simp-for-spencer-reid · 3 years

Text

Sugar with a Side of Coffee- Ch. 12

Chapter 12: Bakers Can’t Cook Series Masterlist

Light poured into Spencer’s room through his curtains that were just barely pulled back. It wasn’t storming anymore. He blinked a few times to wake himself up. He felt like a weight had been lifted. He had finally told Cate how he felt. She had kissed him. They kissed. He turned his head to look at the other side of his bed.

It was empty.

Spencer’s memory made him certain that last night wasn’t just a dream. He had driven Cate back to his place and she had spent the night, in his clothes and in his bed. It was like the stars had aligned. So, if she wasn’t lying next to him, where was she?

Spencer’s smoke detectors started going off and the smell of smoke trickled in through his cracked door. He heard Cate’s voice curse and a loud bang. He leapt out of bed, and ran to his kitchen.

There, he found Cate. In his housecoat. Her short stature was jumping trying to wave a dish towel at the alarm. A pan with a burnt mass was on the stove. Spencer stepped behind her and reached his long arm up to push the button and silence the alarm.

“I didn’t know you were awake!” Cate jumped at his presence. Now that the alarm was silenced, Spencer could hear music playing softly from Cate’s phone. “I was making breakfast, but I got a bit distracted and burnt what was supposed to be scrambled eggs.” Cate tucked her unbrushed hair behind her ear. Spencer was taking her presence in.

“That’s my dressing robe?” He wanted to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

“Oh, yeah I borrowed it this morning. Did you want it back?” Cate started to pull the red plush material of her shoulders.

“No, it’s okay.” Spencer placed his hand on hers and stopped her actions. His thumb ran over her fingers. Cate looked up at him. Spencer felt too nervous to kiss her again. Would it be too soon? He felt like he really unpacked a lot last night.

“Do you want to go out to breakfast since I burnt ours?” Cate’s eyes flickered to Spencer’s facial features. His morning stubble looked out of place; he was normally clean shaven. Spencer sighed after checking his watch from the inside of his wrist. He was due at work in less than an hour.

“I would really love to, but I have to get to work. Do you want to shower?” He would offer her the first shower because his complex was always running out of hot water. Cate shook her head; she knew that showering at Spencer’s would only make him late for work. Spencer helped put the pan in the sink and clean the kitchen quickly with Cate before entering the bathroom from the door in his bedroom.

Cate gathered her things and was sitting on the couch, ready to be dropped off at her building. While waiting, she picked up the book on his coffee table to inspect it. A book on quantum theory. Cate flipped through the pages to see if she could make some sense of it, but she’d always been terrible at Science. Luckily, she’d gotten better at Math since working the register at The Empty Mug.

She thought of last night. She kissed Spencer. She had enjoyed kissing Spencer until the two of them decided it was time to actually sleep. The innocence of the pair sleeping on actual separate sides of the bed only lasted until a few hours into their slumber. Cate inched her way backwards until her back reached Spencer’s body. She was always one to get cold at night. Cate awoke to being spooned by Spencer. His face tucked somewhere between her shoulders and back. His knees bent into her own. His arms were folded into his chest, but Cate wished they had been wrapped around her.

She remembered trying to stay as still as possible so as to not wake him. He shuffled backward in his sleep not too long after, providing Cate with her escape route. She had gotten out of bed to use the bathroom, but also because she was hungry. On the back of his door, his robe looked too tempting to ignore. She slipped it on to stay warm while she scavenged for breakfast. The only things she could find were some eggs, milk, and cheese. Not even any bread for toast. There was a surprising lack of food in his cupboards. Cate wondered how he even survived.

Cate was lost in her thoughts of the morning when she heard the shower turn off. A few minutes later, Spencer came out dressed smartly in a suit. His hair was still damp from the shower, which Cate decided looked much better than it did when it had gotten wet from the rain.

“Ready?” Spencer asked, drawing her focus back to present time.

Sitting in Spencer’s car after the events of last night was only slightly awkward for the two. The radio was still tuned into the soft rock station, Cate hummed along while watching out the window. The sky was clear and blue. If they hadn’t been stuck in the brunt of it, they may have never guessed how bad the storm was last night. Spencer kept both hands on the wheel, but he wondered if he should hold her hand.

The drive to Cate’s apartment building felt like it was shorter and shorter every time he drove it. Fortunately, the branches and wires that had blocked the road were cleaned up. Cate saw the large limbs pushed to the side of the road. Spencer had saved enough time to walk Cate up to her apartment. The trek up the stairs to the third floor went by fast as well. When Cate had opened her door, Shrimp was meowing and walked into the hallway to wrap around Cate’s legs. He paused, sniffing the air and getting closer to Spencer’s ankles, giving his brown dress shoes a sniff. After consideration, he headbutted Spencer’s suit pants and left some orange hairs behind.

“Aw, he likes you!” Cate bent down to pick up Shrimp, holding him against her chest. “Thanks for the ride.” Cate looked up at Spencer through her lashes. Spencer was debating in his mind about kissing her or not.

“Oh, no problem.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Um, so, my coworkers were getting together tonight at Rossi’s if you want to come? They wanted me to invite you.” Spencer rocked, shifting his weight from heel to toe.

“Is that who you were on the phone with last night?” Cate word vomited, immediately wishing she wasn’t so nosy.

“Uh, yeah. They sort of were encouraging me to tell you how I felt. Not that I didn’t want to tell you myself, I was just worried-” He rambled before Cate cut him off.

“It’s okay.” Cate placed a hand on his cheek. “I’d love to go. I can thank them.” Cate giggled before balancing Shrimp with one hand, her other on Spencer’s cheek and reached up to peck him on the lips. Pulling away with a smile, Cate turned to enter her apartment. Even after the door shut behind her, Spencer lingered for just a few seconds, wrapping his head around what had just happened.

He strolled into the BAU with only minutes to spare. He tried to make it to his desk before catching someone’s attention, but Derek was waiting for him at his own desk, which was located across from his.

“Quite the storm we had last night. The power at my place went out.” Derek mentioned to Spencer. Without thinking, Spencer opened his mouth.

“Yeah some power lines were down on Cate’s street too.” Derek raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I wouldn’t- I didn’t… we stayed at my place, so I wouldn’t know if her power went out.” Derek smirked.

“We?” Derek rolled his desk chair across the walkway to Spencer’s desk. “We as in: you and Cate spent the night at yours? I didn’t think you had it in you, Pretty Boy.” Derek moved to clap Spencer on the shoulder, but Spencer was already standing to hide his blush. He hadn’t gone to The Empty Mug this morning on his way to work, so he made his way to the coffee station. To his dismay, JJ, Penelope and Emily were standing around in the break room. He’d have to walk between them to get to the coffee station.

“Hey, Spence.” They all greeted, and watched him reach for a disposable cup.

“You didn’t stop at The Empty Mug this morning? You always stop there on your way. Did something happen?” Penelope analyzed his body language.

“Yes and no.” Spencer replied. He began brewing his coffee and grabbed the sugar. He tried not to make eye contact with the girls.

“Don’t make us pry, Spencer.” JJ begged. “Is she going to join us at Rossi’s tonight?” JJ was still looking at Spencer’s back that was facing them.

“Yep, she’ll be there.” Spencer put some sugar in his cup.

“Okay, that’s good.” Emily tried to keep the conversation going. Spencer’s mind thought back to the phone call from last night.

“Come on, Spence.” JJ said from the other side of the phone. She was with the other girls of the team. He was lucky she had called while Cate was still showering.

“Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen?” Emily chimed in. He didn’t realize they were all together for a girl’s night when he picked up. He had told JJ his plan earlier, but she must’ve spilled to the others. They had called to see how far along he had gotten in his decision to come clean to Cate with his feelings.

“It’s so obvious that she feels the same, and I’m not saying that because we’re profilers.” JJ tried to make him feel better. He hushed them when he heard the water turn off.

“You got this, Wonder Boy!” Penelope encouraged. “Oh! While we have you on the line, if everything works out in your favor, we’re getting together at Rossi’s tomorrow night for a pasta dinner. Invite Cate! It will be so fun with another girl!” Penelope squealed. Spencer hurried their goodbyes and hung up. That was when he opened his bedroom door and Cate stood outside with her wet towel. He was relieved when she didn’t show any signs of hearing that conversation.

“Well, I see some orange fur on your clothes and I know for a fact you don’t have any pets.” Emily started, beginning to profile him to get the answers she and JJ and Penelope wanted. JJ followed suit.

“She has a cat?!” Penelope interjected excitedly.

“That would mean that you were with her this morning.” JJ deducted. Lucky for Spencer, his coffee was finished brewing and he poured his cup and headed back to his desk. Unlucky for Spencer, Derek was still sitting by his desk, ready to interrogate him more. Luck must have been on Spencer’s side, because Hotch rolled in, announcing a meeting at the round table, saving Spencer from the confrontation.

All day, Cate scavenged her closet for an outfit to wear to dinner. It seemed like every dress she had was too fancy and every combination of a nice shirt and jeans was not fancy enough. She would’ve facetimed Marta, but Marta was working at the shop.

As Cate sifted through each hanger again, she finally found something that caught her eye. It was perfect. It was a reddish purple off the shoulder dress. It fell at her knees, so it was classy enough. She had worn it to her sister’s wedding a few years back.

She had heard Spencer mention Rossi before. David Rossi, the author, who had a mansion. She knew it was an occasion to dress fancy. She of course, didn’t want to over do it, either. But, this dress was perfect for the occasion.

Spencer had left Cate a voice message with a well-appreciated detailed itinerary of the night. After he got out of work, he was going home to freshen up, and he would pick her up around seven for the late dinner at Rossi’s. He estimated they’d stay for roughly three hours before leaving and he would drive her home. Cate liked knowing what to loosely expect.

Seven came around a little sooner than Cate anticipated. She was finishing up her makeup when there was a knock at her door. Upon opening it, Spencer was standing in her hallway with a small bouquet of flowers.

“I know it’s technically not a date and I don’t know your favorite flower, but I got you these. I just thought you’d like them.” he held out the arrangement of lilies. “Roses say a lot, their meaning is typically romance and passion, but I felt like that was a lot to say, so I got you lilies. They mean devotion and purity to some, but also have other meaning tied to Greek mythology.” Cate gently took the bouquet from Spencer.

“I really like them, thank you.” Cate smiled, leaving the door open and turning to put them in water. Spencer walked into her entry hall, hands in his pocket. Shrimp had padded out into the main area of the apartment, and found his way to Spencer, rubbing against his legs.

Cate returned, and had a small clutch with her. Spencer tried hard not to stare at any part of her body too long. He held his arm out to her, and she gladly took it, wrapping her hands around the crook of his elbow. She had worn some short heels, easy to walk in and comfortable for the night. Her short hair was pinned back, but some pieces were too short and fell to frame her face. She had even painted her nails for the occasion, eager to impress Spencer’s coworkers.

Spencer and Cate were the last to arrive at the party. They walked arm in arm up to the front door. Spencer rang the doorbell. Cate was getting nervous. She pulled her arm from Spencer’s and swiped the back of her hand on the skirt of her dress. Spencer could smell her perfume from their close proximity. She smelled like tropical fruit with a bit of musk.

David Rossi opened the door with a welcoming smile. After greeting them, he shook Spencer’s hand and pulled Cate into a quick hug. They walked into the huge house, entering the kitchen first, where the entirety of Spencer’s team was dispersed, talking amongst themselves. Penelope and JJ and Emily were the first to approach Cate.

“Nice of you to finally show up!” Emily directed at Spencer.

“You, my friend, have a lot of catching up to do!” Penelope took Cate by the hand and pulled her to the island, where an array of wine bottles were scattered on the granite countertop. “I hope you like wine!” She pulled a glass out of a cabinet.

“Rossi will insist that the Pinot Grigio is the way to go with our dinner, but you can have whatever you want!” JJ informed Cate. Cate eyed the labels of the different bottles.

“I’ll go with the Riesling.” Cate poured herself a small glass. The girls went to one of the many sitting areas in Rossi’s home to get to know each other more. Cate’s nude lipstick was rubbing off onto her glass with every sip. They dived into some conversation that led to the discovery that both Emily and Cate had cats. The girls laughed and chatted with one another and it was soon time for dinner.

Rossi had set a table outside on his patio. Candles lit up the table and Cate had admired his large yard and his beautiful home. Cate sat next to Spencer. She listened to the variety of conversation around the table and chimed in when appropriate. Spencer’s work family was so funny and welcoming, Cate was beginning to feel like one of their own.

The table was finished eating. Cate was settled next to Spencer. Despite having just announced their feelings last night, things were at ease. There was comfort in the air.

The team had all broken off into a few separate conversations. Derek had caught Spencer’s attention, grilling him on why he was late.

“So, as it turns out, bakers can’t cook.” He recalled the morning of burnt eggs filling his apartment with an awful smell. The pair laughed together.

After eating, Cate helped clear the table and bring plates to Rossi's kitchen to place in the sink. She and JJ put away some of the extra food into containers to put in the fridge. JJ refilled Cate’s glass for the third time that night.

“I’m glad Spencer found someone like you.” JJ admitted. Cate blushed.

“Oh, please. I’m the lucky one.” Cate and JJ walked back out to the patio.

Spencer was further in the yard, entertaining Jack and Henry, Hotch and JJ’s kids. He was showing them magic tricks and chasing them, tickling them when he caught up to them. Cate’s heart swelled.In the few months they had known each other, she was growing very fond of him. A smile grew on her face as she watched him. JJ quietly walked away to Will, her husband. Spencer looked up, catching Cate’s gaze. He excused himself from the boys and made his way to her.

Her hair was getting a bit disheveled from the long night. More pieces had fallen out of the bobby pins. Her lipstick was now transferred onto the rim of her wine glass. She had surprisingly held her own while Penelope and JJ had been refilling her wine glass throughout the night. The night was cooling off and Cate had goosebumps across her bare shoulders.

“Hi.” He smiled at her, situating himself against the railing like she was, mirroring her position.

“Hi.” Cate parroted. She pulled her glass to her lips, tipping it back for another sip.

“Having fun?” Spencer asked. Cate nodded.

“Your coworkers are so cool. I can’t believe I am at a dinner with a bunch of FBI agents AND David Rossi, a renowned author.” Cate’s words slurred slightly. As she looked around the yard at all of Spencer’s coworkers and friends, she shivered slightly, running her hands up and down her arms to create some friction. “You know, normally, the boyfriend would give the girlfriend his jacket at this point.” Cate smirked. Spencer’s eyes widened, he pursed his lips, quickly taking off his suit jacket, placing it around Cate’s shoulders. They stayed leaning against the railing. It finally registered in Cate’s brain what she had said.

“Oh my god, I didn’t mean to assume that we-” Cate started.

“I didn’t know if you really wanted to-” Spencer said at the same time.

“I’d love to. If you want to.” Cate blushed. She was thankful that most of Spencer’s coworkers had migrated inside.

“How much have you had to drink exactly?” Spencer laughed, pulling her into a side hug.

“I’ve lost count.” Cate shrugged, giggling.

“Let’s get you home.” Spencer said, but he didn’t make a move to let go of her.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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multiharlot · 4 years

Text

book cover / s. reid

summary: spencer pulls some stupid shit and it drives y/n over the edge.

warning: angst, maybe with a happy ending?

masterlist

part II

y/n’s pov

we had moved in together almost a year ago. it first started when i came over to his apartment and it was an absolute mess. granted, spencer hadn’t been home for the last week and a half, but the messiness that ensued throughout his usually pristine home was an unusual sight for me. i’d assumed that he had simply left home in a hurry and hadn’t any time to pick up the empty chinese cartons on the coffee table, wash the dirty mugs in the sink, or organize his dirty laundry, let alone wash it. so i had decided to clean up the apartment. take out the trash and wash his laundry. wipe down the dusty bookshelves and soy sauce stained coffee table. crack open a window and light a candle while washing out the dirty coffee mugs. the seemingly small gesture to me hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. when he returned home, he was overjoyed with his newly clean apartment, and even more overjoyed coming home to me, sitting on his couch with my reading glasses on and my nose stuck in the bindings of one of his favorite books. overtime, we had both decided that it was time for us to take the next step in our relationship and we were ecstatic. but little by little, he had seemed less and less enthusiastic about my presence. of course i had noticed. i noticed the moment his tight hugs turned into nods of acknowledgment and the fact that our large bed couldn’t get his body as far away from mine as he’d hoped. or how typically long conversations about cases turned into short three to five word sentences and how he opted to spend his free time in his study rather than with me. today, was no exception. i was in the kitchen beginning a new recipe i had read about in a cookbook my mother had jokingly bought for me when he stepped through the doorway and i was greeted with a tight lipped grin and a comfortable sigh.

“oh hey”

oh hey?

“hi baby. how was the case?” i smile, a small breath escaping my lips as i attempted to blow away the strands of hair falling in front of my face.

“fine i guess.” he shrugged, placing his go bag on the floor and lazily throwing his jacket and scarf across the back of the armchair.

my eyebrows furrowed as i watched my boyfriend plop onto the couch with a book in his lap, not attempting to further the conversation.

“well are you hungry? i’m making pasta. i found the recipe in that cookbook my mom got me for christmas and i think you’d like it. i’ve never made homemade pasta before but i think it’s gonna turn out pretty well if i do say so myself.” i giggle softly as i continue to knead out the dough.

“sure. yeah.” he mumbles absentmindedly as he turns another page in his book.

i sigh, pausing my kneading for a moment before shaking my head. trying to rid myself of any negative thoughts that seemed to cloud my mind as of late.

it could’ve been a rough case?

have all the cases for the last four months been rough, too?

maybe he’s got something going on that he doesn’t feel comfortable talking to me about. or maybe he’s just...comfortable. you know? we’ve reached a stage where we don’t have to be so lovey all of the time.

or maybe he just doesn’t love you anymore.

my negative inner dialogue was quickly cut short and a sigh escapes my lips. i could still hear the pages of the book turning in the living room and the sound of spencer’s slacks ruffling against the black suede couch. i open up the cabinets, in search of the pasta roller, but alas i couldn’t find it.

“hey spence? do you remember where the pasta roller is? i can’t find it.”

i hear him sigh and his shoes thumping across the living room carpet and into the kitchen behind me. i turn to face the chiseled, long haired man who reaches behind me, pulling the pasta roller from the top shelf and placing it on the counter.

“thanks love.” i smile, leaning up to press of soft kiss to his lips when he quickly turns his head, causing my lips to fall on his cheek.

“no problem” he says before making his way back to the living room.

i could feel the thumping of my heart hitting the bottom of my stomach and the emptiness echoing through my chest. i continue to make the rest of our meal in silence. my negative thoughts brewing a mixture of sadness and anger in my stomach. i quickly plated the pasta and brought both bowls out towards the living room, placing the bowl in front of spencer on the coffee table.

“thanks” he sighs, placing his book down and exchanging it for the pasta bowl.

he flicks the tv on and places the remote between us. his eyes never leaving the screen as he consumes the pasta. my bowl hadn’t left it’s place from my lap as i sat on the other side of the couch, sorrowfully watching my lover eat as he continued to pay me no mind. i’m not sure if he didn’t notice my longing gaze or if he chose to simply ignore it, but his eyes never left the television screen. not even when he finished his bowl and placed it back on the coffee table.

“it was good.” he mumbles, placing the fork into the empty bowl and picking his book back up from the table.

and maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t taken notice to the fact that i didn’t eat a single bite. or maybe it was the fact that he had avoided my kiss. or maybe my thoughts had really gotten to me in a way i hoped they wouldn’t. but i had finally had enough. i slammed my full bowl on the table and snatched the book from spencer’s hands, making him finally look my way.

“y/n, what the he-“

“when?”

his eyebrows furrow as he stares curiously at me, as if within the past 20 seconds another head had begun to sprout from my ear.

“when what?”

my lip quivers slightly and an uncontrollable tear drops from my eye onto the soft cover of the book i still held in my hands.

“when did you stop loving me?”

his face softens and he uncrosses his legs, turning his body toward mine.

“y/n...why would you think-“

“you don’t touch me anymore. you can barely look at me. within the past four months, the amount of words you’ve said to me couldn’t fill up a page front to back. i just tried to kiss you and you turned away from me. you always seem a little bit annoyed with my presence. your cases lately have seemed longer and more frequent and-“ my voice trails off as i start to piece everything together in my head, one by one the dots began to connect and the lines between them cutting into my heart as they travelled from one dot to another.

spencer stares at me gently, the whites of his eyes morphing into a slight pink as the tears welled in his eyes. at this point, the tears streaming down my face had made a mess of the paperback cover of the book in my hands.

“wh-who is she?” i whimper, a small hiccup escaping my lips as i looked at the man i loved.

spencer just looks at me for a moment, and i could see his facial expression change. he was guilt-ridden and seemed at a loss for words.

“i didn’t mean for it to happen. and as soon as i realized what was going on i cut all communication. she was-“

“i didn’t ask what happened. i asked who she was.” i sniffle, my fingers clenching around the book as the anger arose in my chest.

“her name is maeve. she was the geneticist i told you i was going to see when i started having my headaches.” he says, his head hanging shamefully.

a scoff escapes my lips and i throw the book onto the table, standing from my seat on the couch and i run my fingers through my hair.

“let me guess...she intrigued you. she’s definitely smarter than i am. so you two probably had better quality conversations in your mind. she understood you in a way i couldn’t. am i right?” i say, a small sarcastic chuckle leaving my lips.

“baby please. i love you. i’m sorry i’ve been so cruel to you i just didn’t know how to look at you without-“

“god how stupid could i have possibly been? i always knew we wouldn’t work. i always knew you’d get bored of lil dummy over here-“

“y/n stop-“

“no it’s true. and you’ve always known it, too. i don’t have any phd’s. i barely have a degree. for god’s sake, i’m a choir teacher. a fucking choir teacher at a high school. sure it’s a private high school, and sure i get paid well, but a choir teacher definitely isn’t what you had in mind now was it?” i sob, staring at the man i thought i knew as the tears streamed down his face.

“y/n...no. you’re not what i had in mind, you’re better than what i had in mind. and yeah, you’re right. it was nice to have somebody understand my rambles. but that was it. that’s all it was. she just listened-“ he pleads, and a short sob escapes my mouth.

“and i don’t?”

“that’s not what i meant. i just-“ he sighs, running his hands over his face and walking over to me, grabbing my hands.

i gently pull them from his now foreign hold and bring them to my sides.

“y/n...she didn’t mean anything. i’ve never even met her. we only spoke to each other over the phone and even then nothing ever got remotely intimate. i love you. i am in love with you. and i messed up. i got caught up in the idea of another woman but...she’s not you. she may read fine literature and know what i’m talking about when i go deep into a scientific theory that i want to dissect. but she never picked up latin because she sang so many songs in it. she’s never made 8-part arrangements of my favorite classical music to have her honor choirs perform. she could never pick up a new skill as quickly as you could-“

i held my hand up to stop his speech. i took a deep breath before looking up at him and staring deep into his eyes. his ready, hopeful eyes that seemed to waver with anticipation. but i couldn’t stand here any longer. i walk past him, grabbing my purse that was sitting on the counter and fishing for my keys.

“y/n please. baby please just talk to me.” he whimpers, grabbing my arms gently to keep me from walking out the door.

“spencer, let me go.”

“no. give me a chance to fix this. to fix us. please.” he begs, falling to his knees and wrapping his arms around my legs, resting his head on my thighs.

i hiccup slightly and roughly wipe the tears from my face and i grip the keys tightly in my hand.

“did you love her?”

and without hesitation, he shakes his head.

“no. i didn’t love her.”

“so...what was it then?”

he pauses, his lost expression searching my face as if the answer was hidden somewhere between my thousands of strands of hair or scattered somewhere between the bridges of my iris.

“at best, i’d call it infatuation. not with her, but with her mind. but i need you to know that i don’t think you’re dumb. this had nothing to do with you and i know i don’t deserve it. i know i’ve treated you terribly over a mistake that i made. but please, don’t go.” he pleads, standing up from the ground taking my face in his hands.

my lips quivers as i stare into his deep brown eyes, losing myself in the pools of desperation that were spilling over. he takes one of his hands off of my cheeks and let’s it gently travel down my arm, pushing my purse and keys from my hand. my tight grip still clutching the key ring and leather strap of my bag. but as i stare longer into the face of the man i’ve loved for the last five years, i break, dropping the items onto the floor and spencer noticeably relaxes, a breath of relief escaping his lips. he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into his chest as i let out another sob. falling apart in the arms of the man who broke me, but also seemed to want to put me back together.

“do you still speak to her?” i mumble into his broad chest as he runs his fingers gently through my hair in order to ease the anxiety that he knew followed my incessant sobbing.

“no. i haven’t spoken to her in three months. and we only spoke for about a month after my diagnosis and i cut it off as soon as i realized what i was doing.”

a large sigh escapes my mouth as i process the new information. physically, he hadn’t cheated. but emotionally...i guess he had? my brain was all over the place and i couldn’t think straight any longer. i push away from him, wiping the tear stains from my cheeks.

“i’m tired...we’ll talk in the morning.” i mumble, climbing my way up the stairs and i could hear spencer timidly following me.

we both get dressed for bed in silence and crawl into the memory foam pit that seemed to soak up all my tears like a giant sponge. i laid with my back facing him and i could hear him sigh as my eyelids fluttered closed. i stayed in that position for about ten minutes before turning to face him. my eyes never opening as i scooted into his arms.

“i think i ruined your book cover.”

he chuckles sadly as he runs his fingers through my messy.

“you can ruin all of my book covers if it means you stay just a little longer.”

but unbeknownst to the floppy haired brunette laying next to me, it didn’t matter what he did, either way, i knew he’d always have the power to get me to stay.

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #x reader

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theshrubbery · 4 years

Link

Chapter 3 of my fic! Also feel free to send me any snowbaz requests you might have - i wanna start writing short drabble type fics on here :)

ps: when i copy and paste my fic here the italics don’t go through so just imagine whichever words you think should be emphasised haha

pps: search the tag cibcty on my tumblr to find the previous two chapters

SIMON

I know I’m gaping and I really should shut my mouth and play my part but Baz’s house really is incredible. It’s so… luxurious, grand, over-the-top, and at least twice as big as any care-home I’ve ever been in. I feel incredibly out of place. All of this is almost enough to distract me from Baz’s cold hand in mine. Baz always complains of the cold, he hates it whenever I leave our dorm window open overnight but I always do it anyways—just to piss him off. My fingers instinctively tighten around his for a moment, my heart lurches, Baz squeezes right back as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re late, Basilton.” A disembodied voice calls from around the corner as Baz takes my jacket from me and hangs it right next to his. I feel like I should take my shoes off too, but then I’d just look naff.

“It’s good to see you, too, father,” Baz replies. He smirks and cocks an eyebrow at me, as though he’s trying to communicate something to me. I don’t speak whatever fucking mental-brain-language Baz is trying to talk in though, so I force a bland smile and scrunch my eyebrows in confusion. Baz rolls his eyes at me.

“What?” I ask. Baz shakes his head.

“Come on. Time for you to play your part, for the love of God, Snow, don’t let him see through us.” Baz’s voice is low and only mildly threatening. I supress a shiver of… something. Probably rage, I dunno. Baz takes my hand in his again, anyways, snatches it up so abruptly that my natural instinct is to yank it back again. I don’t though, I instead give Baz one final scowl and then begin to school my features into something remotely boyfriend-like, should such a thing exist.

Baz’s father has a formidable air about him. I can clearly see Baz’s features in him and yet the two of them seem worlds apart. Malcolm Grimm regards me with instant dislike, his eyebrows raise and he looks down his nose at me. Baz doesn’t seem phased in the slightest and I have to remind myself not to bristle, not to get angry. It’s not a case of whether or not Malcolm likes me but rather of keeping Baz out of the shit.

“I have not a clue who I was expecting but, Basilton, it surely was not Simon Snow,” Malcolm says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. Baz leads me to the side of the long table, laden with food covered by silver lids, and pulls out a chair for me to sit. I do, and never has my ass sat in such a comfortable table chair as this one. Baz takes his time with answering his father, pulling out the chair that puts him in the middle of myself and his father, and sitting down. Baz crosses his legs neatly and props his arm up on the table, hooking his thumb beneath his chin and curling his forefinger loosely over his lips. Malcolm’s hands clench and unclench in the fabric of his jacket sleeves in response to Baz’s leisurely behaviour.

“I mean,” Baz begins at length, as though he is considering the weight of each word. “It makes sense, really. Don’t you think?”

“So your proclamations of hatred were, in fact, proclamations of love?” Malcolm looks uncomfortable with even the idea of it. My stomach churns at the idea of Baz talking about me to his father, though I can’t tell what I think of it. By this point I’m more than used to people talking about me, with the Headmaster being as prolific as he is it only makes sense that people would talk when I came along as his only scholarship student—and out of care no less. The more… prosperous, shall we say, families who attended or have children attending Watford were far less receptive of me than the Headmaster. Luckily, I don’t really give two shits what they think. Well, in theory anyways. Having Malcolm Grimm sitting metres away giving me the stink-eye is pretty anxiety-inducing. Baz laughs, short and sharp, it jolts me out of my thoughts.

“Of course, father, how else was I supposed to talk about my boyfriend with you? Had you known what he was from the start, you’d have never let me ramble on for so long about Snow.”

“And why did it only occur to you recently to inform me of this?”

“Ah, well,” Baz’s mouth curls into a half-smile and I can see his perfect teeth almost clenched together, giving away how tense he is beneath this façade. “I decided it was simply time to come out of the closet.” Malcolm waves a dismissive hand.

“Oh please, Basil, you’ve never been in the closet in the first place.” I can’t help but snort at that. I have never even considered the possibility that Baz could be gay, much less be as open about it as his father was insinuating. At my quickly smothered outburst, Malcolm seems to remember I’m actually there, listening to the conversation, and he looks over me briefly. Baz continues staring at his father, until he recovers eye contact with him. They stare heatedly at one another for a few long moments, and then Baz, making sure his father knows exactly what he’s doing, slowly inches his hand towards me and runs his palm down my thigh.

My body jolts in my seat at the contact, my heart jolts in my chest at how nice it feels. Suddenly I feel like I should be doing something in return, something that solidifies any doubts Malcolm might have about us as a couple, but my brain has all but short-circuited. Baz doesn’t seem put off by my lack of outward reaction, but Malcolm huffs and asks what can only be his servants to lift the lids on the food so that we can begin our meal.

BAZ

I’m touching up Simon Snow. Holy shit. Well, not actually ‘touching up’ but definitely touching. Stroking my hand down his thigh. It’s strange but Simon’s body simultaneously feels like home and like some unfamiliar thing. I’m so used to seeing Snow from a distance, spitting at each other from across the room, to have his thigh firm beneath my hand like this makes my gut feel like molten lava. It burns and really, I should pull away, but I can’t, not even when I realise just how much I’m taking advantage of this situation. It’s like his body is pulsating with magnetism, drawing me in, sucking me into his void and refusing to let go.

I eat my meal with one hand, half because I can’t let go, and half just to piss my father off. My father looks almost constipated at this, or that could, perhaps, just be at how wolfishly Snow is eating. It’s obvious that he’s never had one single fucking lesson on high dining. Snow holds his fork like a shovel, in a tight-fisted grip with his elbow thrust into the air as he scoops peas into his mouth. Rather than use a knife, he rips chicken off the fork with his teeth, eating as though he’s never been fed in his life, like he’s expecting someone to come along at any moment and take it all from him. He is so utterly consumed in his meal, if you’ll excuse the pun, that he seems to have all but forgotten my hand.

“Snow, will you eat properly?” I hiss, if only to restore some bantering normality. Snow turns to look at me, his mouth hanging open, all his half chewed food sitting on his tongue. It would make me want to gag if I didn’t already find him so attractive. Snow at least has the decency to look sheepish, glancing at my father and then back to me. He swallows and then pulls his lower lip through his teeth and readjusts his fork in his hand, beginning to eat again but far slower this time, as though that would excuse the paltry way he handled his cutlery.

“Basilton, I would have thought you’d have at least taught any partner of yours the most basic of table-manners?” Father says, dabbing at his face with a napkin and then placing it down, leaning one elbow on the table and grabbing the edge of it with his other hand, extending his arm straight. He is eyeing Snow down with contempt.

“Uh… Sorry,” Simon says, then added “sir” as a sort of afterthought. Father cleared his throat and turned back to me, as though expecting a reply. I shrugged.

“Table manners aren’t really something that takes the spotlight in our relationship,” I say offhandedly. Father drums his fingers on the table.

“You can do better.” And with that, Father stands from the table and excuses himself. “I will see you tomorrow, that will be all for this afternoon.”

“Yes, father,” I mutter beneath my breath, only just loud enough for him to hear. Simon taps the back of my hand, the one on his thigh, and I realise that I’m digging my hand into his leg. I let go and apologise. Snow runs his own hand down his thigh, as though soothing the skin or straightening his trousers.

“That went… well?” Snow tries. I can tell that he doesn’t really know what to say. I wouldn’t either, in his position. For a moment I can’t look at him, I feel like I’m trapped in some sort of nightmare or dream. Not for the first time, it doesn’t feel like this is my reality, sitting in my dining room with Simon Snow, eating a meal with my father together. I feel overwhelmed and frustrated with my father, with his callous reactions and refusal to accept me. Eventually, I turn to look at Snow, and am struck by the concern on his face.

“It went just about as well as I’d have expected,” I say evenly. Snow hums and busies his hands by pushing away his (completely) empty plate.

“So, uh.” Simon fidgets, restless. “What now?”

“I suppose I’ll give you a tour. Show you around the house so you don’t piss yourself looking for a bathroom.”

“Fuck off, I’d find it,” Snow huffs. I don’t think he’s really all that irritated though. It’s almost like he’s too much out of his element to remember that he’s supposed to be my mortal enemy—it’s almost as though he’s relying on me. Endearing as that is, it only makes me feel more and more like I’m taking advantage of him. I don’t know why in the Hell I ever thought this was a good idea.

“Sure you would, Snow,” I say anyways, riling him up. “But, you know, just to be sure.”

“Fine, fine,” Snow agrees. He pushes himself up from his seat and then watches as I follow. As I turn to lead him from the room, I want to grab his hand again, but without my father watching, I have no excuse. I ball my hands into fists and keep them close by my sides.

SIMON

I’m starting to think that Baz lives in some sort of hybrid National-Trust version of the TARDIS. His house looked massive from the outside, but inside it feels even bigger. But more than that is how fucking creepy some of the upstairs areas are. Downstairs a lot of the rooms are wood-panelled, but the floors are marble, upstairs everything seems to be made of pure wood. Everything looks as though it were pulled directly out of a period drama, everything in my rooms at my care homes looks as though it were pulled directly out of IKEA. Baz mentions that they can’t move the furniture around in some of their rooms, that people from trusts come to do articles on the manor from time-to-time, and for the life of me I can’t work out whether or not he’s joking.

Baz takes me round the house, pointing out the various bathrooms and his father’s rooms, telling me not to go in those under any circumstances, and then deposits me in front of an oak door at the end of a dingy corridor that looks like it’s haunted by at least three different ghosts.

“This is your room,” Baz says. I look at Baz, and then again at the door, and then again down the corridor.

“What?” I say dumbly, as though I haven’t heard him. Baz crosses his arms and leans his weight onto one leg, jutting his hip out.

“Your room. This is it. Go inside. Your bag has already been brought up and put in there by one of the maids.”

“I thought I’d be staying in your room.” Baz’s face flushes at my words, and I can’t work out why. We’d been sharing a room for the past seven years, and it’s not like we were really a couple. Besides, weren’t we meant to be making things more believable for his dad?

“Why in the name of all that is holy did you think that?” Baz asks me, and for a moment I feel embarrassed, then I remember that as far as I was concerned, I hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

“Because we always share a room. And besides, isn’t that more believable?”

“More believa—Snow, you’re not sleeping in my bed with me,” Baz cries. It’s like I’ve asked the git to sleep with him, how stubbornly he’s insisting I sleep alone in the spare room. I glare at him.

“Fine, fine, I’ll stay in your fucking spare room, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” I tell him, irritated, as I push open the door. The bedroom is massive, that much I can tell just by the view the doorway gives me.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, be decent at seven and I’ll get you for breakfast,” Baz says as he pushes me with one hand into the room and leans in to pull the door closed behind me. I stand there, like an idiot, looking around the dimly lit room and decide to unpack.

There’s a strange noise coming from under the creaky bed.

The strange noise gets louder when I lay in the creaky bed. Something is rattling in the corner, behind the wardrobe. Something is tapping on the window-panes.

I last an hour before I’m standing outside Baz’s bedroom door, calling out to him uneasily in the dark of the hallway, figuring it’s better to take my chances with Baz than it is with whatever freaky shit-show is going on in that bedroom.

#snowbaz #simon snow #snowbaz fanfiction #snowbaz fic rec #snowbaz fic #baz grimm pitch #basilton pitch #tyrannus basilton pitch #carry on fanfiction #carry on fandom #wayward son fanfic #simon snow fanfiction #baz fanfic #fic rec #cibcty

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pathos-logical · 5 years

Text

One Picture, a Thousand Words

Roman is a wonder that cannot be put to words, Logan a marvel that ink cannot capture. They try anyway.

Hoo, this sure was a labor of love! Love because I love @bleepblopbloop56 with all my heart and labor because HOLY HECK WAS THIS HARD TO WRITE. But never mind any of that, because HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my friend!!! I absolutely adore you, and I hope your year is as fantastic as you are!!!

Trigger warnings: Food mention; a joking mention of hallucinations. I think that’s it, but please tell me if I need to add something!!

There are a thousand words Logan could use to describe Roman. He would pull a Shakespeare and invent a thousand more if it meant finding a word that could accurately chronicle the tapestry of Roman, all colorful patches and carefully stitched seams. But Logan is no artist, and his words seem an inadequate medium.

Beautiful, he thinks and immediately discards. That is too obvious, the truth of it plain to see. Lovely is- better. More intimate. But too soft, perhaps, for Roman’s flame-edged hair, the bronze of his skin and the steel in his spine.

He has tried countless words, none of them quite right. Larger-than-life. (And no, his charisma and magnetic smile absolutely did not excuse the way he didn’t seem to know how to shut up.) Captivating. (Roman did have a way with words, when he wasn’t being an idiot.) Extraordinary. (He was quite the artist and actor.) Brilliant. (Again, Roman was rather intelligent when it came down to it.) Perfect. (Technically impossible. But.)

All those words he longs to say, not one spoken aloud.

(Or- once. Alone in his room, he had tried the shape of mine on his mouth, thought about how it tasted on his lips and imagined the look in Roman’s eyes if he ever dared to say it in front of him. Once, and never again.)

Oh, he wishes. But Logan has always been better with words on the page than to other people.

Well, he thinks, looking down at the piece of paper in his hands, I suppose that’s what this is for. His eyes rove over the paper, skimming over phrases without really taking them in. If he reads it he’ll try to fix it, and at this point there’s too much of his heart in the words for him to change them.

He looks at the last paragraph. It’s the kind of declaration he sneers at in the romance novels Roman so adores, the kind of thing he would’ve sneered at barely years ago. But Roman always did have a way of making him question things he’d taken for postulates- himself included.

I tried, over the course of this letter, to pin down what exactly about you has drawn me so irrevocably into your orbit and left me floundering in unfamiliar space. However, as the length of this might indicate, I soon discovered that I could not.

You know me. It is very rare that I find myself lost for words. But I find myself unable to find the correct words to describe you, or even the correct words. Not because I have run out of things to say, or even because you have left me speechless, but because I could use a whole dictionary of love letters and fail to find the words that capture the way your eyes shine in the light when you laugh at your own jokes, and all the cliches in the world cannot express how I feel about every mundane, breathtaking thing about you.

But despite all that, I have three words for you, Roman, and I suppose there is no better day to deliver them than today (as of the day you receive this, at least).

I love you.

Roman has a sketchbook no one but him has ever seen.

The drawings are all in pencil, and Roman aches to paint them, to mix his colors until he finds shades that will truly bring them to life. But Logan is a peculiar kind of monochrome, with his navy hair and black polo shirts and countless blue ties, and Roman fears that no amount of paint could do that justice.

It’s undeniable that the warm brown of Logan’s eyes is a color he itches to find in a colored pencil, that the almond of his skin is one he longs to see redden at his touch. But those aren’t the things he really wants to capture when he puts pencil to paper anyway. No, when he draws Logan, his focus is on the subtle gleam that comes to his eyes when he speaks about something he’s passionate about, the curl of his lips when his emotionless facade breaks at some stupid comment Roman made.

Roman wishes he could show Logan the notebook, sometimes, the days when his longing overpowers his surety in the fact that it could never be reciprocated. He imagines coffee-colored eyes looking through the pages with delight, taking in the devotion clear in the meticulous lines. He pictures the hands he’s spent hours perfecting skimming over paper, taking care not to smudge the lead.

(He sees disgust settling in the curve of Logan’s lips and rejection showing in the set of his shoulders, and he pushes away the thought and hides his notebook under his pillow, pretends that he hasn’t memorized the shape of Logan’s smile.)

But he doesn’t think of any of that today. It’s Valentine’s Day, and Roman is dressed for it. He dons his armor that he definitely did not spend a whole two hours deliberating on and sets out the door armed with a kind of desperate false bravado, which is immediately undermined by how he jumps at his roommate Patton’s encouraging “go get ‘im, tiger!” shouted through the walls.

Still scowling at the door behind him, Roman briefly debates how desperate a text will make him sound before deciding, screw it.

Hey, we still on for lunch at Cream of the Cup?

The reply is prompt, as always, and Roman makes a futile attempt at smothering the smile he knows is blossoming across his lips.

>> Of course.

I’ll see you then!

Roman can so do this.

Virgil I can’t do this

>> why not?? youve been planning this for weeks, youll bbe fine

actually, knowing you, orobably months

Jfkdkfkfkfk

it’s

LOGAN

>> im aware, weve only veen best friends for years now

…

if yoy send a long rambling text ahout how wonderful logan is and how you dont deserve hkm im gonna lose it

roman i swear to god

HE’S JUST SO SMART AND AMAZING AND I’M JUST ME I DON’T DESERVE HIM AND WHAT IF I SCREW THINGS UP BETWEEN US FOREVER AND HE HATES ME OR WHAT IF IT’S AWKWARD I’M OKAY WITH JUST BEING FRIENDS REALLY HE PROBABLY DOESN’T EVEN LIKE ME THAT WAY ANYWAY I MEAN WHY WOULD HE

Whoops sorry

>> youre not

I’m not

But

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

>> okay roman, listen up, because I’m only gonna say this once.

first of all, cut it with the self-deprecating crap. one, that’s my thing. and two, I WILL pull a patton and fight you.

stop doubting yourself, it doesn’t suit you

I might not have known you as long as I’ve known logan, but I know

I can see you typing. shut up.

maybe I haven’t known you as long as I’ve known Logan, but I do know you’re a good guy, and you /clearly/ love him

KSKFKFKKFKGD W H A T

>> yes, everyone knows, no, Logan does not, LET ME FINISH

it means a LOT to him that you actually read the articles he sends you about mars rovers at 3 am and that you don’t tell him he’s annoying for infodumping about alpha centauri or whatever star system he’s planning to go to and that you deal with his hypocrisy about sleep schedules and his general inability to do emotions

also, knowing him for years means I know his type, and trust me, you’re it

and even if by some miracle he doesn’t like you back, you guys are too close to ruin your friendship. okay? so however this ends, I promise you’ll still be friends

>> But

ROMAN

listen, you don’t tune him out when he starts babbling, and he does the same for you. he loves listening to your rants about art theory, he goes to every single one of your shows, and he started learning Spanish just to impress you. yes, he’s learned more phrases than just insults, he’s just been hiding it so he can surprise (aka impress) you later

and roman? he really really does value your friendship. you know that we’ve known each other since forever, so you know I mean it when I say that I’ve NEVER seen him get so close to someone this quickly.

and… you’ve been good for him too, okay? he’s not really the type to get lonely, but that’s just because he gets so tied up in his giant brain he forgets there are people in the outside world to talk to. but it really is important to him that you’re always there for him, and… I can tell you right now that he’s told me how much he appreciates you for it

after all that? I’d say he loves you too, dude. go for it.

you can talk now

Holy heck you DO love me

>> eh

Holy HECK

Wait

Did you turn on autocorrect just to yell at me???

>> Only for you, babe.

Please never do that again

yeaj that was oncredibly unconfortable

now GO GET YOUR MAN

Roman, for all his theatrics about love at first sight and true love’s kiss, hadn’t mentioned Valentine’s Day plans once in the weeks leading up to it. Then, exactly one week ago, he’d texted Logan with a simple request to meet up at a nearby cafe. Logan knew him too well to miss the possible connotations of such an invitation. But it was entirely possible that this was merely meant to be an outing between two friends. A platonic outing.

A platonic outing where there was barely room to stand, forget sit. Logan curses under his breath. He’d decided for once to not show up fifteen minutes early, as that would only give him more time to second-guess himself, especially as Roman was notorious for being chronically late. But he had failed to account for the obvious fact that, it being both a Saturday and Valentine’s Day, the usually quiet cafe is filled to the brim with couples ordering the heart-themed specials and kissing and generally clogging the air with sweet words and PDA. And no, Logan is not irrationally annoyed about this, he’s just worried he won’t be able to secure an empty table for him and Roman.

But just as the thought crosses his mind, he catches a familiar head of fiery hair at a table against the wall, bent over his phone and apparently completely absorbed by whatever he was looking at. An incredulous “Roman?” slips from his lips unbidden, because- well, Roman had once nearly been late to the first show he was the lead in. But there he was, reserving a table at exactly 12:30 with a croissant in front of him. Maybe today really was a day for miracles.

He watches with amusement as Roman jumps and looks up at the sound of his name. His face lights up as soon as he registers who it is, and Logan abruptly goes from amused to filled with some kind of fluttery warmth he doesn’t want to quantify.

“Logan!” Roman exclaims, hurriedly tucking his phone away. “Hey! How are you?” His smile beams out like the sun, but it dims upon Logan’s next words.

“Not well, unfortunately,” Logan informs him gravely. “I fear I have been having severe auditory and visual hallucinations. For example, I am currently experiencing one so vivid that I believe I am conversing with a friend in a cafe when I know that there is no chance of him being here yet.” Maybe Logan should feel bad about the way Roman’s expression morphs from worry to alarm to overblown outrage, but the challenging gleam in his eyes arrests him as surely as that of of Roman’s heart-shaped studs, and he can’t bring himself to regret it.

“Hey, I’m not always late!” he protests so loudly several patrons turn to look at him, perhaps expecting a scene.

Logan can’t help the smirk that creeps across his face as he slides into the seat opposite Roman, surreptitiously tucking a navy blue folder besides him. Thank goodness for Roman being typically Roman and reserving a booth that could seat six for a party of two. “Roman. Once Virgil and I deliberately told you to meet up an hour after we were actually supposed to meet so that when you inevitably showed up late, it would only be by five minutes rather than fifty. And the very idea that you could be on time for something went so flagrantly against the laws of the universe that the universe struck back by making your car break down, and you missed the meeting entirely.”

“Is that what happened?” Roman asks, looking so genuinely gobsmacked that Logan can’t help the snicker that escapes him. Roman’s expression flips to one of self-satisfaction, and Logan tries to ignore the little burst of fondness in his chest at the sight. Even if the rest of today goes horribly, at least he can savor this easy banter between them.

And banter they do, debating over whether Logan’s physics professor or Roman’s marketing professor is more inept before commiserating over the “perpetual hell week” that is college. They bounce from the disappointing latest installment of one of Roman’s favorite series to a terrible documentary on aliens Logan had found on a “science” channel (“It’s called a having a basic grasp of eighth-grade geometry, Roman- which, unlike this nine-thousand year old civilization, these morons have clearly never achieved!”) to every little thing in between, their food forgotten in front of them.

It’s nothing special, technically- they’ve been friends for years now, and they often have talks about everything and nothing. But today Logan can convince himself that an electric current is charging the air between them, flushing Roman’s cheeks and lighting up his eyes as Logan is drawn in, helpless against his magnetism.

There’s no decisive moment where Logan thinks, this is it. There’s just Roman, his laughter like bells in the breeze, and Logan, gazing at him like he’d put the stars in the sky.

“Roman,” he says. That’s it- Roman.

Roman is still giggling at his rendition of the student who’d spilled their coffee on the drama professor on the first day, but he sobers at whatever look is on Logan’s face. “Hey- you good, Lo?”

The nickname catches at something in Logan’s chest, pulls it open so the next words come just a little harder, just a little easier. “Roman,” he says again, looking down. “I do not wish to… ruin the mood, but I have something to confess.”

(He’s looking down, so he misses the way Roman jumps at the last word.)

But when he meets Roman’s eyes, open and curious, Logan’s confidence abandons him. He exhales slowly in an attempt to regain some of the feeling from before, like the memory of Roman’s voice will fortify his. But all that comes out is: “I wrote- would you-”

Logan’s throat fails him entirely, something a little like dread and a little like hope clogging it up. Without another word, he slides the folder he had kept tucked at his side to Roman. When Roman raises a curious eyebrow, Logan simply smiles- a quick, brittle thing- and motions for him to open it.

Earlier, the noise in the cafe had distracted Logan, had made him frown when it rose over Roman’s voice. But suddenly it all fades into the background, the chatter of voices and clatter of spoons receding in favor of the thwip of the folder opening, the little breath Roman takes when he reads the first two words.

Dimly, Logan thinks he must have used up all his words in the letter. His fingers lay still at his sides, mind is utterly blank as he watches Roman read it. But his heart is pounding loud enough that for an absurd second, he’s sure Roman can hear it in the sudden quiet.

Logan waits for a minute, maybe five. He thinks he’d wait for Roman forever if he asked. But Roman doesn’t make him wait that long, because when he looks up his eyes are wet with tears, and when Logan uselessly opens his mouth- to do what? His voice certainly hasn’t returned- Roman lurches forward, clumsy in a way Logan has never known him, and seals their lips with a kiss.

And when they finally draw apart, Logan thinks he’s regained his words (or maybe just these three), because they force themselves out of his lips like they’ve been waiting to do so since Logan said Roman’s name. And Roman, his face a study in the kind of shock and delight that can only come from a thought-to-be-hopeless dream coming true, returns them.

#logince #roman sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #my writing #a whole dictionary of love letters

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collapsingintojupiter · 5 years

Text

Philosophy and Hot Chocolate

And look who’s back with some more dumb fanfiction rambles

ha, yeah, that would be

this bastard.

@just-perhaps wanted to see the braincell boys debate, so I bring you all this. You’re welcome.

Characters: Logan, Deceit (sympathetic), Roman, Patton, Virgil.

Pairings: None. Just platonic all around here.

Warnings: Alcohol mention, and Idk of anything else? Let me know if you’d like something added tho.

It was getting late in the diner. For Logan, that was nothing new. He just sat quietly at his booth by himself like he always did, absentmindedly stirring a cup of black coffee with a spoon and ignoring the creamer that was in a tiny metal bucket near his mug. Few customers remained as per usual at this hour, which meant that the place was finally, relatively quiet.

For a cutesy diner, things got interesting here after about 10pm. All the nice pictures crowding the walls became dark with shadow after the sun went down and the lights dimmed, and the little knick knacks began to look like haunted artifacts from their perches around various shelves in the main room.

Logan liked that about this place. When the night got old everyone else was gone, but the diner still remained open like it always did, dutifully serving its customers clear into the next morning. The night shift had started a few hours ago now; but one lonely staff member standing behind the bar with a few of the usual drunks. They’d be leaving soon enough when they got too rowdy to stay, and then finally he could have his silence.

Then the door opened.

Logan looked up as a strangely-dressed character entered the diner, a bowler hat topping off his honey-colored hair, tanned skin, and sharp green eyes. A thin scar ran up from the left side of his mouth to the base of his ear; a mouth that was currently twisted into something that looked like a smirk as he slowly sauntered past the empty tables, then slid into the booth across from Logan.

“You look bored,” he said.

“I’m not.” Logan glanced across the table at the stranger, who was wearing a yellow shirt and black jacket over top. He looked like a hornet. “Interesting clothing choice,” he commented.

“I might say the same about you.”

Logan glanced down at the black shirt and tie he currently wore, then raised an eyebrow.

“Fair enough.”

“Hey Logan, can I get something for your friend here?” Both turned as a new character approached, this one with curly hair that hung over round glasses and a light blue apron. His name tag read Patton.

“You’re a regular here,” the other man said.

“And you’re not.” Logan looked over at Patton. “Can we get a basket of fries?”

“Of course!” Patton smiled at him, then turned to the hornet man. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

“Iced tea. Unsweetened.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” Patton flashed them a smile and left, humming something to himself as he disappeared into the back room. The stranger raised an eyebrow at Logan.

“Fries?” he asked.

“I don’t see why not.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“Says the one ordering iced tea.”

“That’s not the same.” Logan only shrugged, automatically reaching up to adjust his glasses.

“Maybe for you it isn’t.” He yawned, turning as Patton returned to the table with a small red basket of fries, offering the waiter a nod as it was set down in front of him.

“Thank you, Patton.”

“Sure thing! You guys just let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

The stranger reached across the table as Patton returned to his station by the bar, grabbed a fry, and took a bite.

“I like these,” he decided after a moment, and reached for another one.

“Do I get a name?” Logan asked.

“No.”

“Very well, Diogenes.” The other man sipped at his iced tea.

“A famous cynical philosopher. Touché.” He smiled a bit behind his drink as Logan reached for a fry. “My name’s Dorian.”

“Logan, as I believe you’ve already heard.” Dorian nodded to him, then took another fry.

“I was correct in my guess that you were educated.”

“Oh?”

“The only people who frequent these places at this hour are either genius, drunk, or mad. Because you clearly aren’t drunk and you don’t speak like a churchish pig, genius is the only category I’m left with to define you by.”

“You forgot a category,” Logan stated, sipping at his coffee. He took a fry, looked at his drink, and dipped it in his coffee before trying it. Too bitter. He made a face and sipped at his coffee again, trying to wash out the weird taste in his mouth.

“What would that category be?” Dorian asked, looking amused at Logan’s unsuccessful flavor combination.

“Desperate. And perhaps...adventurous, though those show up rarely. Even they sleep.”

“Desperate falls under the category of mad, I believe. Adventurous certainly does.”

“How so?”

“Mad with desperation, for example. That is a thing, you know.” Dorian took another fry. Someone in a far booth gave them an odd look. He looked drunk, though he had no beer in front of him and hadn’t been to the bar all evening.

“I am aware of that phrase. However, it all depends on your definition of mad, and your definition of desperation,” Logan countered. Dorian smirked.

“Tell me more.”

Logan tilted his head, then shrugged and adjusted his glasses again. This wasn’t the strangest thing that had happened to him by far, and he saw no harm in rolling along with the visit of this strange “Dorian” character as long as he remained civil. Which, so far, he had.

A waltz started to play quietly in the diner.

“For starters,” Logan said, pulling on his ‘teaching voice’ as he began, “the phrase ‘mad with desperation,’ as you put it, hinges on the definition of both words, not just the one or the other. Madness can mean anything from insanity and psychosis according to some, to mental illness, to mere eccentricity, which by psychological definition is not mad, but merely different from the norm. Desperation, on the other hand, can mean several different things as well. Someone desperate to use the restroom, for example, may come here to relieve themselves. Or on the other end of the spectrum, someone fleeing a toxic or abusive situation may wish to seek temporary shelter here. You would not call them mad, would you?”

Dorian leaned back, sipping at his iced tea.

“I suppose I would not,” he conceded at last. “You intrigue me, Oh-One-With-The-Glasses.”

Logan hummed his reply, then looked aside. “Ah, more visitors. I thought he’d come over here eventually.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare...” The man who had been watching them earlier now spoke up, standing behind Dorian with a partially apprehensive, partially embarrassed expression. A red and white varsity jacket hung from his shoulders, which were slumped with what Logan guessed to be exhaustion. “Ah...does your table have room for one more?” Dorian and Logan exchanged glances.

“I suppose so. Who would you like to accompany for this fine conversation, Logan or myself?” Dorian asked. The new character looked between the two, then sat next to Dorian, who obligingly scooted over to make room.

“I’m Roman,” he said as he sat down, his face blushing a delicate shade of red. “You guys... uh...you seemed interesting, I-I guess.”

“We met less than ten minutes ago,” Logan stated bluntly.

“Ah, but that’s the fun part!” Dorian grinned at last, looking between Logan and the new visitor. “See, the reason that drunks, geniuses, and madmen all visit this place at this time is because the line between each is so thin, it may as well not exist at all.”

“I don’t drink,” Logan said.

“For some of us, anyhow.” Dorian looked over at Roman. “And where do you fall in this category?”

“You two are insane.” Roman shook his head, reaching for a fry. “But...I couldn’t get to sleep, for some reason. Figured I might as well go somewhere rather than toss and turn all night.”

“Madman,” Dorian said with a nod, chuckling at Roman’s half-tired, half-outraged expression.

“Ha,” he said. “I guess you’re not wrong.”

“You’re sleep deprived,” Logan said.

“Eh,” Dorian waved his hand, which had a yellow glove on it that Logan hadn’t noticed before. “Same difference, right Roman?”

“Falsehood. Just because the majority of a population believes in a fact or observation does not make said fact or observation correct. For example, the geocentric theory was believed by the majority in some places for hundreds of years, until science proved them wrong.” Logan crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Therefore, your statement is invalid.”

“I’m not following,” Roman mumbled.

“Don’t worry about it.” Dorian locked eyes with Logan and grinned again. “This has been much more invigorating than I had expected...I like you,” he announced.

“Just like that?” another voice asked.

“Patton!” Logan spun around, and the waiter tilted his head at him. “You...you startled me.”

“Oh, sorry!” Patton held up his hands, still smiling cheerfully (how did he do that at this hour, anyways?). “It’s just me! My other customers left, so you guys are the only ones still in here.”

“You’re bored,” Dorian stated, and Patton nodded.

“Welcome to the table.”

“What is it with you and inviting people to a table that’s not yours?” Logan asked as he scooted aside for Patton to take a seat next to him. “Some people would consider that to be bad manners, you know.”

“You’re not ‘some people,’ however, so that statement is redundant.”

“...Fair point.”

“You guys are insane,” Roman said again.

“Everything is insane depending on how you look at it.” Dorian looked at his empty iced tea, then shrugged and grabbed another fry.

“Do you want a refill?” Patton asked.

“I’d like that.”

“Can I have hot chocolate?” Roman looked up from where he’d been staring at Dorian’s gloves, tilting his head slightly.

“Sure!” Patton got up and quickly disappeared into the back room, returning a few minutes later with the ordered items. Roman sipped at his hot chocolate and nodded.

“This is good,” he announced loudly as he set his mug down. “Good hot chocolate.”

“A real philosopher, are you?” Dorian asked with an amused look.

“No philosophy, only chocolate.” Roman hugged his mug close to him and began whispering something at it. Logan raised an eyebrow.

“So...you wish to debate?” he asked slowly, locking eyes with Dorian.

“Pick a topic,” Dorian answered, leaning back against the booth. “Whatever you want.”

“Oooh, this is gonna be fun!” Patton grinned, reaching for a fry and munching on it while he watched. Logan leaned back in his seat as well; looking at Dorian; considering his offer.

“Human morality,” he said at last. “Tell me your opinion.”

“You choose a fascinating topic. Kudos to you.” Dorian sipped at his new glass of iced tea.

“It’s useless and we’re all gonna die,” said a new voice.

“Did I advertise a party over here?” Logan looked over at the new voice, who belonged to a grumpy-looking character with purple-dyed hair and eyeshadow-smudged cheeks.

"Hey Virgil!" Patton said cheerfully. "What brings you here from the back?"

"Boredom," was the answer. Virgil pointed at Roman. "And that idiot's shouting."

"You just don't understand chocolate," Roman declared, looking up from his mug. Virgil rolled his eyes and adjusted the patch jacket around his shoulders.

"Scoot," he said to Patton, who obligingly moved over so he could sit. Logan made a face as he retreated to the corner of his booth to make room, but didn't object.

What a night this was turning out to be.

"As I was saying," Dorian said, waving a gloved hand in the air as he spoke. “Morality. That certainly has a fascinating role in society, does it not? After all, without it we wouldn’t have a society.”

“And we’d all be dead,” Virgil added. Dorian glared at him.

“Not my point.”

“You believe that morality is necessary to form a society?” Logan asked.

“I believe it is necessary to form a society such as the ones we humans live in, yes.”

“Fascinating.” Logan leaned back against his booth, automatically reaching up a hand to fidget with his tie.

“Mmmm...chocolate,” Roman murmured into his mug.

“I mean, think about it,” Dorian continued, glancing at Roman but ignoring his dramatic proclamation. “Without morality, we would have no system of justice, which can only logically produce anarchy. The system of ‘strongest wins all’ would be the only system, larger governments couldn’t possibly form, and so on and so forth. Morality is necessary for the existence of society, and also beneficial to those who know how to exploit it.”

“Which is why it is not the groundwork of society, but a mere addition,” Logan cut in. “After all, society cannot exist without structure, no matter how advanced the morals of its citizens are. Logically, people will naturally come together for the benefit of the group, and a system of justice would arise by itself in order to preserve the good of the many. Therefore, morality isn’t necessary for justice at all; rather, it can actually hinder it due to the actions of those with morals that are considered to be ‘bad.’” He leaned forward and took a sip from his tea with a smirk, watching Dorian for a reaction. The other man grinned at him for the third time that night.

“Well done, Logan,” he said. “I applaud you.” He raised an eyebrow. “So, you believe morals are unnecessary?”

“They are for me.” At last, Logan himself grinned, sliding the bill over to Dorian and standing up.

“Checkmate.”

#logan sanders #deceit sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #alcohol mention #fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides

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dwaynepride · 5 years

Text

Unconventional

Tony DiNozzo & leans in to kiss but then stops themselves

Words: 1,171

Warnings: None

Tags: @stanathanxoox @pageofultron @jrenn10 @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @ms-allenbrown @ikbenplant @dylpickles1267 @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty

First dates were never this effortless.

And not in the sense that it went smoothly. All of Tony’s dates went smoothly (except for one or two, but those were hardly his fault). No, it was effortless in a way that he’s never truly experienced before.

Effortless, because he didn’t even know it was a date until you both were a couple of glasses of wine in and Tony realized he was talking about his father. And not just Senior, but everything else that’s been weighing on his mind lately. The little things that challenged the carefully-constructed confidence that he likes to put out to the world. He talked about Gibbs and McGee and the new security guard at the gates who’s been giving him funny looks.

And you just listened. You didn’t look bored or uninterested. And you even chimed in your thoughts once in a while, when you think he needed them. Tony wanted to believe he didn’t, but that would be a lie.

When had he gotten so comfortable with you?

Without meaning to, his current sentence comes to a close. And he doesn’t speak up again. At least until your head tilts a little, leaning closer to try and get his attention back. “Something wrong?” You ask lightly.

You were being so nice. Looking genuinely concerned. Tony huffs out a smirk, nodding his head once. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He counters, leaning forward on the couch to set his glass on the coffee table. In theory, nothing was wrong. But Tony was really starting to wonder exactly why he asked you to swing by tonight.

Alright, he knew why. He just didn’t expect the night to do a complete 180 from what he wanted.

You shrug a little. “You kinda trailed off there. If you don’t wanna talk about it anymore...”

This time, you’re the one who trailed off, giving Tony room to make a decision. And instantly, he shook his head; this night has been too damn innocent for his taste. “Alright, you caught me. I don’t wanna talk about myself anymore.”

What can he do woo you over?

“I’m starting to run out of stories.”

There’s gotta be something. Tony’s eyes flicker around his apartment, until-

“So how about I play a little piano, instead?”

Perfect.

He stands immediately, making his way around the coffee table and plopping down on the piano bench. Tony realizes you hadn’t followed, so he twists his head over his shoulder to look at you. And he’s about to spout out a teasing little comment before he sees you, and then it’s stuck on the tip of his tongue. Because Tony can’t really remember the last time somebody had that soft a smile pointed at him.

The sight of it gives him pause before his brain starts working again. “You waiting for an invitation?”

Your laugh fills up the apartment, but you’re standing and making your way over the next second. When you take the empty spot beside Tony, you’re staring excitedly at the keys. “You never talk about playing piano. I didn’t even know you played until a month ago,” you comment as one of your fingers taps a key.

“Well, I don’t wanna brag too much. People would think I’m a show-off.”

The look you give him is incredulous, but Tony suddenly starts up a song before you can call him out on his words. It’s a song he learned a long time ago; muscle memory because it’s usually the first song he plays for his dates.

It’s easy to get into the groove of it, so Tony glances over to see your reaction. And just as he hoped, you were enamored. Watching his fingers play with a soft look in your eye, and after a few moments, you even start to sway side to side along with the calming melody.

It makes him smile, even if your reaction isn’t one that he’s used to. His dates usually take this opportunity to give him their bedroom eyes. And then Tony would do the same; it’s the easiest way to get things started, in his experience.

So watching you sway your head side to side, and even move a little closer to your flank is pressed against his, Tony isn’t sure what he’s doing. Yeah, he knows what he’s attempting, but it suddenly feels, well, wrong? Is that the right word? McGee would probably know the one he’s looking for.

Either way, taking you to bed suddenly doesn’t sound like the right way to end this particular date.

Suddenly, your eyes are looking up at him, locking and gazing and every other word in the dictionary that meant that the world is suddenly melting away. Tony’s smile slowly falls away, eyes going half-lidded, and you follow his lead. But there’s a tiny little smirk crooking the edge of your lips, and if this were any other date, Tony would think it was downright sexy.

But it wasn’t any other date. This was you. And you meant a little more to him than a night of wine drinking and then a roll in the sheets.

Tony doesn’t notice he’s leaning in until it’s almost too late. Your breath is wafting over his lips before he suddenly backs away. Did he really just do that? Kissing his dates is only his second most favourite thing, and he’s already mentally denied himself his first favourite.

Your eyes blink open in surprise before you ultimately smile. “You don’t gotta play hard to get, Tony...” you mumble out, already leaning back in again.

But then he shakes his head, straightens his spine and turns his eyes to the piano keys. “I’m not. I promise, I just,” he stops himself, wondering if he should be honest. Would you make fun of him?

Tony felt dumb for even asking that question. You’d just spent over an hour listening to him ramble about his feelings. “I don’t know, I think I want to do this another time,” he finally admits. And it felt almost good, at least until Tony looks over and sees your hurt expression. Then he instantly backpedals. “I mean, I want to! I want to do a lot more than kiss you, I promise. But whenever I rush things, my dates don’t usually stick around for very long. And that’s not what I want from you.”

His words were a little awkward, but they seemed to do the trick. Because the hurt on your face turned into intrigue. “You want me to stick around?“ You clarify. And when Tony smiles and nods, that’s when you finally get the soft look back in your eyes.

He never thought he’d be so happy to see it return. Without warning, Tony dips his head in, giving you a surprise little kiss on the cheek because he figured it doesn’t really count.

When he backs away and sees your blink of confusion, he just grins, albeit a little cockily. “Well, I didn’t want you to go home completely empty-handed.”

#ncis imagine #ncis x reader #tony dinozzo imagine #tony dinozzo x reader #ncis reader insert

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lugubrious-poltergeist · 4 years

Text

First Meeting

Logan, after reading over what Virgil sent them, was willing to give the Ghost Box thing a try. The theories on ghosts were fascinating and he was childishly excited over the idea of being able to talk to their invisible stalker, even if it seemed to not like him when they first moved in. If this ghost really was this Remus kid, then the dislike made sense. Remus lived with his unnamed twin and abusive father, the fact a teen not much older than he was when he disappeared and a single father moving in may have been what made the ghost more active than he was in the past. Logan is in no way like Remus’s father, he’d rather die than harm Dee like that, but the situation may have been enough to give the ghost more situational awareness.

“Dad” Dee snaps Logan out of his thoughts, “Can we make popcorn? Virgil set up the ghost radio and is now picking out a movie in case the ghost doesn’t want to talk. They seem to think if the ghost is too shy to talk about themselves, maybe we could ask what it thought of the movie instead.”

“There is logic behind that idea, I suppose.” Logan hums in amusement before frowning as there’s a knock on the front door. No one in the house was particularly social and Virgil’s parents are borderline abusive from what Logan’s seen (Social Services would be called in an instant when they finally cross the line, but for now, Logan contents himself with the fact Virgil knows this is a safe place to escape when they need it) so Logan has no idea who might be at the door.

‘ Only one way to find out’ Logan gets up with a disgruntled sigh, only to realize Dee beat him to the punch and was already opening the door.

“Oh!” Came a semi-startled androgynous voice before it warms, which is much better than most who see Dee’s scarred face for the first time “Hello, sorry to bother you. Is one of your parents home?”

Dee just looks at Logan before stepping out of the way with a lazy, “Yeah.”

Logan rolls his eyes fondly before stepping into the doorway, only to have his brain short circuit at the sight of the Very pretty man standing nervously on the doorstep. Much to Logan’s relief, the man seems to be just think Logan is one of those tall, dark, and silent type and isn’t having gay panic. when Logan takes too long to speak and startles rambling out why he’s there.

“I’m sorry to bother you and your family. I have a weird request. Could I possibly walk about your house? Wait! That sounds weird! I-um, How do I put this? I used to live here with my brother and father and a lot of bad stuff happened and my therapist thinks visiting the place everything happened would help me heal from some of the traum-” He’s abruptly cut off by Virgil shoving Logan out of the way and shouting in excitement.

“Are You Remus’s Twin!?”

“Virgil.” Logan gives the teen a chastising look as he straighten, but catches their guest’s shocked wide eyes.

“Wha-what?” Shock fades to aggression, “ How Do You Know That Name?”

Logan takes control of the situation, watching the man, “They were looking into the history of the house and came across the police report about your missing brother and abusive father.”

Aggression turns to grief in a flash, “What an odd thing to be interested in, but I guess you know a good deal about what happened then. I honestly never wanted to see this house again, but the good Doctor said it’d help to see it again and see it in a different light.”

“I can see how that could hold some merit. I agree to let you walk through the house, but only with one of us with you, as you are a stranger.” Logan fights to not blush at the smile of pure sunshine that gets aimed at him in response before the stranger gets flustered again.

“Oh, gosh, I never introduced myself. Where are my manners today?” The man straightens and somehow gives off a Disney prince vibe as he extends his hand while smiling, “I’m Roman Sanders.”

“Logan Love, the two teens are my son, Dee and his friend Virgil. Dee and I use he/him pronouns while Virgil uses they/them.” Logan says and takes Roman’s hand for a hand shake, only for Roman to, instead, kiss the back of his hand. Logan can hear the teens snickering at his bright red face.

“Pleasure to meet you all” Roman beams, “I use he/him pronouns!”

Dee instantly decides he likes this guy and lightly grabs his wrist and pulls him in, “I’ll show you around while dad reboots his brain, I wanna know how the house was when you lived here.”

Roman blinks, but rolls with it, appreciating that the way Dee is holding his wrist makes it easy to escape if he feels the need. Especially as he realizes he’s the shortest one there, being at least half a foot shorter than the next shortest person, Virgil, and a near foot and a half shorter than Logan. He tells them some of the happier tales he has to tell about each room, they all mostly involve the two brothers being home alone and goofing off. The teens share some of their own goofy stories with Logan adding something here or there. They also get off topic, talking about jobs and hobbies, which reveals Roman to be from out of town. The oddly prince-like man bonds with the small family pretty easily and is invited to dinner by the time they go upstairs, which took longer than it should have.

“I’m hesitant to go up there.” Roman admits when they get halfway up the staircase, sorrow suddenly heavy in his voice, “The last I saw my brother was in his room and we had had some stupid fight. Something dumb that I can’t quite remember, but I stormed off and then he was gone when I got back...”

“You can take your time. If you need to come back at a later date, then we can do that. Let me give you my number before you leave.” Logan says patiently, ignoring the snickering teens mumbling about that being the “only reason” for the number exchange. Logan just takes it as their way to distract themselves from the terribleness of the situation.

“Thanks... I appreciate it. I’d like to try to at least visit Remus’s old room, even if I do end up ugly crying.” Roman lightly smiles at Logan, but is too in thought to notice the teens are near silently making fun of Logan’s obvious interest and his own obviousness.

“Alright...” Roman gives a few more funny stories when they enter his old room , now Dee’s room, and just kind of shrugs when they enter his father’s old room, now Logan’s room, explaining he’s never really been in there, Remus was the one who’d sneak in if they needed something in there. The guest room is where thing got interesting, it used to be Remus’s room and when Roman finally started crying in the middle of explaining the mess Remus kept his room in , a light bulb exploded. Startling them all, as there’s no reason why it should have exploded like that, but it seems their ghost was done being quiet because the guest bed’s blanket then wrapped around Roman and other stuff got thrown around. No one got hurt, just freaked out and once everything stopped moving, both Virgil and Roman looked faint, neither having experienced a haunting before.

“I may have neglected the reason Virgil looked into the history of the house is because we appear to have a ghost.” Logan says calmly, still a little pale from the shock.

“A What!?” Roman looks terrified as he removes the blanket, finding no reason for the blanket to have attacked him.

“Why don’t we go to the kitchen? It’s about time I started dinner and I think a hot comfort drink is in order. Do you prefer hot chocolate, tea, or coffee?” Logan just sounds tired, which has Roman sputtering. The sputtering turns into an indignant squeak as the ghost ruffles his hair and the static electricity makes his golden hair stand up.

“He likes you.” Dee muses before demanding hot chocolate and dragging a shell shocked Virgil out of the room with him. Logan just rolls his eyes before focusing on the tiny man flattening his hair and grumbling.

“I’ll explain more in the kitchen when we have our drinks.” Roman gives up on flattening his hair to eye Logan, slightly intimidated to be in the room alone with the tall man, but refusing to be meek like he once was.

“Do you have earl grey?”

“We should.” Logan hums and leads the way to the kitchen, where he see one of the teens turned on the kettle and so he just starts pulling of ingredients, “Any food allergies?”

“Shellfish.” Roman says, fidgeting because he doesn’t know what to do with himself before ultimately just taking a seat at the table nearby.

“Noted.” Logan starts preparing things for a mild curry and chicken with rice, “Now, I’ll tell you about some of the things that have happened since Dee and I moved in.”

Logan talks about the strange things that were small at first and slightly more malicious where he’s involved before they toned down, only for the ghost to take out a burglar one night and become active again. He only paused one moment to make and hand out the different drinks, hot chocolate for Dee, sweetened earl grey for Roman, sugary coffee with cream for Virgil, and a cup of coffee with a little cream for Logan himself and note that the weather turned at some point and it was now raining.

“That was one of the biggest out bursts we’ve seen so far. Makes our theory seem even more plausible.” Logan says sipping his coffee while pausing for the curry to thicken and chicken to finish baking.

“Theory?” Roman asks mentally chewing on everything he’s heard and fiddling with his empty cup.

“We have reason to believe our ghost may be your brother. I let the kids get a spirit box to try to talk to him, they were planning to do that when you showed up.” Logan eyed Roman a moment, “You can stay for that after dinner if you want.”

“If it’s alright with you, I think I need to think about everything first, if that alright with you” Was all Roman said before his face met the table.

“Of course, I’ll tell you if the kids get him to say anything”

“Thanks... I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem. Now dinner is almost ready, eat as much as you like.”

#logan sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #virgil sanders #ghost remus #remus mention #lugubriouspoltergeist #tw abuse #food mention

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seeyacowboy · 5 years

Text

Blood of a todoroki

Chapter 5.

Dabi x f!reader. A.u. Oc

Warnings- mention of blood. Slightly lime. Violence. Cursing. Alcohol. Mention of Abuse. This follows the touya/dabi theory.

I’ve had writers block so badly the past couple of weeks. Thankfully inspiration hit me.

Just for a little recap your a anti-hero named Exemplum (Latin for copy). Quirk- copy other people’s quirks after getting a sample of their blood. You and your U.a. Hero/ classmates are in your 20’s now.

•••

It was about 7:45pm when you started walking up the stairs to the town hall. It was something out of a movie. Cameras clicks and lights flashing. it made her hands sweat, but she was not going to ruin this dress.

“Okay (y/n) we got some dresses for you to try on for the ball.” The tall metal bartender exclaimed.

Your room was only a few doors down from the entertainment/living room area and you always had your door slightly cracked during the day for times like this.

walking out in a silk robe that went down to your knees. Someone had put a pedestal for you to stand on like at the tailors. Shyly standing on it bringing your hands to your sternum holding them together rubbing each knuckle out of nervous habit. Everyone’s eyes were on your tailor but you couldn’t help but feel plagued with the idea that they were staring at you.

“Can you guys like go in another room or find some crime related thing to do?” Dabi laughed at your edge.

“Surely you aren’t bothered are you, (y/n)?” asked spinner.

“No I’m clearly thriving off the attention, spinner. If you could call the news paper about me being in a dress and make it the front page I’d be fucking delighted.” Most people in the room let out a chuckle.

Kurogiri was at the top of your ankle measuring the length from your hip to ankle. “Okay ,dear, it looks like you have a couple of options considering your height.”

He walks off to get the dresses.

“ I need a fucking shot. My hands are sweating like crazy.-“

During your rambling you didn’t notice that dabi had come over and sat on the couch directly in front of the platform. he leans forward and takes the first knuckles of your fingers in his hand and kisses them. It was enough in that moment for you to calm down.

Kurogiri comes back with three dresses.

One is a champagne color, full length, low cut in a deep v shape and a slit from the bottom until your upper thigh. You could have died right then and there. This was out of your comfort zone but its also the most amazing dress you have ever seen in your life; basically running to your room to try it on.

Coming back out in some strapped open toed high heels and ear rings on.

I think everyone’s eyes widened (dabi’s jaw just about hit the floor.) when they first saw you. Feeling super confident you strut your stuff back to the platform and do a little spin.

“ eh it’s okay.” Making you turn around to look at the hallway you just came out of seeing Shigaraki leaning against the wall.

“Okay? Just okay? THAT’S IT!” you throw your arms up. “I’m going in jeans and a hoodie!”

“ No you’re not. It’s the first dress just try the next one on. This just screams u.a. prom. You’re in your twenties now let’s look like it.” You gasp and place your hand on your chest.

“Well ,I never.”

“Yeah, whatever get moving.”

You look back at dabi and he raises his hands not wanted to get in the middle of it and leaning back into the couch.

“Who’s side are you on?”

“I’m a villain; anything to discomfort and inconvenience ,I suppose.”

With that you go to your room and showing the crew two more options. They settled on a bodycon dress that went to your calves and was more of an a-line at the cleavage. Silk with a lovely deep blue color almost being perceived as black from different angles. Matched with black heels and diamond ear rings.

Dabi and you waited outside for your car to drive up. He had you leaning up against the wall with his hand above your head and staring into your eyes. You pulled a cigarette out of your clutch putting it in your mouth letting his long finger light it for you. “Pretty girls don’t light their own cigarettes.” He smirks looking up and down between your lips and eyes.

letting his free hand snake over the side of your thigh. He loves the feeling of silk on his finger tips. Exhaling the smoke without care letting it go into his face, he was unfazed. You lean over to his ear and whisper “ do you know what it means when someone blows smoke in your face?” He hummed very interested. “It means they want to fuck.” Letting the k at the last work click and linger out of your mouth as you lean your back against the wall. Dabi bit his bottom scarred lip and huffed. “If only there was time, we’ll just have to wait until you get back.” He finished with a poke on the nose. You see headlights turning the corner and coming toward you. Putting out your half smoked butt. Leaning up and giving dabi a kiss as the car pulls closer, he takes you by the arms and looks deep into your eyes. “Come back soon.”

“Oh I will believe me.” You smiled him.

You get into the car and he shuts the door behind you. Dabi is left standing in the streets with his hands in his pockets.

•••

“Exemplum!! Are you here alone tonight?!”

“Exemplum!! you look stunning give us a good shot!”

“Exemplum!! why have you been gone for so long? Eloped? Who’s your secret man?”

You practically started running up the stairs trying get away from these intrusive questions. Looking down at your feet to make sure you don’t fall over yourself in these heels you don’t notice as you crash into someone. You look up to see shinsou, pleasantly to your surprise. Giving him a big smile you bring him into a tight hug and whisper “it’s been a long time, my friend.” Into his ear. He agrees and returns the hug. “Come on lets get you out of these cameras before the vultures eat you alive.” He gives you a crazy grin. You laugh at his comment and wrap your arm in his walking into the building.

In a very short amount of time the two of you ended up at the bar. You’re drink of choice was a vodka tonic and shinsou got a jameson and ginger. It felt like every 2 minutes someone was coming up and saying hi.

“Hey do you remember that kid over there? What’s his name? Shindou?” You remarked pointing your finger in the most nonchalant way possible.

Shinsou looked out the corner of his eye and let out a chuckle “it sure is. Didn’t you kick his ass during the licensing exam?”

“Oh easily, he’s such a prick. He thinks just cause he has vibration quirk he can get all the girls. He can’t even use it correctly.”

“What’s that’s suppose to mean?” Shinsou knitted his eyebrows together causing you to smirk as you bring your drink to your lips.

“Well the reason I kicked his ass during the licensing exam was because we kinda hooked up in an empty locker room before it started and he couldn’t find certain areas so I told him I’d have a better time doing it myself. He called me a bitch and left me there. I had to show him who the real bitch was.”

Shinsou is pretty much in tears from laughing so hard. Everyone is looking over at this point which is making you laugh. You can’t help but blush and cover your face. “Shin! stop making a scene he’ll look over here!” You couldn’t help but snicker.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around to see a young man with a head set and clip board. “Hello miss Exemplum. Are you ready to get on stage?”

“On stage? What are you talking about?”

“We were told by hawks you would be performing tonight, he said not to trouble you about it before because you get stage fright.”

You put your drink down on the counter. “Who the hell is hawks? What the hell is going on.” Your fold your arms over your chest.

The young man gently takes your hand and pulls you out of your seat “you’re so silly, Exemplum. Hawks told me you would pretend you didn’t know what I was talking about. Come on we start in fifteen minutes!”

You turn your head around to see shinsou passing you your drink with a smile “good luck, you’re gonna need this for the nerves”

You were dumbfounded. Who the fuck is hawks and how did he know you could sing? You haven’t sung in front of people since freshman year when you would do open mic nights down the street from the school. Your very closest friends would go but never this hawks. You don’t even remember that name from high school. You get back stage and down the drink throwing the whole glass in the trash. You see a man quite tall and with tinted blue sunglasses on that kinda matches his suit walking his way over to you. Keeping your best poker face waiting for him to make the first move. Finally he opens his arms with a “Exemplum”. He’s very excited to see you for a complete stranger. Never the less you give the same energy. He sways with you in his arms as if you’re his best friend he hasn’t seen in years. He turns his head into the crock of your neck and whispers “sorry to have to introduce myself like this, but it’s the only way I can give you information. You need to make a clone and have it go to office 367. In the middle filing cabinet is the papers you need.”

Pulling away looking up at hawks with wholesome eyes. “Aw dear hawks it’s so good to see you. I promise to check up with you after I perform. You’re such a ham for surprising me like this.” To most people your voice would sound honest, but hawks somehow knew it was sinister. Letting him go you walk up to the boy with the clip board. “Excuse me, how much time do I have and what song am I singing?”

“You have 5 minutes and you’re singing ‘love on the brain’ by Rihanna. You almost roll your eyes at the choice.

“Okay I’m just gonna use the ladies room before we start.” You start heading over to the bathroom

“Okay miss Exemplum ! I’ll come find you if I need too!”

Shortly you make it to the ladies room and lock yourself in a stall. You keep your eyes close and work your rusty vocal chords using the techniques that are now so foreign to you. As you do this a clone starts multiplying out of your body thanks to twice’s quirk. Your exact replica looking at you and they just nod knowing the plan. You heard a knock on the door.

“Miss Exemplum we have 2 minutes!”

“Okay I’ll be out shortly thank you!”

You look up to see an air vent and look back at your clone. You instantaneously interlock your fingers and lean down so your clone can put there foot into your hand and open the vent for them to crawl to the air duct.

“Miss Exemplum!! We have 30 seconds!”

You bust through the door and storm your way to the stage taking the microphone out of the young mans hand. “Miss Exemplum you’re all sweaty are you okay?” Completely ignoring him you walk even faster. You’re just in front of the curtain when you here the instruments playing. The lights click off and everyone on the other side is slightly shocked to what’s happening. Hearing the instrumentals on your que you start to sing.

‘And you got me like, oh

What you want from me?

(What you want from me?)’

the background singers do their part as you walk out from between the curtains and into the middle of the stage quickly but not rushed remaining elegance.

And I tried to buy your pretty heart, but the price too high

Baby you got me like, oh, mm

You love when I fall apart

(fall apart)

The overhead light finally turns on to reveal you standing there. Hearing some cheers of encouragement coming from shinsou and some other friends; you can’t help but smile.

‘So you can put me together

And throw me against the wall

Baby you got me like ah, woo, ah

Don't you stop loving me

(loving me)

Don't quit loving me

(loving me)

Just start loving me

(loving me)’

Meanwhile your clone is crawling through the duct peering out each vent. Luckily you have a shapeshift quirk allowing you to turn into a cat to be more comfortable and make less noise. After some time of crawling around you were finally able to find the room, thanking the lord for glass windows on the doors making it so you can read the numbers of each room (backwards which fucking sucked).

‘Oh, and baby I'm fist fighting with fire

Just to get close to you

Can we burn something, babe?

And I run for miles just to get a taste

Must be love on the brain

That's got me feeling this way

(feeling this way)

It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good

And I can't get enough

Must be love on the brain yeah

And it keeps cursing my name (cursing my name)

No matter what I do I’m no good with out you and I can’t get enough must be love on the brain

Baby, keep loving me

Just love me, yeah

Just love me

All you need to do is love me, yeah’

You haven’t felt this good in years. Sassing the audience like crazy,giving them all you got. You don’t know how hawks knew, but you loved this song. It reminded you of dabi and not just because it talks about fire. Touya growing up became more insecure about his quirk/ about himself in general so you made a point proving to him that he’s not the monster. he will never be the awful things that endeavor insulted him with. Useless. Worthless. Pest. Faulty. You haven’t seen endeavor since your parents funeral, but if you did you’d spit at his feet. This song not only represents your love for dabi, but your hatred for hero’s like endeavor.

‘Got me like ah-ah-ah-ow

I'm tired of being played like a violin

What do I gotta do to get in your motherfuckin' heart?

Baby like ah, woo, ah

Don't you stop loving me

(loving me)

Don't quit loving me

(loving me)

Just start loving me

(loving me)’

The clone finally finds the room and turns into a snake to get through the chicken wire like material flopping onto a counter against the wall directly below it. It was a really large office on the 8th floor. It almost contained nothing besides a back-wall-corner desk for work space, a main desk for clients and a couch. You form back into a human and get into the computer chair. The light of the screen lights up your face.

‘Oh, and babe I'm fist fighting with fire

Just to get close to you

Can we burn something, babe?

And I run for miles just to get a taste

Must be love on the brain

That's got me feeling this way

(feeling this way)

It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good

And I can't get enough

Must be love on the brain, yeah

And it keeps cursing my name

(cursing my name)’

As your mud/cell clone eyes dart all over the screen looking for any information you notice something. Tilting your head to the side looking past the the monitor to see a man in a plague mask and suit sitting on the couch staring at you . “I don’t suppose this is your office is it?” You sassed knowing the answered would be no. The man remained silent. “Well then if it’s not your office then it’s mine. I have some paper work to file so excuse me.” Why do you have the shittiest coping mechanisms for confrontation? Taking a pair of dollar store reading glasses off the desk and putting on the very tip of your nose like an old library. Beating the keys like you were writing an essay to save your life. “Do you think your fucking funny or something? You’re disgusting and disease ridden. I know all about your illness and I find it sickening.” The man with the bird mask squints his eyes closing them in on you. He practically is spitting his words in your direction. Knitting your fingers together so they interlock mimicking his face and smiling sinisterly at him. “My names Exemplum. What’s your name?” “Overhaul. Are you looking for these?” He holds the folder up with all of stain and one for all’s paperwork you came to retrieve. Making sure your face stayed in the same smile giggling softly. “You caught me,overhaul.” In one swift movement you got up on top of the desk holding your hands in the air. “Go easy on me,okay?” Leaping off the front of the desk and walking towards him. He stands up making a confused face. He didn’t think it was gonna be this easy. “You wanna see a magic trick?” You wink at the man. “ true magic or a quirk?” He ALMOST seemed intrigued. “True magic.” Using momo’s quirk you make 5 cards all of different values and houses from behind your back. You put them out in front of you facing down ward so you can only see the generic side. “Pick a card. I’ll close my eyes and put it back anywhere in the deck the same way you got it.” You shut your eyes loosely holding the cards up in front you so only he can see the values of each one. Overhaul was hesitant but he did pick. It was the 3 of clubs. He memorized it and put it at the left end of the deck,but not fully in so you could feel it. “You all set?”. He hummed in response. Eyes now open you look at all your options. making the cards faces look at the floor. You pull a card on the right side and face the card towards overhaul smirking. “This it?” You can tell he’s PISSED. “What kind of joke is this? No, you idiot. That’s not my card.” You twist the card in your fingers really fast revealing a flash drive. “I never said I was going to pick out your card. I told you to pick a card. You chose wrong.” You start dashing toward the wall/window of glass Ariel jumping into mid air 8 stories up. You twist your body mid air so you were facing him flinging his 3 of clubs at him like a kunai. It just manages to scratch his wrist and you immediately pull it back by the invisible string you flawlessly attached to it. Very excited to practice this new quirk. Overhaul can’t help but watch this unfold completely surprised by your actions. Just as you were loosing momentum and gravity found its way back to you, you close your eyes taking in the feeling of weightlessness. Only to be woken up by a big hand roughly taking yours. Your eyes look up to see blue tinted glasses with the same color suit. You’ve never been so thankful for a flying turkey in your life.

‘No matter what I do

I'm no good without you

And I can't get enough

Must be love on the brain’

Once you hit that final high note the whole building goes up in a roar and you take a bow. Knowing the clone found the files and is on the way back to the league you can actually enjoy yourself.

#reader x dabi #dabi lemon #my hero fanfic #my hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero academy oc #mha x you #mha shinsou #mha x reader #touya todoroki #buko no hero academia #hawks #overhaul #shigaraki x dabi #shinsou x oc

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thewritewolf · 5 years

Text

Marinette March Day 19 - New Look

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

The bitter struggle against the cold is a long fight for Marinette, but today the fight takes an unexpected turn.

@marinettemarch

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Another bitterly cold day, struggling to pay attention to class while fighting the world’s least energetic duel against exhaustion. When she had been offered the powers of the Ladybug miraculous, Marinette had not anticipated winter drowsiness and vulnerability to the chill to be a part of the deal, but here she was. While everyone else was taking off their jackets and hats and mittens, Marinette held herself tighter, as if ignorant of the roaring school heating system. She got a few odd glances her way. Alya would understand, but she was home sick. Even so, most of the students were content to ignore her. Most students.

A Chloe-shaped shadow fell over Marinette and she blearily looked up at the blonde bully.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she said her full name with that annoying emphasis on each syllable, as if she was enunciating some sort of ancient curse, “why are you wearing that hideous jacket? You’re making me sweat just looking at you. Get rid of that ugly thing.” She made a shooing motion, still standing over her.

Marinette could have pointed out that she was cold and wanted to not be cold, hence the jacket. She could have reminded her that this was an Agreste brand jacket - so unless she wanted to call out Adrien’s father, she might want to rethink how ‘hideous’ it was. She could have said nothing at all. Of course, none of those would have much of an impact, but it’s the thought that counts.

No, Marinette yawned and said, “Chloe, I’m really not in the mood today to do with your crap. Just go sit down and let me warm up in peace.”

There was a scattered giggling from the others which only further infuriated Chloe who had begun to tremble in rage. Sudden, she smiled too sweetly and sauntered over to her seat. Pleased that she’d talked down Chloe early today, Marinette ignored the warning signs, sighed and let her head rest on her arms. Her eyes closed, seeking just a few minutes of warm comfort before she’d have to pay attention to the start of class.

Her world shattered as an icy river of cold ran down her back, causing her to jolt back and get some of the water on her head as well.

“What the hell was that, Chloe?!” The snarled call out drew both girls’ attention to the doorway, where Adrien had just arrived. Marinette was too busy not freezing to death to get excited, whereas Chloe simply tossed her hair nonchalantly.

“This is about respect, Adrik-”

“You know what? I don’t care.” With a huff, Chloe went to her seat and Adrien slide into his. He took off his jacket turned back to look at Marinette. “Are you alright? Your coat must be soaked through.”

A terrible combination of nervousness and chill griped her. “W-w-w-well, I’ve b-b-b-b-been better…”

His eyes were filled with worry. “When Alya said you didn’t like the cold, I didn’t think it was this bad. Here.” He held his jacket out to her.

She pushed it back. “I c-c-c-can’t. You-”

“I’m going to a photoshoot after this class, going from heated car to heated building to heated home. I don’t need it nearly as much as you do.” He held it out again. “I insist.”

Normally, she might be inclined to continue this debate, but desperation was overriding politeness. She quickly shrugged off her coat and took his jacket. It turned out to be much warmer than hers was and she felt a twinge of frustration. Why were boys' clothes always warmer?

She nodded her head in thanks just before Ms. Bustier walked into the room.

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

Sure enough, Adrien left before the school day was over and since it was Friday she wouldn’t have a chance to return it until Monday.

While she was laying bundled up in layers of blankets in her bed, cuddling the Adrien-scented jacket (‘Adrien-scented’ apparently being a mix of lavender, vanilla, and the very very very faint scent of… cheese?), Tikki floated near her, taking in how her chosen had her face buried in the article of clothing.

“Enjoying yourself, Marinette?”

“Hm…? Tikki! I had an awesome idea.” She crawled out of the blanket mound. “When I give it back to him, I can use that to start a conversation with him! From there, it should be easy to ask him to the movies or something, right?”

“Well…” Tikki saw her chosen’s hope-filled eyes watching her and sighed. “It’s a good idea in theory. It is definitely at least worth trying. I know you’ll do your best!”

“Thanks! What could go wrong?”

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

“Oh my god! Tikki this is a disaster!” Marinette let herself fall face first onto her pillows, a muffled scream escaping.

“Is it?” Tikki zipped to Marinette’s side, hovering near her face. “I thought what he said was very nice. And from the way you were rubbing up against his jacket when you first got it, I thought you’d be thrilled that he let you keep it.”

Marinette cheeks were tinged pink when she looked up at Tikki. “No! I mean, yes, Adrien of all people saying I looked cute in it is the greatest thing ever, but then I just had to embarrass myself.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Tikki giggled. “It is hardly the first time you’ve garbled a sentence to him. I don’t think he minds.”

Cuddling a pillow as she laid on her side, Marinette asked in a small voice, “You think so?”

“I know so. What are you going to do now?”

Marinette ran her hands over her newly acquired jacket. “Well, if it’s mine now, then it better make it look like it. Care to give me a hand, Tikki?”

“Of course!”

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

Seated at his desk, Adrien was flipping through the last few pages of the assigned reading and fighting back a yawn. He hadn’t slept well last night and it was going to take everything in his power not to accidentally fall asleep in class. How hard could it be?

Closing his book, he glanced at the clock. Still ten minutes before class and the room was mostly empty, just the sound of Ivan’s muffled music and Nathaniel’s quick pen strokes. It probably wouldn’t hurt to rest his eyes. Just for a moment. Just long enough to help shore up his energy for the day. His head gently settled on his arms and his eyes slowly closed. Before he could fully relax, he heard the door open and heard something be placed in front of him.

The object turned out to be a hot cup of coffee from a place a couple doors down. He smiled sleepily and took a deep sip gratefully. “Thanks, Nin-” He looked up. It was not Nino. It was a figure of beauty wearing what may have once been his jacket but was now so much more. His cheek heated up when two additional observations warred for his attention.

First, the figure was Marinette, but then, who else was it going to be? Second, the cup he had just sipped from had lipstick on it and Marinette was digging through her pockets - although she stopped to stare at him just as hard as he was staring at her. He just took a swig of someone else’s coffee like some sort of creep.

Very carefully, he set the cup back on the desk, feeling the burn of embarrassment on his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “S-sorry. I’m kinda out of it today.”

Her own cheeks lit up. “D-don’t worry about it! You- you can have that one if you want.” Her eyes widened and she held out her hands. “Not that I think you’re gross or anything! I don’t mind your saliva at all! I mean-”

Adorable as it was, he mercifully cut into her rambling. “Are you sure? It’s your coffee.”

“Y-yes.” She bit her lower lip to contain a giggle. “It looks like you need it more anyway.”

“That bad, huh?” He smiled. “Well, thanks.”

She took her seat behind him as he nursed the coffee. A few minutes later, he mustered up the courage to turn around. “Hey, Marinette?” Her head shot up from her doodling. While he was curious as to why she suddenly slammed it shut, he pressed on. “I really like what you did with my jacket.”

“Oh! Thanks.”

“Could you tell me more about all the changes you made to it? Maybe over a coffee?” He shook the mostly empty cup in front of him. “I kinda owe you a cup anyway.”

“No, no I couldn-” Alya nudged her hard in the side. “I mean, yes! Yes, that sounds great! After class today?”

Adrien nodded. “It’s a date then!”

#Miraculous Ladybug #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Adrienette #chloe bourgeois #MarinetteMarch #ml fanfiction #my writing #Tikki

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