#fictober crumbs

[lovebugism]

would it be okay to ask punchy x steve babysitting the kids for an afternoon? love the trope so much!

ty for requesting anon :D i love writing for punchy and steve sm!! — steve struggles to manage a date with you while babysitting, but you take it all in stride (established relationship, fluff!, tw for mentions of minor injuries, 2.1k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

You’re a messy eater just like Eddie’s a messy eater.

You get crumbs everywhere and smear everything all over your chin. You never notice that sauce is dripping out of the backs of your burgers until mustard plops into your lap, leaving a faint yellow stain on your black ripped jeans that you’ll never quite get out. 

You’re a tornado in the kitchen, a hurricane in restaurants — leaving messes you’ll inevitably clean up before you go because you refuse to be a burden with your chaos.

But your messiness is much more poetic than Eddie’s messiness. You’re wild and ravenous, gentle and violent. You’re a purple thunderstorm made of flesh. Everything you do feels magical.

It’s why Steve doesn’t care when you get bread crumbs all over his flannel that you stole. It’s why he smiles when you get peanut butter on your chin from a too big bite of the PB&J he made you (he cut off the crust and everything).

With your cheeks puffed like a chipmunk’s, Steve reaches across the quilt you sit on and swipes the cream from your chin. He licks it off the pad of his thumb a second later.

“Ew,” you giggle as you chew through the mouthful.

Steve smiles at the heavenly sound. It almost distracts him from the racket of the bustling park and the roughhousing teenagers behind him. Almost.

“You’re so pretty,” he observes quietly with a lopsidedly fond smile on his rosy mouth. No one should be looked at so softly, especially not when they look as messy as you do now.

“You’re disgusting,” you retort, muffled through the food in your mouth until you swallow it down.

Steve’s grin widens. “I know.”

He leans in again, this time to kiss you.

His deep cologne and floral hairspray pervade the grey autumn around you. His lips are pink and softly parted, pretty enough to melt in. 

It defies every human instinct to pull away from him.

“Kids are watching, Stevie,” you remind in a gentle murmur. 

Your eyes flit past him to Max, Lucas, and Dustin. They stand together on the concrete, watching the redheaded girl flip on her skateboard. She does a cool trick — a kick and a twist that looks too easy when she does it — and they applaud her with all their obnoxious boyishness. She pretends to be annoyed, but you can tell from here that she’s blushing.

Steve loses all his softness with a deep, annoyed huff. 

He gets so lost in you that he keeps forgetting they’re even there at all — totally ruining the picnic date he’d planned for you weeks ago.

A laugh tumbles from your mouth at your grumpy boy and his subtle pout. “You invited them, you know?”

“Not by choice,” he grouses, annoyed and unkissed.

He can say that all he wants, but it was sort of by choice. He didn’t have to answer when Dustin called him right before he left to pick you up. He didn’t have to say yes when the boy begged to be picked up with the rest of his friends — ‘cause his dad was back in town and Billy was being particularly dickish to the Mayfield-Sinclair duo.

But he did. Because he can’t ever say no to them. 

It’s in his blood to defend them now. Like he’s always been destined to protect a bunch of fourteen-year-old nerds. 

Steve glances over his shoulder with an attentive squint in his honey eyes. His heart drops when he sees Dustin shakingly balancing on Max’s skateboard. 

Lucas holds his arm to keep the curly-haired boy from toppling over. The redhead stands off the side with her arms crossed, visibly unamused but not intervening either way.

“Okay, if you idiots are gonna skateboard, can you at least put on knee pads or something?” he calls to the three of them. The boys, mostly.

Lucas scoffs out a laugh. “You think we’re just walking around carrying kneepads, Steve?”

The brunette rolls his eyes with a sigh only an annoyed older sibling could muster. The disgruntled scrunch on his face ebbs when he turns to you — the cure to all his problems.

“Just ignore them,” he assures with a tightlipped smile. “Pretend they aren’t here.”

You nod, lifting your hand to push a couple of rouge strands over his forehead. The cinnamon tresses feel like silk between your fingers. You smile when the tendrils flop back into place the second your hand is gone.

“Okay,” you tell him, knowing he’ll have a much harder time ignoring them than you will.

—————

Steve’s flannel is thick and warm, smelling of deep musk and the jelly you accidentally dripped on the collar. 

You got all flustered about it — promised him you’ll handwash it later while rubbing at the stain with a napkin, spreading it and making the whole thing worse. 

You do that a lot. You should probably be used to it now.

Steve kisses you anyway. He presses a big, smacking kiss to your rambling lips — uncaring of the teenagers standing some feet away who are bound to make fun of him for being so sweet on you. He doesn’t really care. He gets made fun of anyway, and he’s far too proud to love you.

A crooked smile tugs slow at his lips when he pulls away. Something warm and light swirls in his chest at the shocked, doe-eyed look on your face.

“God, I love you,” he mutters with a soft shake of his head, like his own adoration for you is profound to him.

You didn’t think you could be loved for your chaos. Not until now, anyway.

He cradles you against his chest with his arms around your front, pressing you and all your entropy to his heart. Sat between his legs and the cool autumn air, you curl into him like a cat — wrapping your hands around the wrists he clasps in front of you.

His exhale is warm against your shoulder when he presses his lips over the flannel in a lingering kiss. 

Your face scrunches as you shrug. Not because you didn’t like it, but because the feeling made your skin feel all sparkly, and you didn’t know how else to react.

Steve knows this. He pulls away and smiles at your profile. “Is this as weird as you thought it would be?”

Being openly affectionate in front of all the kids, he doesn’t say. Being Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington’s girlfriend in front of the rest of the world.

You decided to tell his friends that you were dating at summer’s end after several months of agonizing about the whole thing. Well, the friends who didn’t know anyway, ‘cause neither of you can get anything past Eddie and Robin.

Max — whom you felt the strange need to impress most for some reason — responded with a simple and mumbled “Cool.” Steve had been the most concerned about telling Dustin, though; said the boy never does well with not being told things.

The curly-haired boy’s reply was a terribly deadpanned, “How the hell did you manage to pull that off?” at Steve.

No one particularly cared. No one treated you any different, though they made fun of Steve a whole lot more than they used to. 

“It is weird!” he’d told you that summer night after you snuck away for a smoke break. “That’s what makes it so cool!” He was right. About all of it.

You shake your head as an answer to his question. “No. Not really. They’re all super nice.”

“Yeah,” Steve scoffs. “To you.”

You smile as you turn your head, tilting your chin to look up at his stubbly profile. “Well, you’re like their older brother. They annoy you because they love you.”

“No, they annoy me ‘cause they’re annoying,” the boy grouses, then cuts himself off to shout at the kids some feet away. Lucas is gliding on Max’s skateboard now, with all the finesse of a baby deer just learning to walk. The sight irks his babysitting senses. “Hey! Be careful on that thing! You guys literally have no clue what you’re doing!”

“Speak for yourself!” Lucas shouts back, then almost loses his balance. 

Dustin laughs in response, loud and high-pitched.

Steve turns to you with a tightlipped expression and wide eyes, motioning to the kids with his palm. “See? See what I mean?”

“They love you,” you answer fondly.

“Also, I’m not their brother, alright? I’m the babysitter. That’s totally different.”

You perk up at that. 

He never liked admitting to being an unofficial babysitter. 

You don’t think he ever has before now. 

“Well, babysitters get paid,” you remind him with a scrunched nose and glittering gaze. “And you’re just watching them ‘cause you love them, so…”

Steve’s face goes flat as he thinks on your words. 

You’re right. Because you’re always right. 

The realization makes him sigh.

A gasp sounds from the distance, floating on the wind. A gutwrenching clattering noise follows quickly after — chipped wood on hard pavement. A low groan of pain comes seconds later.

You and Steve look to the side quick enough to get whiplash. Max and Dustin stand on either side of Lucas, who’s now sitting on the sidewalk and clutching his knee with his face screwed with agony. 

The brunette boy reacts immediately. “Fuck. I knew it,” he mumbles, urging you to sit up with a gentle palm to your shoulder so he can stand. He abandons the picnic he set up and rushes to the ailing boy’s side. You follow quickly behind him.

“Are you okay? Did you break anything?” Steve blurts in one breath with his hands on his hips. His eyes are wide as they dart over Lucas’ form, looking for any other injuries besides the one he cups with his hand.

“No,” the boy answers with gritted teeth. “Just fucked up my knee…”

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Lucas forgets his pain for a moment, just to give Steve a dumbfounded stare. “What? No. It’s just a scrape, dude.”

Steve nods, pleased and smirking, as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Good. ‘Cause know I get to say I told you so.”

All three kids roll their eyes at that, accompanied by a chorus of groans.

You dig into the bag hanging on your shoulder, fingers ciphering blindly through miscellaneous junk for the mini first aid kit you always keep inside. You’re the clumsiest person you’ve ever met. It’s sorta compulsory at this point.

You pull out a bandaid and crouch at Lucas’s side, dropping your purse to the pavement. “Can I see?” you ask him.

Silently, he pulls his hand away. The scrape on his knee is gnarly looking — pink and bright red — but it’s just barely bleeding. He hisses through his teeth when you spread the bandage across it, using the gentlest touch you didn’t think you could muster.

“Clean it out when you get home, ‘kay? So it won’t get infected or whatever,” you tell him as you dab at the pale-colored plaster with your fingertips. “Then put another bandage on, and you’ll be good as new.”

Lucas shoots you a small smile, shy and grateful. “Thanks, Punchy,” he mumbles as Dustin and Max help him stand again.

“No worries—”

“And everyone stay off the skateboard, alright?” Steve commands from behind you when you rise to full height again. “Don’t make Punchy clean up any more scrapes. She doesn’t even like you guys that much.”

“That’s not true,” you retort with a snorted laugh.

There’s a silence and a bright blue glare from the redhead beside Lucas.

Steve caves with a sigh. “Everyone stay off the skateboard except the girl who actually knows what she’s doing.”

Max smiles in a Max sort of way. The expression barely hints at her lips. It mostly resides in her sparkling ocean eyes.

The three of them saunter off again, totally unfazed, with the sort of resilience you only have when you’re a teenager.

“Little shits,” Steve mumbles, shaking his head.

You nudge him with your shoulder, still smiling. “Be nice.”

He tries to keep his grumpy disposition when he looks down at you. He quickly finds that it’s virtually impossible. He looks at you and he’s smiling before he even realizes it.

“You’re really good with them, you know?” he observes, fond and honeyed again.

“Well, that’s ‘cause you’re so good with them,” you retort with another nudge to his shoulder, utterly unable to take any compliment ever given to you. “I learned all my babysitting techniques from Indiana’s best, Stevie.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” he grins and leans down to kiss you.

You try to kiss him back. It’s hard when you’re smiling so wide.

[thatseventiesbitch]

Fictober 16 - "No I'm not okay"

"Okay, Mom, have a seat." Eric guided Kitty to the kitchen table, where she took a seat next to Red and Bob. The nerves were evident in his voice. All three adults looked up at Eric and Donna expectantly, unsure why they'd been gathered.

"What's going on?" Red demanded.

"Yeah," Bob chimed in. "I'm here on a commercial break from Love Boat, so I don't have much time."

As if they'd rehearsed this, Eric stepped forward with an ice cold beer, which he cracked and then handed to Red. Donna supplied Kitty with a wine glass, and then filled it nearly to the brim with red wine.

"And for you, Bob - "

Eric went to the fridge and retrieved an item in a small, pink cake box. He deposited it on the table in front of Bob with a flourish, opening the box to reveal a large, fresh peanut cake. Bob clapped his hands together gleefully, and picked up one end of the cake like he was ready to dig in.

"Hold it - " Red's voice, loud and gruff, filled the kitchen. "Bob, wait."

"Oh, I'm not someone who's patient around cake, Red." Bob chuckled, and took a gigantic bite. Bits of frosting and peanuts scattered on the table in front of him. "You know that." He spoke around the mound of food in his mouth, sending crumbs splaying messily.

"They want something, Bob," Red explained. He hadn't touched his beer, bubbling tantalizingly in front of him. "It's a bribe."

"Or they did something," Kitty agreed. She swirled the wine in her glass, watching them suspiciously, but she didn't take a sip. "And they're here to beg for forgiveness."

"Let's have it, then." Bob still seemed unfazed as he took his second large bite of the cake.

"Not asking for anything," Eric promised, kneading his hands together anxiously. "Except maybe mercy." He winced. "I'd really like to keep my ass where it is." He gestured to his parents' still-full beverage glasses. "You sure you don't want to have some of that first?"

"Get to the point," Red used a gravely, warning tone and Eric visibly gulped.

"We just - we need to tell you something," Donna stepped forward. "And it would be really, really cool if you didn't yell. Or freak out. Or - or kill Eric." Her nervous expression matched Eric's.

Red gave a twisted smile. "No promises."

Eric gulped again. "Okay, Donna, tell them!" He nudged her forward, and then braced himself behind her.

Donna swatted at him, annoyed. "Oh, I get to be the human shield?"

"You heard him!" Eric hissed. "Besides, they're not gonna hurt you. You're - " but he cut himself off hastily.

"Pregnant," Donna finished for him, softly. "I-I'm pregnant." They both glanced between their parents, anxious for their reactions.

There were a few awful beats of silence. Then -

"Oh my god!"

Kitty leapt from her chair and embraced Donna, bouncing her from side to side excitedly. Then she opened one arm to include Eric in the hug.

"A grand baby!” Kitty shrieked.

Bob seemed to be in shock. His mouth had fallen open and a chunk of cake fell, disgustingly, to the table.

“I’m gonna be a paw-paw? I-I can’t believe it. My baby’s havin’ a baby!” He stood up and joined the hug.

Only Red didn’t react.

Eric watched him nervously, finally breaking free from his mother’s well-intentioned but choking grasp.

"Let's see, are you gonna tell me how irresponsible this was?" Eric guessed. He was watching Red carefully, like he was a bull that could charge at any moment. "Say we're ruining our lives? Or - I know. 'I'm such a disappointment,'" Eric recited it sarcastically and like he had it committed to memory, but his shoulders slumped.

Red finally seemed to shake his surprise loose, and he abruptly stood up, causing Eric to take a fumbling step backwards.

But Red didn't say any of those things. Instead he stuck his arm out for a handshake. "Congratulations, Dad," he said sincerely. His eyes were smiling in a way Eric had rarely seen before as they clasped hands.

"Oh, Red." Kitty clasped her hands together and blinked back sentimental tears. Eric's expression had turned from shocked to touched.

"Gee," Bob clasped one arm around Donna's shoulders and one arm around Red's. "I guess this means we're gonna be in-laws." He chuckled. "I call hosting Christmas this year! Woo hoo." He pumped his fist. "I'm makin' margaritas!"

Red's expression soured rapidly. Kitty frowned, watching his face grow pale just like it had before he'd had his heart attack.

"Red, honey. Honey, are you okay?" She quickly guided him back to one of the kitchen chairs.

"No, I'm not okay!" He glared at Bob, and then turned his anger towards Eric. "Damn it, Eric. My foot is about to lay eggs in your ass!"

Eric clicked his tongue. "See, this is the reaction I was expecting."

[bethagain]

Am I doing Fictober? No not really. But I was suddenly itching to write something for OFMD and I needed a prompt. 

This little scene happened because the one for today was "If you don't stop now —" 

… and a friend and I had just been discussing whether that clip in the Ep. 6 preview might be Ed and Stede’s first Morning After. 

-

Stede still maintains an open-door policy for the captain’s cabin, except for one thing: He’s banished the crew from his quarters at breakfast time. 

Of course the crew all think that’s because he and Ed are waking up in the same bed and want time to get a little… swordplay… in before facing the day. Roach leaves a tray with tea and biscuits outside the captain’s door each morning at first light, and either Stede or Ed wanders into the galley a couple hours later to return the empty pot and the plate with a few stray crumbs.

Nobody listens at the door, because they don’t want to hear that. 

So they have no idea what’s actually going on in there. 

Which is, in fact, Taking it Slow. 

Stede has the bed, because he is the Captain. Ed still holds a murky role on the ship: general helper, occasional carpenter, sometimes assistant to the cook, only occasionally a menace. He’s got the couch. It’s a nice couch, comfortable, a little short but he still sleeps well. Better than he has in a long time. 

They undress together at the end of most days, when things are calm and the ship is sliding neatly through the waves, sails full of moonlight. Ed unties the laces of Stede’s shirt. Stede slides Ed’s jacket down over his shoulders. They take turns undoing trouser buttons. 

And then one of them kisses the other good-night, and they retreat to separate corners where they change into nightclothes before sliding under their blankets. 

Each morning, when the summer sun streams in through the windows, they both wake blinking. Ed sits up on the couch, stretching his arms over his head. Stede is slower to move so it’s Ed who fetches the tray and brings it to the bed, nudging Stede’s hip until he finally rolls onto his back and groans out a “Good morning.”

They balance the tray on the bedcovers between them. The one time Stede tried to pour the tea at that early hour, he missed the cup entirely and they had to change the sheets. And wash them themselves, because Jim and Wee John, on laundry duty that day, took one look at Stede and Ed with an armful of wet bedcovers and steadfastly refused to touch them. 

So Ed pours and Stede does the sugar. And with the first cup warming their hands, Stede leans against the headboard, legs still cozy under the fine embroidered quilt from a Spanish merchant ship’s cargo. Ed, wrapped in a soft robe liberated from an English navy captain, sits back against the opposite wall. 

By the time they get to the second cup, they’ve each reached for a biscuit and they’re off on discussing plans for the day, rehashing yesterday’s adventures, making up dreams for where the Revenge is headed next.

Time goes on, and the sun rises a little later each day. Ed, long accustomed to shipboard life, wakes at the usual hour anyway. When the sky’s still indigo and Stede doesn’t respond to the usual nudge, Ed rests his palm on the man’s side, fingers curving into his hipbone, and gives a gentle shake to wake him. 

As warm daybreaks turn cooler, Ed begins pulling the end of the fine embroidered quilt over his legs while they share their tea. They both stretch out chilled hands for the heat of the teapot, fingers overlapping against the smooth porcelain. “Come sit here,” Stede says one morning, turning the quilt down so Ed can climb in next to him, hip to hip, and then tucking it up around them both.

The next morning, Ed comes to Stede’s bed without the breakfast tray. He stands there a while, watching the sky begin to pale, watching Stede sleep. Stede’s curled up with his back to the room, quilt pulled up over his shoulder and messy gold curls sticking up every which way. He could use a haircut, if he’s going to keep his Gentleman Pirate thing going. They should find a barber at the next port. Maybe they can get some new clothes, too, something soft and well-made, something to make Stede happy.

Ed rests his hand in the usual spot on Stede’s hip, rough fingers wrinkling the fine quilt, but doesn’t shake him. Instead he slides his palm along Stede’s thigh, over hard muscle under the silky soft fabric. He moves his hand to Stede’s shoulder next, then wraps fingers around a bicep made strong by managing sails and learning to throw a proper punch.

Stede finally stirs, head emerging from the covers as he turns. “What are you doing?”

“Waking you up,” Ed says. His hand hovers over Stede’s chest now, over the rumpled nightshirt that’s gotten pulled sideways to show his collarbone. “Is that ok?”

Stede looks at Ed’s hand. “Yes?”

“Good morning, then.” Ed settles his palm over Stede’s heart now, feels how it’s beating quickly.

Stede’s chest rumbles with a quiet moan. “If you don’t stop now…”

Ed freezes, suddenly afraid to move. 

“...Our tea is going to get cold.”

A couple hours later, they drink their tea cold. 

It tastes wonderful.

[rhosmeinir]

Fictober 2023 #4

Prompt #4 - "Do you even know what this means?"

Fanfiction: Good Omens/The Sandman

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Pairing: Ineffable Husbands/Aziracrow

Other Notes: In which Dream pays Crowley a visit one night. 915 words!

It was a picturesque scene. In the garden of a small cottage, fragrant with fruit-tree flowers and bursting with the colors of their wilder cousins, Crowley and Aziraphale sat at a sturdy, weathered oak table; the kind of table that held as many stories as it had rings, and could bear up under as many plates of cake and dishes of pudding as one could load it with. They were laughing together, Aziraphale chucking behind his serviette so as not to spew crumbs, and Crowley guffawing at his own wit. His eyes were golden-brown and unshaded, and met the tinkling blue of Aziraphale’s without any worry that someone might interrupt them. The weather was perfect: warm and fine, with enough of a soft breeze to stir their many plants gently now and then. A ginger cat was curled up in a vacant chair at the table, but now it yawned, stretched, and leaped lightly into Crowley’s lap. He dropped his hand to stroke the cat, which made its biscuits against his leg as he watched Aziraphale select one from the plate in front of him, and sighed with content.

“Leave me alone, Dream.”

The Crowley standing outside the garden watching the pastoral events within unfold muttered darkly. Next to him, the tall, slight figure all cloaked in black, who had just silently appeared, looked at him mildly.

“This again, Crowley?”

“I said, leave. me. alone.” But Crowley was familiar enough with Morpheus’s silences to know that the Endless wouldn’t vanish just because he said so. He inhaled exasperatedly. “Yes, this again. What, are my dreams not creative enough for you? Not enough variety? Why don’t you go visit Muriel, I’m sure there’s plenty of nonsense there to entertain you.” The faintest of laugh-like sounds escaped Morpheus through his nose, and he shook his head.

“No. Muriel has no need to me tonight.”

“Oh, and I do?”

“Yes.”

Crowley turned away from Morpheus, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. His shoulders hunched of their own accord, and he bit the inside of his cheek hard. I don’t need you you stupid daydream idiot- was the beginning of the stream of profane thought that churned inside Crowley’s mind, but he kept it behind his lips. He did not want to rage. He did not want to fight. And Dream was not stupid. All he wanted was—

“What about this idea occupies you so, angel?”

Like a spooked animal, Crowley jerked around. His face impassive as ever, Morpheus was still watching the scene in the garden. The cat had gone to sleep, and another biscuit had disappeared from the plate.

“Don’t call me that,” Crowley snarled, his fists balling up inside their pockets, “I am not an angel.”

“You were when we met.”

“That was a long time ago, Dream. A lot’s happened since then.” For the first time, Morpheus turned his head to look at Crowley, and meet his eyes.

“I don’t think you ever stopped, really.”

Crowley glowered, but held his counterpart’s void-like gaze. The flickering lights within it reminded him of the stars. They stood like that for a long time, until at last Crowley asked,

“You know what happened to Aziraphale?”

It wasn’t really a question, but Morpheus nodded anyway. Crowley turned to look back at the garden, and its blissfully unaware occupants. It was shortly after Aziraphale had returned to Heaven that Morpheus had begun to appear in his dreams. Not every night, and not every dream, but despite the two beings having known each other since Morpheus had emerged in the Universe, he had never visited Crowley so often before. He was too subtle for it to be a coincidence.

“Well,” Crowley returned uncomfortably to Morpheus’s question, “when I think about what might’ve happened if he hadn’t— if it hadn’t all gone wrong— when I think about what could be, if he came back— …this is what I dream.”

Morpheus was silent again, and this time, it did provoke Crowley.

“Do you even know what this means?!” He burst out, gesturing wildly with an arm at the garden, the cottage, and the cat. The uninterrupted idyll was punctuated by another chorus of laughter from below, followed by the indistinguishable conversation of two voices. “’Course you do,” Crowley subsided, pushing his hands back into his pockets with a slump, “you’ve been around long enough.”

“I have.” Morpheus replied. “I understand.”

Crowley glanced sideways at his companion.

“Yeah, I s’pose you do.”

Silence stretched out again, as they watched the garden together. The wind stirred hair scarlet and black, birds sang, and now and then Morpheus brushed away a fuzzy bee that had become too interested in him. Neither paid any attention to the passage of time, but time did pass in the dream. The air took on a slight chill as the sun began to go down, and below in the garden a lamp was lit, bathing the table in its warmth and light. Glasses were raised, and the ting of glass on glass was unnaturally loud in the twilight. When Crowley spoke, his voice was cracked, and his question encompassed all the questions he yearned to ask, and contained all the multitudes of his joy, pain, and every defiant feeling he had ever felt in the existence he had shared with his lost angel.

“Why?”

Dream of the Endless raised one hand, and laid it on Crowley’s shoulder with the sort of firm, gentle kindness that requires no explanation, and answered.

“Love.”

[baronessblixen]

here's a prompt for you: mulder and scully watch a horror movie together and she ends up dreaming about it, which he finds funny but also really cute

Something warm and fluffy for Sunday night. Set around late season 6, early season 7. Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2021

Wc: 1099

Fictober Day 17

Always Safe in Each Other's Arms

Case solved and wrapped, Mulder and Scully find themselves with a free night on their hands in the middle of nowhere, Ohio. Their flight home isn’t until noon the next day, but neither of them is in the mood to leave their motel rooms.

“Let’s order pizza,” Scully says, yawning. It may only be 7 pm but they’ve been up since the early hours of the morning. All she wants to do is eat something fatty and unhealthy before she sleeps for the next 12 hours.

“There’s a movie marathon on. Horror movies from the 70s. What do you say?” Mulder wiggles his eyebrows at her.

She gives him a weak but happy smile. “It’s a date.”

While waiting for their food, Scully disappears to her own motel room to change into her pajamas. She knows what they’re doing is unprofessional; they’re about to fraternize in Mulder’s motel room – and they will be in their pajamas.

This, of course, isn’t the first time. They’ve done this before, several times. Who cares about rules? Not Mulder, that’s for sure. After almost seven years as his partner, she cares much less about them, too.

“Cute pajamas,” Mulder remarks as he lets her back into his room. He’s wearing flannel pants and a t-shirt that she knows is for her sake; he sleeps without a shirt.

“Food came while you were gone.” He points at the pizza and Scully’s stomach grumbles. “Let’s get comfortable. The best thing about eating in a motel room is that it doesn’t matter when you get crumbs all over the bed.”

They get comfortable in the bed, the pizza box between them. “’The Omen’ just started,” Mulder says, reaching for a slice of pizza. “Followed by ‘Jaws’, ‘Carrie’ and your favorite: ‘The Exorcist’”. He grins at her, tomato sauce sticking to the corner of his mouth. She considers wiping it away, but his tongue is quicker. She blushes at her audacity and bites into her own pizza to distract herself.

At some point during ‘Carrie’, Scully struggles to keep her eyes open. The leftover pizza has been put away over an hour ago and ever since then, she and Mulder have drawn closer together. Their thighs are touching, and her head keeps rolling against Mulder’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” she apologizes once more, sitting upright.

“No need,” he says. “Glad my shoulder is comfortable.”

“I should head off to bed, it’s late.” Scully stretches and is acutely aware of Mulder’s eyes on her when her top rides up.

“You don’t want to watch ‘The Exorcist’?” Mulder’s disappointment is obvious.

“I want to,” she says and means it. “I’m just too tired. Good night.”

She sees something in Mulder’s face; he wants to say more, maybe ask something, but either doesn’t dare or doesn’t know how. He nods, pressing his lips together; the moment has passed.

“Night, Scully.”

She doesn’t know long she’s been asleep, but she startles awake, gasping. The room is bathed in inky darkness and the images from her dream – a nightmare, really – are slow to fade. A vivid combination of an army of demon children and killer sharks, both out to hurt her – and Mulder.

“Ridiculous,” she mumbles and closes her eyes again, trying to fall back asleep. But it’s useless. The images haunt her, become worse with every passing second.

Her heart is racing as if she were running. She gets up, shivering. Her vision is blurry as she leaves her motel room to knock on Mulder’s door. She doesn’t know what time it is and she can only hope she won’t wake him.

“Scully? Come on in. Is anything the matter?”

“What time it is?” She asks. The TV is still on, showing ‘The Exorcist’. “I woke up.”

“Was the TV too loud? I can turn it down.”

“No,” she says, hugging herself. “I just- I, um.”

“You had a nightmare?” He asks and gently rubs her back.

“Sort of,” she admits, feeling silly.

“From the movies?” His eyes are huge in surprise. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Dreams are influenced by a number of variables, Mulder,” she explains.

“What did you dream about then?” He asks, teasing.

“It doesn’t matter.” He chuckles. “Okay, maybe it was the movies. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

“There’s no reason to be ashamed, Scully.”

“I know that. We face way worse every day. It doesn’t make sense. To be scared of- to have these movies invade my dreams.” She turns away from him, her arms still wrapped around herself. “I just- I didn’t want to be alone, I guess.”

“I’m right here. The bed is big enough for two.”

“We shouldn’t,” she says, glancing at the bed and back at Mulder. They never talk about it, about their ritual. Whenever one of them has nightmares on a case, they will crawl into each other’s beds, hold on tight, and share their pain. It’s never happened because of a few silly horror movies.

She shouldn’t be here. She should go back to her own room, rationalize her dreams, and go back to sleep. By herself. But then Mulder opens his arms and she’s drawn into them. Being held by Mulder calms her, his warmth seeping into her body, making her feel safe and loved.

“Who cares, Scully?” He murmurs into her hair. “And who will even know? There’s only us. I won’t judge you for being scared of horror movies.”

“I’m not,” she complains against his shoulder.

“Okay, you’re not. It’s normal, Scully. That’s all I’m saying.”

She nods, not trusting herself to speak. They make their way over to the bed, Mulder’s hand on her back. They each get on their sides and Mulder puts his arm around her, drawing her close, knowing she’s still reluctant to give in. She always is when she allows herself to seek solace in his arms.

“I can turn it off,” he says, motioning at the TV.

“Please don’t. I really like the movie.”

“Don’t want you to have nightmares again,” he says, kissing her temple softly. It’s the only affection they will allow themselves; kisses to temples, to cheeks or to the forehead. The lines at night are even more blurry, way harder to see, and they tread carefully.

Snuggling doesn’t count, Scully assures herself, as she puts her head on Mulder’s chest – because they won’t mention it. His heartbeat is strong but slow, placid. His body is warm, comfortable and she lets herself relax.

“Won’t have nightmares,” she mumbles, already half asleep. She knows she won’t have bad dreams, not while she’s in Mulder’s arms.

[scullysexual]

31 Days of Fictober (5/31)

autumn prompts | emily au | second person scully pov | g | wc; 785 | ao3 | fictober day 5 |

@today-in-fic @xffictober2021

I changed my posting time otherwise there'd be too many scheduled posts.

Pumpkin Cookies.

“I made pumpkin cookies! Want to try one?”

The smell of pumpkin spice floods your nose pleasantly as you enter your apartment. It’s clear someone has been baking; the room that bit too warm, the comforting smell that wafts about the air reminding you of your childhood stuck on new bases but the familiar smell of your mother baking something in the oven always present no matter where you went. Years later and it still has the same affect of producing a warmth in your belly and making you feel at home.

“Mommy!”

A small, strawberry blonde head runs around the wall partition towards you.

Dressed in an apron too big she almost trips over it on her way over to you, there’s a speck of orange powder on her nose and is that flour in her hair? You shake your head, regardless though, Emily is positively radiant right now; happy and smiley in ways you’ve never seen before.

“I made cookies!” the little girl cries, sounding proud.

“I think you’ll find I made them, Em.” Mulder rounds the corner, looking to be in a similar state as Emily- flour in hair and all. You dread to think of what state your kitchen is in after these two have been let loose in it.

Emily rolls her eyes at Mulder’s correction.

“Yeah, but I put the chocolate chips on them,” she proclaims as if that’s the hardest part and she should be made Head Baker for it. You find yourself laughing at the exchange.

“That you did, Em,” says Mulder with a smile that makes your stomach tingle.

“Do you want to try one?” Emily tugs on your hand, pulling you towards the kitchen. You allow yourself to be led by the child, Mulder following behind you both.

Despite the appearance of your bakers, your kitchen has been cleaned up well; pans and bowls washed and drying on the drainer, surfaces wiped clean. You had no complaints. The cookies, themselves, sit piled on a plate in a very photo-esque kind of way, surprisingly untouched by small hands about.

“Mulder says you can have the first one,” Emily tells you.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile to Mulder and reach for one. As you take a bite Emily adds with a mischievous grin.

“That way if they taste bad we’ll know without having to try them first.”

Mulder gently, with very little rebuttal, pats her arm.

“Emily!” he says with fake admonishment. “You weren’t supposed to tell Mommy that.”

The cookies aren’t bad at all, the perfect mix of crisp and soft. While you’re not the biggest fan of pumpkin-flavoured foods you nibble on the cookie pleasantly.

“She likes it,” Emi says impatiently. “Can I have one now?” she asks Mulder.

“Go on,” he encourages.

She reaches up and grabs the whole plate, scampering off because anyone can stop her.

You’re about to yell to her but Mulder beats you to it.

“Not all of them!”

You close your mouth and he looks at you in shock, almost like he’s just remembered you’re here.

“I’m sorry,” he apologies. “She’s your daughter, I shouldn’t…”

“It’s okay,” you say. She’s yours, too, you want to add but that would be too forward and not to mention inappropriate.

He reaches a hand towards you, brushing something off your face. The contact makes your cheeks warm.

“You had a…a crumb,” he says awkwardly.

As reflex you quickly wipe your hand over your face.

“I should probably go,” he says and you note your disappointment. “You only wanted me to watch Em while you were out and you’re back now so…”

You’re about to nod when a little voice calls from the living room.

“Mulder, sit next to me! The movie is about to start.”

Mulder looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.

“Mulder needs to go home now, sweetie,” you say.

Emily looks at the clock as if she can read it.

“No he doesn’t. And don’t say he needs to feed his fish because he did it this morning- I asked.”

Mulder laughs and you can’t help yourself either, your little excuse being found out.

“Do you mind?” you ask.

Mulder shrugs and makes his way to the couch where Emily sits. She lights up when she sees him and moves along to make space for him.

“Mommy, you too,” she instructs, patting the other empty space beside her.

You sit down, watching with your heart full of love at the way Emily snuggles into Mulder’s arm.

“You should move your fish into here, Mulder,” she suggests.

“Then I’ll be lonely,” he counters.

After a time of time passes, Emily ends her argument with a final statement.

“Then you should move in here, too.”

[storyknitter]

Fictober ‘21, Day 4

Prompt number: 4. “Fine, I give up.”

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic

Rating: General

Warnings/Tags: none

—

Odessen, some three-ish years in the future

“Commander, if you can spare a minute after lunch, I could use some assistance in the landing bays.” Hylo Visz’s voice crackled in Sanna’s earpiece and—from the sound of it—the smuggler was annoyed at someone.

(If pressed, Sanna’s credits would be on Gault. He was generally the ‘someone’ who annoyed Odessen’s head of Underworld Logistics.)

“Of course, Hylo. I’ll be there as soon as Reesie finishes her crackers.”

At that, the child in question whipped her head around and shouted, “All done, Mama! I go too!”

“You don’t have to shout, kiddo,” Theron said from the kitchenette, a smile fighting to appear at the corners of his mouth. “We’re right here.”

“All done, Mama,” she repeated in a theatrical whisper. “I go too.”

“Okay, sweetness, you can go too.”

Theron let the grin take over his features and tidied up their table as Vassanna attempted to corral the massive amount of nexu-shaped cracker crumbs covering their daughter and her chair; she’d never been more relieved to see Seetoo approach and offer to assist. How did one little person make such a mess?

—

Amareesa’s giggle as Theron carried her over his shoulder preceded the trio as they entered the landing bay; only years of training kept Sanna from screeching to a halt. As they slowed, Reesie wriggled around to see what was going on, and—as transfixed by the sight before them as Sanna was—Theron set her down.

Hylo was swearing up a storm at Gault, who didn’t appear at all fazed. Behind the pair were three cages, filled with two to three small akk dogs each. The tiniest one—clearly still a baby—had somehow escaped and was huddled, trembling, behind Gault.

“Look, Hy,” he said smoothly, “someone had to rescue these poor little puppies before something bad happened to them; Mos Eisley’s a dangerous place! And they were a steal.”

Before Hylo could continue her rant about being irresponsible and reckless, a small squeal of delight echoed throughout the bay and Amareesa ran at full tilt toward the animals. The loose akk dog’s head snapped to the little girl charging toward him.

The Force swirled raucously around the landing bay, humming with excitement and... joy? The happiness, the contentment Vassanna sensed notched into place between her daughter and the tiny akk dog. It no longer cowered in fear but ran with love and affection toward Reesie.

Oh no.

Theron made to protect her, keep her from being harmed by the dog, but Sanna grabbed his arm with a sigh. “We have an akk dog for a pet now,” she murmured.

“What?” Theron asked sharply, still tensed and gaze focused firmly on Reesie, who was currently giggling as the pup in her arms licked her nose.

“Well, unless we want to literally break our daughter’s heart,” she said, turning to face Theron, “we have a dog now.”

“Sanna, we already told her we weren’t getting her a pet. We’re not getting a pet.”

She shrugged helplessly. “The Force works in mysterious ways, love.”

Theron’s face registered confusion, understanding, shock, and finally, resolve.

“No,” he said, frowning. “The Force isn’t allowed to just ... swoop in and edit our parenting decisions.” The frown shifted to surprise. “Wait. Did she do something with the Force to make this happen?”

“I have no idea.”

“So you’re telling me that in the instant those two saw each other, they became Force-bonded? Like us?”

“Well, no,” she said, shaking her head. “Not exactly, not like you and I, but—”

The little girl in question ran back to her parents, the blue-grey akk dog prancing and hopping along behind her. “Mama, Daddy, look!” was all she could get out between giggles. She looked up at them with a grin brighter than Tattooine’s suns.

“Fine. I give up,” Theron said with a sigh, though Sanna could have sworn she also heard him mutter something about “stupid Force bullshit” under his breath.

[rabbits-of-habit]

Ooo more Havoc Picks for the characters u couldn't fit in the last post?

HERE WE GO I THINK WE LEFT OFF WITH KEVIN. -Mod Havoc

Kevin: I dont write much for this boy but god do I have some ideas. Anyway here is some obs and Kev hcs.

Patrick: Man I wish people would send in asks for mla0.. Here are some patrick general hcs.

Michael: More general hcs for this boy as well. These have NSFW content be warned.

Jeff (the killer variety): I do write for creepypasta. Just not much since I do not get many requests for it.

Toby (of the creepypasta): I really need to make a post about what I write for and everything one of these days. ANONS REMIND ME.

EMH/T12 monster au: ALL OF IT IM PROUD OF ALL OF IT HERES THE MASTERLIST PAGE. SEND ME ASKS ABOUT IT I STILL COULD TALK MY HEAD OFF ABOUT IT.

Misc SV: I have a lot of these that I like but for now I will give one only. OOPS ITS ANGST.

Havoc blurbs: ALL OF EM.

[pheita]

Love Emergency

So I wrote a little thing with the fictober and oc-tober prompts again. I went with Fictober prompt 7 and OC-tober prompt 20 @oc-growth-and-development @kainablue @writingamongther0ses @contes-de-rheio (you folks wanted to be tagged in everything) Astrid might become the next protagonist in this new WIP idea.

When Astrid was warned via Whatsapp that Charlie was on her way, she didn't expect to find her goddaughter standing in front of her with a red face and tears in her eyes. "Shit, sweetie, what's wrong?" she asked while internally she already craned Kathrin's neck for not warning her about this. "Love sucks," Charlie muttered, storming past her into the living room. Confused, Astrid blinked and then followed Charlie. Actually, it was predictable that something like this would happen soon, but not necessarily that it lasted only a few weeks. A detour to the kitchen later, she had placed chocolate chip cookies, cappuccino and a Coke on the living room table. Charlie immediately reached for the cookies and munched on them like a little rabbit. Inevitably, Astrid had to laugh. "So, little one, shoot. Who do I have to torture and why?" "Kevin." "And why?" Astrid fumbled for the box of tissues. "He said I was boring and he doesn't want a boring girlfriend, he's too young for that," Charlie explained at a speed that made it hard for Astrid to follow. "You're fucking 15." At that moment, she didn't care that Kathrin wanted her not to swear in front of Charlie. That being said, Charlie probably knew worse words by now. "Told him so." At least Charlie chuckled a little again. "And what did your mother think?" The way Charlie snorted said a lot. Astrid loved Kathrin like a sister, after all, but sometimes she had the sensitivity of a wrecking ball. "She told me not to make such a fuss. There are plenty of other boys." "It could have gone better." "My mom's so lost, you can't fix it." Charlie threw her hands in the air, scattering cookie crumbs as if she were the cookie monster himself. On the other hand, she'd been doing this since she was a toddler and Astrid had given up getting upset about it.

"You know what?" asked Astrid, leaning forward conspiratorially. "What?" "You're on summer vacation, aren't you?" "Yes...." Skeptically, Charlie looked at her. "You go get some clothes, I'll go shopping, and you stay here for a few days. What do you think?" "Are you sure?" "Do I look like I'm kidding, too?" "You never know, with you." The eye roll further supported Charlie's statement. Astrid just grinned. "Not with something like this. So, pizza? Sushi? Snack food? Ice cream?" If there was one thing Astrid knew, it was that Charlie was her mother's daughter after all and would go for it. "You forgot chocolate." "That's standard equipment in love emergencies," Astrid laughed off, "I'll write your mom a note. And then you can vent all you want about Kevin." "Promise?" Quickly, Astrid made a cross over her heart. "I promise." Charlie threw herself around her neck. "Thank you." "That's what I'm here for, isn't it?" "And for good food." "Sometimes I feel like you're a little food monster." "I'm still growing," Charlie tried to grin. However, it seemed more like a grimace through her blubbery face. Astrid took her in her arms and hugged her to her. "Alright, you monster in growth, go get some clothes, and I'll go shopping. If you think of anything..." "... Then I'll write to you. As always." Charlie broke away from her and sniffled once hard before disappearing into the bathroom. Astrid watched her for a moment and then pulled out her mobile phone. First, she would write Kathrin and explain that she could have been more compassionate, and then she would find out who this Kevin was. No one hurt her goddaughter in his stupid way without being strictly vetted, and who knew if there might be a way to give Charlie some information so she could counter the boy more confidently the next time they met. She ignored the little feeling that knocked in Astrid's mind, demanding entrance. It was a bit over the top to take revenge on a teenager for such nonsense, even if it was tempting. But first Charlie was more important, and above all enough shopping so that this small human version of a grasshopper got full. Astrid sighed a little wistfully when she thought that at Charlie's age, she could eat so much without gaining weight.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Fictober 21 - 4 “Fine I give up”

Fanfiction

Fandom: Mass Effect (Actor AU)

Summary: Yep. They fucked - so much for his self control, huh? Now Macen has to deal with the fallout, and more importantly, his feelings. Maybe it wasn’t just sex after all. Did he mention he was bad at ad-lib?

(Don’t worry folks, the confession will come another day... I’m tired, lol.)

---

…

You know that part where he said he was going to break things off? Yeah… the opposite of that had happened.

Macen was careful to sit up as he glanced across the darkened room. Next to him, fast asleep and burrowed under the covers, was his costar. Alex’s face was peaceful as he wandered through his dreams, like he hadn’t just fucked the turian within an inch of his life. Baby faces were damn deceptive that way, and he was proving to be a fine example.

His body was sore in that way he enjoyed oh so much as he slid out of bed, distributing his weight so he didn’t wake the human up. Naked as the day he was born, he padded to Alex’s shower and got in. Human showers were always too damn cold for him, but it didn’t matter as he let the water pour down his carapace as he stood there, standing at the drain.

“You said you weren’t going to do it again…”

And that promise had crumbled like a sandcastle on the beach the moment Alex had looked at him with that expression. After that, it was a blur of tossed clothing, roving hands, and tongues that were still learning how to play nicely with each other. Part of him was glad he had clipped his talons the day before… but that was like admitting defeat in itself.

Fuck… he had fucked up.

He sighed as he rested his head against the shower wall, praying for the freezing water to snap some sense into him. Macen knew he should leave the moment he was dry and had found his pants, but a large part of him just wanted to go back to bed. They had to be on set early tomorrow. He’d be wasting valuable sleep time if he went back to his place. Besides, Alex was closer…

And they’d risk showing up together.

“No, you’re going home after this. It’ll just mean more coffee tomorrow.”

Yet his voice wavered as he washed the soap disappear down the drain. Even then, he was doubting himself. Right then, it felt like he was fighting a war against an unholy combination of his sex drive and… well he didn’t want to mention the other organ. It shouldn’t have had a say in this in all. Really, if anything, his situation was his brain’s fault. Damn thing had gotten used to the human…

Yeah… he had totally meant his brain.

“Alright, get in there and say goodbye.”

The water shut off and Macen dried off in silence. Still naked, he padded back to the bed. Unsurprisingly, Alex was still fast asleep, hugging a bit of the blanket as he dreamed. He looked so peaceful, that it almost seemed cruel to wake him up.

But… he couldn’t just go without saying anything. They had moved past the fuck and leave point months ago.

“Shit…” Macen’s expletive hissed out from between his teeth as he looked around for his pants. At least those he could find – halfway across the room. What could he say, Alex was an enthusiastic partner. Add in the training, and he had reach. No wonder people kept trying to get him to sign up for friendly biotiball matches. “Just… get them and say goodbye.”

Yet when he reached down, he could see the human’s face better. Something about how soft and quiet he looked did terrible things to his stomach, and his pants dropped to the floor with a soft thump. Unfortunately for him, his belt buckle hit first – the metal clang rang out like a shotgun blast.

Shit…

“Mmm…” Alex rolled onto his stomach and burrowed under the blanket. “S’cold… come back to bed, Macen.”

Now, at the moment the turian was definitely not in a sub headspace. If he had been, that could have explained his compulsion to stay. Yet, there was nothing like that in the moment. Something else was leading him back to the bed he had been trying so hard to avoid. It was a powerful urge, and he had no ability to resist.

“I’m coming…” He slid back in, pulling the cover back over his naked body. As soon as he had settled back in, Alex’s arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him close. He could feel the human’s heart on his back, and it made his beat faster as his mouth went dry. “Alex?”

“Too cold…” Then there was a sleepy yawn as he nuzzled into his back. “Night…”

Macen’s stomach bubbled as he felt himself leaning into the touch. Logic was screaming at him to do anything, but he was ignoring it then. Instead, he felt his eyes slowly close as the warmth of Alex’s body and his off-beat heart lured him back to sleep. In the morning he would regret this, but at the moment he didn’t care. Right then, there was just the bed and the warm embrace of the man he had come to…

He could deal with that thought later. Much later.

---

“They totally came to the set together.”

“Do you think those rumors were true after all?”

Nothing like crew rumors to make Macen regret being born.

It was finally time for some food after a long morning of filming. Just like he had feared, he and Alex had wound up heading to work together. To say people were talking was putting it mildly. He wouldn’t be surprised if it had already wound up on social media, though he had no ability to check. After the last two disasters he called relationships, he had gotten rid of the entire thing.

Honestly, he didn’t miss the memes. Plus, it gave him a mysterious edge. It was good PR.

Still, his carapace itched as he shot the two humans a glare as he passed. He still had enough bad boy reputation that they scattered like ants, but it didn’t do much more than soothe his prickled ego. In that moment, he had probably confirmed everything they had been whispering about.

What… no one had ever claimed he was smart.

“Fuck…” Macen sighed as he found a quiet place to settle in and eat. Doing so with the mandible implants was a little difficult, but he had figured it out with trial and error. It was good he had too – makeup had been getting annoyed with him. Now at least he was back in their good graces, which was what anyone should want in his line of work.

“Yeah, I’d be saying that too if I was you.”

A shadow had fallen over the turian, and he didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. There were only two people on set who went around in all black armor on the regular, and one of them definitely didn’t set him in shade like that. Just the sound of her voice made his stomach drop.

Talk about going from the frying pan to the fire…

Beau took a seat nearby, her eyes laser focused on him. It made it hard for Macen to swallow his lunch, but he did his best. Honestly, it wasn’t the best idea – it felt like he was swallowing concrete. At least it didn’t actually get stuck, but maybe that death would’ve been preferable to whatever she had planned for him. He’d had a good life… mostly…

“Afternoon, Beau…” Even he knew that was a faulty opening, but Macen had committed to the bit. “Can I help you?”

Another glance as she sipped from a can of soda. “Just wondering when you’re going to ask Alex out and get it over with. You two have been dancing around this for way too long.”

Macen was glad he hadn’t been eating at that point – if he had, he would’ve sprayed levo crumbs everywhere, and as far as he knew she was allergic. Instead, he just choked on his own spit and wound up coughing. To say it wasn’t his finest moment was putting it mildly at best, but at the moment it was all he could do.

At least she had enough heart to thump him on the carapace a few times. It wasn’t going to do anything – he wasn’t human – but it was the thought that counted.

“Don’t die on me, Virius. Garrus was a nightmare to find someone for, or at least that’s what I heard.”

He coughed a few more times, eyes watering. Words were hard, but doable. “I’m not… we’re not…”

Yet there was the feelings in his stomach squirming about in the mere mention of the man he more often than not found himself in bed with. He was adult enough to admit they had moved past simple sex, but… this was something else entirely.

And it was a dark, nasty road, one he knew way too well to be comfortable with anymore.

“I see the way you look at each other. Besides, you’re over each other’s places so much you might as well just fucking move in.” When he gaped, Beau added, “We text each other. I can tell when he’s getting laid, his messages stop and then he’s all relaxed after.”

Damn Alex for being so obvious in his tells…

Macen managed to straighten up, but his heart was still pounding. “It’s… complicated, ok?”

“Because you’re making it that way. You were an ass, get over it and get with it before you regret it.” Beau took another sip from her can. “Unless you’re still thinking this is just a sex thing.”

No… even he knew that one. And even thinking of that made him sigh as he hung his head. It was impossible to ignore the feelings that had been plaguing him for quite some time. To admit it was, in a way, admitting defeat in a war against himself. It was one he had tried to win for so long, yet he was seeing the last of his defenses crumble with every touch, every smile, every time Alex so much as looked at him.

He may have been a turian… but he knew he was beaten.

“Alright, fine … I give up.” His mandibles twitched. “I like the guy, ok?”

Part of him had expected the words to taste bitter on his tongue. Defeat was supposed to be something like that, and yet it was the complete opposite. Macen was surprised to find he felt lighter with just a few words. Of course, that didn’t last long – as soon as there was room, worry filled the place denial had once been.

He never got a fucking moment’s rest.

Beau shook her head as she put her can down. “I hope your delivery’s better when you tell him, Virius. How the hell did you get an award for acting?”

“I never said I was good at ad lib.” Despite everything, he snorted. It was a little bitter and self-depreciating, but it was still a laugh. “That’s going to take more work. I have no idea what to say to him.”

Something about this made him feel like a stupid teenager again, crushing on the cute boy in his class before either of them wound up in basic. He was far too old for something like this, and yet the feelings were so familiar he couldn’t deny it. Despite how hard he had tried, he had damn well caught feelings for Alex.

Well… at least his taste had improved. The guy in his math class had turned out to be a real dickhead.

“That I can’t help you with, Virius.” Beau stood, once again enveloping him in shadow. “But, lucky for you he’s coming this way. Time to work on those ad-lib skills.”

In that moment, Macen could have sworn she smirked as she left him behind to go fuck with someone else’s day. Even worse, she was right – he could see Alex in the distance and judging by the speed he had been spotted by the human and was now being targeted.

Shit… he hadn’t been kidding. He had always been terrible at ad-lib. But… there was no way out of this except through it. All he could do was brace himself for impact and hope he didn’t get tossed like a biotiball during a champion match.

For all he knew, Alex was capable of that now. Wouldn’t that be a way to go… death by being yeet’d by his crush into a wall. Well, there were worse ways he supposed…

Fuck, he so wasn’t ready for this. Fuck…

[g-l-o-w-y-l-i-g-h-t-s]

Fictober Day 3 “You did this?”

art by @aoifehorse​

“You did this?” said a girl sitting behind me. Olive. I’d seen her before. She lived across the street. I had seen her sitting out on her porch at night and making kissy noises and clicking sounds at these raccoons and throwing little crumbs or seeds or something at them.  She was quiet but the few times she spoke up in class, it was usually to make an absolutely devastating joke at the teacher’s expense, or else just to correct something they’d said that wasn’t true. 

“I was just doodling.” I said, shrugging. I tried to keep myself from looking at her face. I didn’t even know why I had done the drawing. It was a picture of girls kissing. I shouldn’t have brought my sketchbook to school. I shouldn’t have drawn such weird pictures in the first place. I probably seemed like some kind of creep. 

“This is amazing!” I’d had a dream once where she’d been about to kill me and I woke up just before I died. I guess I should call it a nightmare, not a dream, but it was only scary once I’d woken up. In the actual dream, i’d been calm, like we were just actors playing characters: murderer and murderee. 

It was like I was on a rollercoaster and I’d just been flipped upside down, or maybe rightside up. “Huh?” I couldn’t stop myself from looking up with her, just to see if she was fucking with me. She had long, pale arms and she was moving them around as she talked, too fast for me to keep up with. She didn’t look like she was joking. She looked serious, even half sad, somehow. I decided that she was probably just weird enough to actually like my drawing. 

“I’ve already said, I was just doodling.” I repeated. 

“If these are your doodles I’d love to see your art!” said Olive. 

“You know, I don’t really show people my sketches.” I said, tapping my fingers on the closed sketchbook and watching her in case she made a grab for it. I could dart out ahead of her and she’d just grab my arm instead. 

She didn’t grab. She looked a little regretful and turned away. Her ears were small and pink at the tips. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.” She said. 

“I guess I should say I’m sorry too.” I said. It came out maybe more snippy than I meant it. I just didn’t like her guilt tripping me. I didn’t want to sink to her level, though. I snapped my jaw closed. My mouth tasted sour. 

“For what?” She asked, frowning. 

I ground my teeth together. She had me trapped. She’d said her thing, her stupid apology in full. I owed her. “For being, I dunno...frigid.” I said. The word felt like a lump, coming up from my stomach and into my throat and then bumping around in my mouth, before I spit it out like a cat hacking up a hairball. I couldn’t think of anything to replace it with, though. 

“You’re not being anything. I asked and you answered.” she said it less like we were arguing and more like I was one of the racoons she liked to feed. 

I opened my mouth and closed it. What was I supposed to say to someone who treated me like a pet raccoon? Who even had pet raccoons?

[onthesandsofdreams]

Coming Together

Fandom: Pushing Daisies Pairing: Ned the Pie Maker x Olive Snook Rating: T Summary: Ned the pie maker, rushes out Olive’s apartment when jealousy hits him again and reminds him of the times when Olive used to look at him the same way she does Randy now. Words: 1225 Notes: Written for fictober-event, prompt #29. “back up!” 

Read @ AO3

It’s been seven days, ten hours, fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds since The Darling Mermaids Darlings have left for their world tour, taking Alive Again Avenger Charlotte Charles with them. And Ned the pie maker was feeling lonely.

He had let Charlotte go, out of his love for her and her promise to return. But now, as he baked another strawberry and rhubarb crumb pie, he felt the loneliness set in. Emerson Cod was spending time with his daughter, putting a small pause to their investigations and Olive Snook had opened her restaurant and was dating Randy Mann. And he was alone. His only comfort was Digby, but even then, it was a cold comfort he couldn’t touch.

So, he just kept busy with his pies and tried to be happy for his friends and not miss Charlotte too much.

It was on the tenth day, that he walked into the Intrepid Cow and sat on a boot. Olive spotted him almost immediately, “Jimminy Cricket, Ned. I’m glad you’re here,” she said as she slid opposite him, her smile ever present and it was like a balm to his soul. “What’s cooking, good looking?”

Ned gave her a small smile, “Just here to support your cooking endeavors.”

Olive’s smile grew at him. “Have you seen anything you like? I’ll bring it out for you, on the house. For the support.”

Ned had not paid attention to the menu, so he said, “Why don’t you surprise me, as long as it doesn’t have meat, I’ll be fine.”

Olive nodded and slid out the boot, “I have just the thing.” She said and hurried back to the kitchen, Ned watched her leave with some sort of reluctance. He missed her presence at the Pie Hole, he’d never realized how much he had grown to count on her being there. Thing he had realized the moment she no longer was. Or how much he actually missed her outside of it. Most of her time she was busy with The Intrepid Cow and Randy Mann. And Ned felt the rush of jealousy again.

It didn’t take long for her to place a bubbling plate in front of Ned. “Three cheese and cauliflower sauce, with vegetarian bacon bits – breathe Ned, they’re soy, and spinach. Enjoy!”

And Ned did, they sat together at the boot while Ned ate his food and talked. Another spike of longing shot through him and he did his best to crush it. He loved Charlotte and Olive was with Randy. But he took some comfort and reminded himself that he wasn’t entirely alone. His friends where there, they were simply busy with their lives.

Ned managed it until he was back in his apartment and missed the presence of Charlotte Charles more keenly. He went to sleep early. That night, he dreamt of Charlotte saying goodbye with sad, sorrowful eyes.

Ned throws himself at his work and pretends to be fine. He speaks with Charlotte every so often, visits Olive at her place from time to time, to remind himself that he’s fine. Problem is, Randy is always there. And for the first time, he wishes that Randy wasn’t.

Ned the pie maker, rushes out Olive’s apartment when jealousy hits him again, and reminds him of the times when Olive used to look at him the same way she does Randy now.

Life continues like that for a month.

The facts are these, it’s only after a month that Emerson Cod goes back to work, and thus, so do Ned and Olive. Emerson takes one look at him and knows. It’s like he stared at Ned’s soul and discerned the mysteries that escape even him. “Do not,” he says with surprising sternness. “Try anything with Itty bitty unless you mean it.”

Ned, gapes and is thoroughly offended. “I wouldn’t!”

“See that you don’t.”

They solve three murders that month.

It’s been four months, seven days, nine hours and six seconds since her departure, when Charlotte Charles apologizes, tells him to move on, she’s fallen in love with travel and now, that’s all she wants to do. Specially now, that she has the chance and doesn’t want him to be waiting for her, she wishes him happiness and love. Ned is numb, but wishes her the same.

Ned spends the next three days in a daze.

Another month passes and Olive and Randy’s relationship crumbles. He wants to be on the road again, she, has found a home and family here in Coeur d’ Coeurs. They part with surprising friendliness. Emerson, Olive and Ned, solve two cases the following weeks.

Randy Mann has been gone a three weeks, one day, four hours and forty seconds when Ned decided to tell Olive the truth. Which means, that he shows at her apartment with two rotten strawberries. He lifts one in his hands and Olive watches, jaw slowly dropping as the strawberry returns to its peak. “I can wake the dead?” He offers with an apologetic smile.

Olive Snook’s mind freezes, whirls into many, many different directions and then shouts, “Oh my God! Charlotte did die, didn’t she?” She gives him a look that dares him to lie to her. “That’s why she always hid from Lillian and Vivian! She told me and I didn’t believe her!”

“I’m sorry?”

Olive drops gracelessly onto her sofa. “Back up. Back the heck out, you mean to tell me that you can bring things back to life or just fruit and people?”

“Pretty much everything,” Ned pauses. “Digby. A touch brings them to life, another kills them forever.” He touches the strawberry and it rots in front of her eyes. “Sorry?”

“Digby too?!” Olive stares at Ned as if he’d grown a second head. Her mind is spinning. “You know what,” she manages to say. “I’m going to pretend that it’s fine. And maybe one day, it will.”

The facts are these, Ned leaves her alone for three days. And those days feel the longest since Charlotte left. There’s a fear that he might just lost Olive, and he’s not quite sure if he’ll handle that one well. Emerson rolls his eyes when told that Olive knows, and once again, reminds him not to hurt her. They solve a case together, Olive doesn’t join them and he feels fear creep up his spine.

Two weeks, a day, two hours and thirty seconds after the Pie maker’s confession, Olive Snook forgives him. “Just please,” she says, voice sweet as honey. “No more life altering secrets.”

Ned smiles as relief washes over him like a tidal wave, his own smile is shaky. “No more, I promise.”

The radiant look that Olive gives him, is worth it.

The facts are these, after their reconciliation, they make a return to form and solve four cases that month. The smile that Olive gives him each time they do, makes him feel better about the world.

It’s been eight months, four days, thirteen hours and fifty seconds since Alive Again Avenger Charlotte Charles left Coeur d’ Coeurs, and Ned the Pie Maker and Olive Snook sit on a boot where it all began, the Pie Hole, sharing a slice of peach pie a la mode and holding hands atop the table.

And for the first time since Chuck left, Ned feels that things are like they should be.

[jolinar]

A Very Star Wars Fictober (in April!) Day 22

Prompt number: #22 "and neither should you"

Fandom: Star Wars

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings/Tags: Paige Tico death mention, angst, Rose and Poe are friends

Word Count: 1338

Summary: Rose and Poe try to come to terms with their shared trauma. They also enjoy some delicious cookies.

(Yes, I’m still fighting to the finish, just a few more prompts to go. I actually posted this one a bit ago, but never cross-posted to tumblr)

Read it on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26763721/chapters/75719579

Rose ran into the domed atrium, a heavy pack swinging across her back. She ran straight into the railing and peered down at the ground floor some 40 feet below. Standing smack in the middle of an ornate mosaic floor depicting flowers in spring was Poe, waving up at her, a small wrapped package in his hand. Rose grinned and waved back. Then she pushed back from the railing and began winding her way along the round corridor and finally down the first set of stairs.

All around her, servitors, proxies, and courtiers stepped carefully out of her way as she bounded down the steps. Each carried a slight curl of the lip at her impudence, but Rose just laughed. She found the prim outlook of the Naboo staff more amusing than anything. Let them think whatever they wanted of her. She had seen too much to care.

Poe met her halfway down the bottom grand staircase and held out the box with a flourish.

“Otomok sunflower cookies, as requested, compliments of the Resistance's official pastry chef," he said. Then he grimaced, as though remembering something. "Or the Re-Founded Republic's pastry chef, I guess I should say. Still haven't gotten used to all the names."

Rose nodded, still listening but focused on the box in her hands. She carefully lifted the lid and drew out one of the twelve circular cookies nestled there. It looked just like she had envisioned...so many memories wrapped up in a tiny cookie. She turned it over in her hand, studying the ridges. It was perfect. Just like home.

“You’re doing okay, right?" Poe asked. He leaned back against the staircase railing, affecting nonchalance, but studying her face closely. "I know it’s a...day, today.”

Rose’s hand slipped and she almost dropped the cookie. She hadn't expected him to remember. She recovered quickly and beamed up at him. “I’m fine. Better than fine, now that I have these. How are you doing, Poe? Or should I say," she paused, mischief creeping into her voice, " Senator Dameron ?”

Poe barked out a laugh and self-consciously smoothed his impeccable hair. “Yeah, I guess. And I’m fine, too, you’re sweet to ask, I just…”

“What?” She broke the cookie in half and held part of it out to him. He accepted it with a grateful little nod.

“I hope I can do the job, you know? I’ve led Black Squadron, sure, but this?”

“Don’t forget, you're also a General.”

Poe shrugged self-deprecating and replied, “I think everybody became a General during the last parts of the War."

“I wasn't," Rose pointed out.

“What, seriously?" Poe exclaimed. "Well, we’ll make you one now. My first act as Senator will be to name you General Tico. You want me to bow? I can definitely bow - hold on..." Poe popped the rest of the cookie into his mouth and flicked the crumbs from his fingers. He swept into a formal bow. "How about it, General"

He grinned up at her and she shook her head, giggling a little. “No, no, stop, stop ! I could never keep a straight face if people talked to me like that. Anyway, you earned it. The promotions and...everything." She nodded fiercely. "You earned it."

But Poe shook his head again. "All that stuff during the war was one thing. I did what I had to do, we all did. And I didn’t always make the right call and my people paid the price. Today of all days, I'm remembering that.”

He avoided her eyes as he said this, and Rose felt a pang of sympathy. She passed him the other half of the cookie. He took a big bite of it and closed his eyes, savoring it this time. "I remember…the first time I had these. Washing them down with some of that awful Hayes Minor rotgut."

“I’ve got some of that too, if you’re interested,” Rose said, holding up her bag. Poe made a face.

“I’m still hungover from the last time, at Paige’s --” he stopped, a full-body motion that sent all his easy-going inertia crashing to a halt. He looked at her, face suddenly drawn and serious. "I'm sorry, Rose. I...I don't think I've ever said--"

Rose knew immediately what he was going to say. She also knew that she didn't want to hear it. Didn’t need to hear it. She held up a gentle hand to stop him.

“There is no blame." She tilted her head up at him. "There never was. Least of all for you. It was a war. There's nothing for you to be sorry for."

"That doesn't make it better," he said quietly. "Doesn't make it less my fault…” he trailed off, and she knew he was still leaving the door open for her.

Rose hesitated but didn't speak. She couldn't find the words.

"You…" he looked down at the cookie in his hand, the neat little leaf pressed into the dough with a big bite taken out of it. "You've never let me apologize. Please... Rose, give me that. I'm sorry."

Time seemed to halt. Around them, the crowds thronged, parting sometimes with a glare at the two people standing stock-still in the middle of the staircase. They had never discussed it, there had never been time. And after a while, the silence had become an unspoken rule between them.

He still would not meet her eye so she studied the fall of his perfect hair instead. It would have been so easy to hate him, after what happened to Paige. To blame him. Or General Leia for putting them there in the first place. Or to blame the First Order. Or Kylo Ren, the man who now called himself Ben Solo. Oh yes, it would have been so easy. The dry tinder of pain and loss surrounded her. All she need do was light a spark -- not of hope, but of cold fury -- and the Resistance would become a conflagration. There was so much hate and anger, just a word away.

And yet...she remembered what Leia had told them when she and Paige had tried to throw their lives away:

"You can lash out, you deal out a bit of cathartic destruction. But it won't make a lasting difference. Do you want to lash out? Or do you want to make a real change?"

War had taken her world and her family and her sister. But it would not take her. She let the pain and anger and fear and loneliness slip away, releasing them until all that was left was light and peace.

“I don’t think of it that way...in terms of what we’ve lost. And neither should you. I think of life in terms of what lies ahead, and what we choose to do with the time we’re given. No matter what happens next," she said to Poe. "You'll have people around you who care. Lean on us, we'll get through this together."

He nodded, swallowing hard, shutting his eyes. Rose ignored the tiny tears that squeezed out of the corner of his eyes. Wordlessly, she pressed another cookie into his hand.

“You, ah, going to the shindig tomorrow?" She asked. "The big victory celebration?"

“Oh, yeah. I am,” Poe said, thrown by the sudden change of subject, but recovering quickly. “Uhh, you?”

She smiled brightly and nodded. “I’ll be there. Until then,” she swept into a low bow, “Senator Dameron.”

“General Tico,” he said with a firm nod and wide, pompous eyes. Then they both broke into a fit of laughter. It was deep, cathartic laughter and there was a lot there that passed between them, unsaid. As they both straightened up, he squeezed her shoulder. She put her hand on his, squeezing back, looking up into his face and smiling. He nodded again, fondly this time, then walked off, waving from behind.

She felt tears well up in her eyes and willed them away; she had promised herself she wouldn’t cry today. Not on Paige's birthday.

[warlock-enthusiast]

“I can’t do this anymore”

Fictober day 19

Prompt number: 19

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles

Rating: T and up

Warnings/Summary: Tina and Kat have a girl’s night 

-----------

“I can’t do this anymore.” Kat stood up, raised her arms and inhaled deeply. 

Tina, comfy between a lot of cushions, grabbed a new bottle of wine. “Work your job? Clean your flat? Spend time with me?” “Pining after someone that neither seems to be interested in me nor likes spending actual time with me.”

There. Finally. She said it. It didn’t go anywhere, it hurt her more than she’d ever admit, and for what? Beautiful green eyes and strong arms, which fit so perfectly around her? A vampire, who didn’t thirst after her blood? Why, just why, did she feel such a connection to him. Adam used every opportunity to leave situations where both of them were alone and he always put an invisible wall between them. Every time Kat thought that they finally made a step forward, they actually made two steps back.

You’re everything, my ass. 

Probably just her shit taste in partners, remembering her relationship with Bobby and how that prick had used her. “Aww, shush. You don’t see how he looks at you. All puppy and lovey dovey.” Tina munched on a cupcake and Kat tried not to flinch at the crumbs flying right at her couch. She’d cleaned her little haven for hours, just to finally entertain another girl’s night with her closest friend.

“Tina, please.” “I’m not making this up! Check the security tapes. It has to be on them.” Tina filled their glasses and talked rather animatedly “No, no, really!  Every time you turn around, he goes full Darcy.”

“Ugh.” Kat’s stomach hurt. A deep pull beneath her heart. She hated feeling like this, knowing that it always began like this, only to completely overpower her. So many years spent on therapy and talking about her childhood and Bobby and she fell right back into something complicated. 

Tina patted the couch. “Come here. You need some love.” “Yes, I do.” Kat moved to sit at Tina’s side and propped her head against her friend’s shoulder.

Soft hands started to caress her hair, gently massaged her head and neck. Not to mention that she still had a few sips left. Wine helped. “See, better now.” “A bit. Still need more of this.” She raised her glass. “And less Agent Du Mortain. Less talk of guys in general. Tonight is about us and that Jane Austen filmography.”

Tina swiftly refilled her glass. “I also got you covered.”

Kat almost emptied it in one, long gulp. She’d started to get tipsy a while ago. Maybe the cause for her emotional vulnerability or the fact that she had to spend yet another day in close proximity with a man that she would love to kiss and who always fled. 

“You’re the best. Why have I never dated you?”

“Ah, would ruin our magnificent friendship.”

“Hmpf, yeah.”

Tina raised her glass. “Here is to Katrena Kingston, letting go of self-doubt and enjoying herself for once.”

“Cheers to that.”

Somehow Kat doubted that she’d suddenly develop a healthy bit of confidence or that she’d let go of having feelings for Adam du Mortain. 

At least there was wine. 

And Jane Austen. 

[sheyshen]

reading some of the fics i wrote for last fictober hoping to get a crumb of inspiration so i can work on prompts i’ve been sitting on or btbn or something but all i got was me not remembering 90% of what i had written and wondering if anyone actually liked anything that i’ve written

[nccrum]

World Trigger Fictober

Prompt number: 2

Pairing: Miwa & Yoneya

Rating: E

Warnings/Tags: None

Miwa always fell asleep during his lunch break at school, and Yoneya would always push desks together to sit by him. Most of the time he was with Izumi, but on one particularly chilly day Yoneya sat alone with Miwa. He was quietly eating his food, occasionally sneaking a glance at the sleeping Miwa, waiting for him to wake up.

When Miwa eventually did, the first thing he noticed was Yoneya’s eyes glancing between him and his bag. He narrows his eyes; Miwa had noticed from their time together that Yoneya wasn’t a secretive person, and with that, it was obvious when he was lying about something.

“Why do you keep looking at your bag?” Yoneya gives him an exaggerated shrug, and shifts towards Miwa, keeping the bag between him and his friend.

“No reason, none whatsoever.” He takes a huge bite of his sandwich, eating it while crumbs flake off onto his uniform. Miwa reaches across the table towards an untouched apple on Yoneya’s plate and takes a bite.

“I have a feeling your lying to me.” Yoneya nods.

“Yeah, that’s the easy part, what isn’t is what I have to do after that.” Miwa gives Yoneya a confused look and Yoneya grabs his bag. He smiles to Miwa and grabs his wrist.

“C’mon, I need to show you something.” Miwa drops his food and Yoneya leads them through the school, his hand shifting to latch onto Miwa’s sleeve. They walk up a couple flights of stairs, a set of double doors in front of them.

Yoneya puts his pointer finger to his lips and takes out a set of keys to unlock the door with a heavy metal click. He pushes the door open enough to push Miwa and himself through, the both of them stumbling onto the roof. Yoneya throws his arms out likes he’s done a magic trick.

“Tada! We’re on the roof!” Miwa doesn’t know whether to applaud him or to ask him how he stole keys off of a teacher, but Yoneya moves before he does either. He takes Miwa’s wrist and put them against his own eyes, blocking his vision.

“Ok, don’t take your hands off until I tell you.” Miwa huffs, listening for Yoneya shifting around him. He hears the backpack zipper, then paper-like crumpling, and finally a few steps towards him. He hears the faint breathing of Yoneya and he takes his hands off his eyes slowly.

Yoneya is right there, flowers in his hands outstretched towards him. He smiles as wide as he can.

“You didn’t think I was going to forget your birthday, did you?” Miwa drops his tense shoulders. He had completely forgotten about his birthday. It just seemed like another day of the year, another day to push himself through, but now Yoneya was there to remind him it was his day.    

He takes the bouquet from Yoneya, the paper wrapping protecting the flowers from flying out of his hands. He puts his nose up to the flowers and inhales the sweet aroma. For the first time in a very long while, he feels the corner of his mouth tug up into a smile.

“Thank you, Yosuke.” The boy smiles and brings Miwa into a hug.

“Happy birthday, Shuuji.”