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is-on-its-way · 1 year ago

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Epiphany No 12 - 1 - Before

Episode: s06e08 The Rain King

Part 1, Part 2

And then a switch flicked, and she saw something more than she did the night before.

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(Motel. SCULLY's room #10. MULDER is lying on SCULLY's bed going through the file. SCULLY enters and sits in the chair.) SCULLY : Next flight out is 10:00 tomorrow morning. MULDER : Look at this, Scully (holds up newspaper) September 20, 1991, it rained rose petals for nearly an hour. SCULLY : (exasperated) Mulder, we're going home. The rain stopped this afternoon. Daryl Mootz is being sued by about 50 people. There's no case... And you told Sheila yourself that she wasn't controlling the weather. MULDER : She's not. Neither is Daryl. Check this out-- on the same day that it rained rose petals. "Irene Hardt, beloved wife and devoted mother passed away yesterday afternoon... She's survived by one son, Holman Hardt." SCULLY : Oh, so, now you're saying that Holman Hardt... MULDER : Holman Hardt is manufacturing the weather. Did you see how relieved he was when he learned that Daryl was drunk? I've been doing some checking. Holman Hardt has been hospitalized five times with nervous exhaustion, each time coinciding with a major meteorological event. SCULLY : Mulder, it is still a huge leap to say that he's manufacturing the weather. MULDER : Most people will admit that the weather plays a significant role in the way they feel, right? There's even that disorder. SCULLY : "SAD"-seasonal affective disorder. MULDER : Mm-hmm, yeah. Well, who's to say that it doesn't work the other way around-- that the way someone feels can affect the weather... that the weather is somehow an expression of Holman Hardt's feelings or-or-or better still, the feelings that he's not expressing? (SCULLY gives him "A Look.”)

“Mulder” she started, tucking her chin in that way she did when she was feeling slightly guilty for naysaying his theories. He smiled in spite of what he knew was coming next.

“You’re going to have to give me some evidence besides random chance in an old newspaper. There are plenty of better explanations for raining rose petals besides a bereved son causing it to happen. Correlation doesn’t equal causation here. And a very real psychological disorder is different than suggesting it works the other way around.”

“I love it when you speak statistics to me Scully.” Mulder said in a suggestive voice.

She gave him one of her more magnificent eyerolls and pursed her lips to which Mulder grinned. “Alight." she got up "Im taking a shower and going to bed.”

“Bed? Mulder said “its only 9:30” She took off her jacket and threw it on a chair.

“Ive been up since that cow fell through the roof Mulder, Im tired. And I want to catch our flight out in the morning before any other tornados rip the walls off this place.” She was digging through her suitcase and got out navy blue silk pyjamas with white piping around the edges.

“Alright” he sighed, “I’m going to go talk to Holman in the morning though.”

Scully gave him a look, he raised his hands up.

“I’ll get back in time for the flight Scully, don’t worry.”

She raised her eyebrows and shook her head. She walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Mulder heard the shower turn on. He used this time to undress. He changed into his flannel pyjama bottoms and although he hadn't been wearing a shirt to bed lately, he threw on the only t-shirt he’d brought with him for going on runs. Thankfully he hadn’t had time to go for one yet with the ruckus this morning.

He was in bed reading more old newspapers looking for any other evidence when she came out, towel wrapped around her head. Her silk pyjamas covered her body but as she walked he could see the shape of her against the rippling fabric, down to the shadows of her nipples showing through the pockets on the button down shirt. She bent over at the foot of the bed and put her clothing from that day into a bag in her suitcase. He could see down the unbuttoned top button to the curve of her breasts, he looked away at this. They’d both seen each other naked of course but only when the situation was dire. It was never offered and he didn’t care to leer when she didn’t know.

He got up to use the bathroom and brush his teeth. He’d already showered that morning after the cow incident. When he returned she was tucked into bed, she hadn’t moved his papers and books she’d just climbed in beside them.

“Sorry Scully” He said moving to clear the piles off the bed and placing them on the floor.

She opened one eye and said “It’s okay, you can read I can fall asleep anywhere.”

“I know” he smiled at her as she closed her eye. “Do you want me to sleep head to foot?” He offered

She furrowed her brow and opened both eyes “We’ve shared a forest floor before, I think a bed will be fine.”

Mulder smiled fondly remembering that adventure. “Okay” he said

“Besides I don’t want my face to be that well acquainted with your feet.”

Mulder looked mock wounded, “I have beautiful feet Scully.”

She closed her eyes smiling.

He got under the covers and continued to read for a while before feeling sleep nudging him. He put the paper he had down and turned his side table light off. He rolled onto his side facing Scully. The parking lot lamps shown through the blinds making shadows on the wall and across the bed onto her face.

Scully scratched her nose and sighed deeply. He must have woken her when he’d shifted. He poked her side under the covers “Hey Scully” He whispered.

“What Mulder” she mumbled.

He nudged her again

She hit at his arm in answer under the covers and said “Stop it” in a tired slightly annoyed voice

“Hey Scully, wanna play 20 questions?” He whispered.

“No Mulder, I want to go to sleep”

“But you’re up now. Hey, have you ever wanted to be famous?”

Scully turned her head and looked at him brow furrowed.

He smiled at this

“Thats not how you play twenty questions.”

He shrugged trying to look cute. He could see her resolve melting away and was pleased with himself.

“No absolutely not. Have you?” She eyed him wondering.

“I don’t think so, no. Well I wanted to be a super hero when I was younger, but I had a whole cover planned out so I could live in anonymity”

“Like batman?” She said as she turned to her side too, to face him.

“Interesting you’d choose batman over the very obvious Clark Kent.”

“Is it?” She shrugged “I liked batgirl when I was little”

“I knew you were a nerd deep down, maybe you should work with the lone gunmen instead of the FBI”

She pushed his shoulder away “Shut up Mulder”

He smiled and asked another “Do you ever wonder what it would be like to wander through the library of Alexandria?”

She looked at him “As a matter of fact I have but how could you know that?”

“Shouldn’t everyone?”

“I don’t think everyone does”

“Which historical figure would you to invite to dinner.”

“Joan of Arc” she said without having to think about it.

“Joan of Arc?” he said surprised

“Yes Mulder, Joan of Arc. Who would you want to meet?”

“Maybe Hypatia. She was said to be brilliant. A philosopher, astronomer, mathematician…”

“I would’ve guessed Diogenes.”

Mulder made a face, “Too cynical. He’d already made up his mind about everything, it’d make for boring conversation.”

Scully raised her eyebrows.

“Or Katherine Hepburn, my first crush.”

“Isn’t she still alive?”

“I know but I mean a Philadelphia story or Bringing up Baby Katherine.” He looked at her realizing something in the dim light “Actually, you kind of look like her.”

“Mulder did that cow hit you on the head? I think I should send you for an MRI when we get back.” She said poking the top of his scalp again.

“He shrugged, “Not that I remember. I do remember what Katherine Hepburn looks like though.”

She shook her head, but smiled and put her hand down by her face.

“Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse the conversation?”

“Only when I’m nervous”

“Who are you nervous to call?”

She smirked and raised her eyebrow at this but didn’t answer.

“Do you think you know how you’ll die?”

“Yes, with you probably, in this god forsaken motel room, by a hurricane or under the body of a horse or some other weather related phenomena.”

“I think well be okay” He said scratching his cheek “Is there something that you've dreamed of doing for a long time?”

Yes” she said simply.

“Well you have to say what” Mulder said

“That wasn’t the question.” She said smiling. “What about you?”

He looked at her slyly and answered “Yes” as well.

She giggled

“Whats your favorite thing about me?” he said with the boyish look on his face again, dripping with good natured sarcasm.

She eyed him with an odd expression on her face, like she was going to respond with sarcasm, but thought before saying “You feel like… familiar in a very comforting way, even when you frustrate me.”

He found her hand that lay between them by her face in answer.

“Now you” she said

“My favorite thing about you is everything.” he said playing with her fingers.

“Thats cheating”

“Something smaller? The way you hold your pen when you’re thinking about what to type next when we write reports." She furrowed her brow in confusion. "No, the look of concentration you get when I find you a really interesting body.” She smiled “Mmm no, the way you drink like you’re a man from 1956 who has a job as a bank executive.” She giggled this time and he was proud. She had such a wonderful free spirited laugh.

"That was only because I was upset" She said, a pout on her lips.

“Ive got the real answer." he said more serious. "Its how fearless you are.”

“But Im not fearless” she said more confused about this than she'd been about him noticing how she held her pens.

“You’re braver than anybody I know. You're an FBI woman and you do it so much better than any of the men I know.”

She played with his fingers in her hand, but didn’t say anything. She met his eyes he saw an odd look there. Was it confusion?

“One more” she said

“If you were to die right now, what would you most regret not having told someone?”

She pushed her lips together into a thin line “I already did that. You read my journal entry for you. You already know.”

He nodded giving her a glance, serious now.

“Thats enough Mulder." She yawned, "I’m tired and you woke me up with a dead cow at four in the morning. She let his hand go and rolled over onto her other side.

“Night Scully” He said looking at her hair in the dim light.

“Night Mulder.” She said with a contented sigh.

@today-in-fic

#xfiles #mulder and scully #msr fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #the rainking #when a dead cow is for the ship

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starwikia · 11 months ago

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You do not get to add a fucking shrug emoji at me and act like I am a fucking toddler. You do not get to add “respectfully” and then talk down to me about this situation. Yeah. Your local gas station attendant doesn’t know about this. But you know who does?

Academics. Actual fucking academics and authors. People like David Greven, David Church, Sean Griffin, and so many other people James has stolen money from. Not just youtubers. You think this is just internet drama? Pretend like this situation isn’t rippling in academic circles? Niche? What are you TALKING about? Do you even know what you’re saying! In my academic circles this was HUGE!

And if this was just youtube drama? So fucking what? How dare you act like “breadtube” is just some blip in the circle. Like that’s still not people being affected. Okay. Your claim is that James got doxxed! That’s serious! Where��s the evidence because the reality is that hbomberguy’s reddit and other spaced automatically ban you from even implying you’re going to do this. Are you saying James got doxxed bc you saw evidence or is that what you got from someone else saying How dare you equate this to kiwifarms level shit.

Like genuinely I’m so tired of white people telling me, a trans person of color, that this is just youtube drama. You do not get to tell me to go “touch grass” in the replies and act like this im overreacting. I’m so fucking angry that you try to equate trans people, people of color and other people that are effected by james to this is just internet drama. Do not ever act like you care about the people effected if this is what your take is.

idk if you saw the new chud logic video but he brings up a good point: lots of people are agreeing that hbomb is not responsible for James’ alleged suicide, which is true. HOWEVER. would people be saying the same thing if hbomb were right wing? If he made the exact same video…. But didn’t have leftist political views? Would people still say he wasn’t responsible? Or would they call him a murderer?

He also brings up how hbomb’s audience constantly tracking James is very similar to kiwifarms behavior, which is a website that everyone on the online left seems to actively hate. They even claim that the website has driven people to suicide, which… isn’t that what hbomb has allegedly just done with James? If you know kiwifarms, you know that website is HARSH. But so was hbomb’s video. I loved the video, but you have to admit. There was like 1hr 30min of dunking on James specifically. And even though he said not to harass anyone on his behalf, he only said this for like 30 seconds before immediately going back to tearing James apart.

I’m not saying I’m above internet drama. I love rolling around in the mud of the internet. I love watching internet weirdos do weird internet things. But idk how you can act more morally pure about this kind of stuff. Like yeah it was fun to dunk on his misogyny and everything but like ??? People have done way worse. At least kiwifarms has tracked and warned people about multiple predators such as Chris Chan and Nick Bate and even Kero the Wolf iirc. James’ worse crime was stealing work from fellow gays and also stealing money. Pretty bad but like Cmon.

#this is what i mean. this is what i’m talking about.#james somerton

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definitelynotshouting · 2 years ago

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everything i loved and feared (first 1k)

hello scarianblr beloveds this is the unedited very beginning of my completed scarian fic that im posting for the hell of it. fic is 7k rn but that will likely expand after the final draft rewrite<3 so this is just a funky little teaser thats gonna be rewritten anyway, hence why i dont mind sharing.

CWs for: blood, graphic injury, implied character death. Enjoy :]

Grian’s eyes are red now.

It’s an odd color on him– not because it doesn’t suit him, but because it suits him far too well. Like a glove, Scar thinks past the hazy, heady fog settling over his mind. Red like his tattered sweater– like the blood that beads between Scar's neck and shoulder, clouding the water he kneels in. Red like life.

Red like love.

That’s the fog settling thick over his senses. Love, the amalgamation of it, something so beautiful and terrible that anyone else wouldn’t– shouldn’t– look at it head-on. But inside Scar’s chest is a warm purr; he has rolled the die, shown his hand, and now Grian stands over him, vibrating red, red, red. He’s gorgeous like this, all righteous, trembling fury. Scar wants to pull him close and kiss him until they’re both dead.

“You can kill me” he says, and his voice shakes with the cost of this victory. “Grian. You can kill me.”

Above him, an avenging angel falters. Grian’s sword, so swift with its raging swing, lowers by a noticeable fraction. “What? No.”

“For everything you did to me,” Scar says, breathless, “to keep me alive this long– you may slay me, and take the enchanter.” He lowers his head, until his forehead brushes against cool, rippling water. It feels like benediction. It feels like a curse.

Grian will win. It is both the least and most Scar can do for him.

When Grian speaks, his voice is small. “No– no, I can’t. I literally can’t. Scar–”

“Do it,” Scar insists, that eager haze billowing through his veins, unfolding to rest with steady pressure against his bowed spine. Distantly, he wonders why nothing is singing. There should be war horns, trumpets, a blazing, crescendoing melody. Birds, at the very least.

Instead there is only miserable silence.

Grian sucks in an audible breath. “I’m not–” he starts, then breaks off; Scar lifts his head to watch him struggle, how his grip loosens on the hilt of his sword, how his eyes pinch around the edges. Grian flinches, presses his free hand to his head, eyes going middle-distant.

“The spectators want a fight,” he says at last, hollow.

And this is what he's waited for, this moment of realization; the other shoe dropped, the culmination of the game they've waltzed around. Scar smooths his voice, curling it around the two of them with gentle, insistent pressure. “It’s okay, G. You can kill me. You can be the winner.”

For one, long moment, Grian holds his stare, expression flayed open for only Scar to see. Raw and wild, his eyes gleam in the dawning sun– thin strands of hair curl around his ears, damp from their earlier struggle in the pond.

Slow, so slow it’s almost imperceptible, Grian shakes his head. Clenches his jaw. “Scar, they want blood.” Something in his face shifts– some beetled brow, a muscle jumping before smoothing out. He’s shaking: ripples blooming around him as he wavers on his feet, as if adrenaline has finally retracted its claws.

Scar’s shaking too. Even in this, they are together.

Scar opens his mouth– to push, to press, to snap him out of whatever spell holds him in suspension– but Grian beats him to it; his sword lifts from its helpless stance, glittering bright and blue in the sun. His mouth twists, tired affection curling the corners of his lips.

“Scar,” Grian says, “no matter what happens, we can claim this as a double victory. Right?”

The words are a cool caress against his fevered skin. Scar sinks into them, eyes drifting shut– because even now, with victory dancing through his veins, he can’t look Grian in the face when he kills him. “Yes,” he breathes, and braces for the blow, the cut of diamond against his carotid–

It never comes.

Instead, a rush of air as the sword comes down; the sharp, wet schlck of a blade entering flesh; a choked-off, gurgling yelp. Scar’s eyes fly open just as Grian falls to his knees with a splash, and–

And blood is tumbling from his gut in great scarlet waves where his sword is buried, slicking around his hands where he grips the hilt. Grian’s teeth are stained as he grins up at Scar, sharp and feral, eyes alight with more fire than Scar has seen in them since he knelt to die. “You win,” Grian hisses, and shudders, one hand flying out to sink into the silt of the pond they’re both kneeling in. Like a toppling tower, the rest of his body follows suit, falling sideways into bloody water.

The fog clouding his mind is ripped away in one fell swoop. Scar isn’t sure if he screams– all he knows is that one moment Grian is collapsing, and the next Scar is holding him, breath stuttering in his lungs.

“Grian– Grian, no, hang on. Wait, wait, wait, no, no– no, no, no, no. Grian.” His hands find the hilt of Grian’s sword, but make no move to pull it out– that would just kill him faster. It's like he's been punched– the bright, earnest rays of the sun have missed their mark, gilded the wrong death in stunning, flagrant gold. “What are you doing?” he chokes, like that will reverse everything.

Grian was supposed to win. Grian was supposed to be the winner.

“They never said what kind of blood,” Grian says, hazy. His lips wobble. “I can’t– I couldn’t, Scar. I couldn’t kill you.” When he coughs, blood bubbles on his lips. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not,” Scar whispers, fingers shifting to catch in the wet strands of Grian’s hair. “You did that on purpose– Grian, you were supposed to win.”

He’d done everything– cast the die, folded his cards, offered up his life, because Scar knows himself; he could never handle being alone. Not in that emptiness. Maybe it’s selfish, how he’d planned to let Grian take that fall instead– but Scar is selfish. And more than that, he’s in love: awful, truthful, scarlet love, with a man now dying in his arms.

“You weren’t supposed to die,” Scar wails, terror thick in his lungs, despair a weight around his ankle. He leans forward, brushing his forehead against Grian’s, until the trembling puffs of breath from Grian’s lips fan over his own. “Grian– how could you?”

When he pulls back again, Grian grins at him. The sun slips across his face, revealing the pale, faded remnants of freckles scattered over his cheeks. Scar has always wanted to count them. He’s never gotten close enough until now. “Guess I’m just not cut out to be a winner,” he murmurs, one hand lifting to rest, delicate as a butterfly, over Scar’s cheek.

He does not say I love you. He does not say anything at all. Instead he guides Scar’s head down, until their lips brush, the taste of copper flooding Scar’s tongue. Then his hand drops, breath hitching, head lolling back–

Scar wakes up choking on his own desperate scream.

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monsterlovinghours · 7 years ago

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#welp we're back to being suicidal #that didnt last long #one of these days #i wont be able to stop myself from slamming my car into a concrete median #ive been thinking about it for nine years now #and every day it gets harder to keep that wheel straight #my job is a joke #my girlfriend may as well just be my roommate #i have to compete with fictional characters for any scrap of attention or affection from her #im so tired of trying so hard to end up lonely and afraid #what is it all for #im not doing any good here #my life could end and it would barely make a ripple #ugh #sorry #ignore me pls

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shoezuki · 4 years ago

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tommy should stop streaming for a couple of weeks at the very least im fucking tired of his character and his fans

AHLDDBDIDH YEA. Well. Yea i cant lie i Feel u

I DO wish hed a like. Stepped back even jus Lore Wise? Because id Thought hed a been talkin a doin that after the disk war thing. And was gon be focusin on makin videos n jus. Not being an Integral part of Lore. Which like fuck ya. Fuck YA . Ultimately i feel for ppl to stop interpreting Anything that Anyone does on the dsmp thats. ..... whats Needed.

But i dont think tommy and dream understand that hes been made Such an integral part of like Everything that his Lore Actions will always have a ripple affect both in other ccs and the fans. So even for ccs who broke away from that (techno aha...) n are more doin they Own Thing..... anythin tommy does will impact them Even Just in how ppl See his character n actions

tl;dr: honest to god when he died i thought that was potential for 'tommy steps back from lore so other ccs can have their Arcs and Screentime' and then he was revived n i sighed

#anon #hard boiled takes

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impossible-rat-babies · 4 years ago

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What about 45 for pollux and ortega 👀

45. comparing hand sizes, then linking fingers together

thank you tas i know im showing up late for this prompt, but better late than never right? lmao

fallen hero | ~1.5k words | m!ortega + nb!sidstep | cw: very mild mentions of nsft | mostly below the cut!

ao3

Pollux sinks lower into the bath water and, for the first time in a long while, it’s quiet.

The faucet still drips, ripples spreading out until they hit his knees and they sink beneath the water--distorted and unclear. The next drop ripples until the waves are too small and they sink beneath the surface of the water. Holding as still as possible and the top of the water turns to glass--white tiled walls of the shower shining in the warm white overhead light. Steam flutters around it in swirling little clouds like cigarette smoke.

Sinking further, his nose almost rests against the surface of the water and it smells of oatmeal and lavender. His eyes slowly close, back relaxing in a cascade down his spine and into his hips. A domino effect until he’s almost too lazy to move and it’s easier to breathe.

The porcelain of the tub holds the warmth against his body, the water perhaps too hot but he likes it when his skin turns flush red and he can hold onto that warmth for hours. He lifts his hands out of the water, the backs of them almost red enough to eclipse the scars and the recent rough angry cracked lines of eczema across his wrists. He frowns.

“Don’t pick at it, Pollux...”

His eyes dart over to Ortega, sitting opposite him beside the tub, arm propped up on the edge. Thumbnail picking a callous on his index finger, white shirt mostly unbuttoned--feet bare, legs stretched out. It’s lazy how he pesters, but his gaze is pointed at Pollux’s fingers curled to scratch.

“I wasn’t going to.”

Pollux sits up, water dripping off his scratchy unshaven chin as his hands disappear beneath the water. Out of sight, Pollux picks a hangnail on his middle finger, circles the little grooves his rings have left. They’re all sitting up on the vanity, carefully pulled from his fingers by Ortega with the excuse they’ll be ruined in the water.

“You looked like you were thinking about it.”

Ortega adjusts, leaning over and his back hunches, shoulders bunched.

“I was just looking.”

Pollux insists, but there’s no fight behind his voice, just tired apathy. He doesn’t have the gumption or the initiative to bicker right now, tucking his hands under his legs and he bends his knobby knees to peek out of the water. Ortega gives a tired sigh, seemingly in no mood to bicker either and he sits back with a grunt. He’s getting too old to sit on the floor like this, but he said he was staying.

His hand drops to trace the cream colored water, index finger breaking the glassy surface followed by his middle and ring fingers.

Pollux stares at his idle hand as it makes waves that reach the shore of his knees and thighs in a rippling caress. A touch from a distance, crossing this eight or so inches between them.

He can’t resist--he reaches out, guarded but brushing his hand along the back of Ortega’s hand. Across his knuckles, one two three valleys and peaks each dotted with a hint of cool metal, four fingers to curl around three fingers as he is want to do. Moisture gathers in the creases of Ortega’s hand, either from the steam or just the water, hand sweat sticky to the touch.

Ortega hums, a punctuated sound in the hush, fingers twitching and they cup--curl and spread. Holding his hand with quiet affection.

Pollux thinks about warning him, that if he shocks him it’ll be the reckoning of all reckonings, but there’s no words in his throat when he looks.

Ortega’s eyes are half closed.

Eyelashes brushing the half moon lines of age and sleepless nights, the crows feet tickling at the corners of his eyes to match worn and well loved laughter lines. There’s greying salt and pepper to his temples--wiggling wavy strands tickling sideburns and his beard is coming in nicely. He mostly joked about it in the hospital that night, but Ortega took it to heart. It’s a stop in the transit of change and age--both subjects they’ve both talked and shouted themselves to raw throats on.

At least his hairline hasn’t started to recede yet and oh the crisis he would have at the mere thought of going bald. Not that the stylists would let it show, god forbid he doesn’t age in grace at just over forty. He’s no longer the face though; no stylist in the world can make grief look beautiful, nor erase heartbreak.

Pollux still remembers the charming rapscallion of a playboy who fit so well in front of a camera one would think he was born for the limelight. Born for this action, this sort of lifestyle and maybe he was, but Pollux doesn’t think so.

Time changed that—time and tragedy. Falls from great heights, twice now for Ortega, brought changes of perspective to them both and oh it smarts in the cavity of his chest. Beneath his ribs there’s ache he hasn’t been able to soothe for almost a year now. (Ortega makes up most of the aches and pains his body.)

Time is a cruel mistress with her pointing fingers and cheshire smiles--teeth far too straight and too white on a backdrop of red lipstick.

“Lux?”

Ortega whispers his name like a question.

Deep breath in and he closes his eyes. Feels the squeeze in his hand and he clutches back--the cool press of an emitter to his palm.

“Ricardo?”

He whispers back and opens his eyes.

“You know,” A mumble from only partially open lips that twist to a smile, “I always thought you would have smaller hands. Baby hands, ya know? Match the rest of you.”

Pollux sniggers.

“But you have piano fingers instead.”

“I never learned how to play the piano.”

“Is it funny that I can’t imagine you ever playing one?”

Pollux laughs briefly, the apples of his cheeks hurting in that good way. A way that remind him that he’s as real as his breathing, as the heartbeat he feels in the left side of his chest.

“I’d be terrible at it...” Pollux whispers like any louder and something would snap crackle pop like tempered glass. Like car windows and gas tank explosions--windows and red balloon paintings.

“True.”

Pollux rolls his eyes, head flopping back against the rim of the tub. Wet strands of hair tickling his shoulders, sticking to sweat slick skin--indiscriminate in its touches of tattoos versus real skin. Both worn and scarred and he calms the urge to scratch the hollow his collarbones form when he too hunches over.

“Would you still listen to me play, Ricardo?”

“Of course.”

Said without hesitation and a bright smile Pollux can’t help but share--crooked teeth and scars that tug and all.

Later they’ll go about the same routine they always do.

Ortega will help him out of the bath and Pollux will half dress. Ortega will sit in front of him while he sits on the bed, take his hands in his and rub medicated lotion into his cracked skin. He’ll pull loose scabs away, fingers light on the fresh cracks as they sting.

Hands across his prominent knuckles and narrow fingers, down his thin wrists, making sure the inside of his elbows are cared for. Routine motions, Pollux watching his hands work. The surety of his hands having memorized his skin, as knowing as his eyes and Pollux is known.

The quiet horror of that realization and the even quieter way he lets that fact eat him alive.

The quiet way Ortega asks each night if he needs help and the even softer way Pollux tells him yes—the timid way he’ll ask for help behind his knees.

Ortega will kiss the side of his knee when he’s done and look up at him with heady eyes and Pollux will pull him in close, guide his lips to his (as he is want to do) and turn off the light. Let what happens in the dark happen in the dark.

Both of their hands much more suited to break, but still Ortega will cradle the back of his neck and along the outside of his thigh like his fingers have always belonged there—meant to touch him. Press kisses to lavender scented skin.

And Pollux will run his fingers across his jawline and down along his neck and he thinks that if Ortega really could see him then he would see him.

(Hold him wailing--sobbing and better yet stop this. Make it all stop. How does he stop? He doesn’t, that’s it. He already knows how this goes, the ending of this story.)

There’s no words said when tears collect on his eyelashes, just hand in terrible hand, fanned out--small palm to larger palm. Names whispered with gasping breaths and fingers linked together. Pressed against the mattress and another night lost--another night gained.

#fallen hero #chargestep #fallen hero retribution #owen writes #okay to rebloog #obsessed with the intimacy of names like hello!#skdjhfk thank you tas i appreciate youuuuuu <3 #they talk about stupid things your honor #mournholdmushroom

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bisquid · 3 years ago

Note

(Quick content warning for mentions of SA)

Hi! Im an enby sa survivor/sufferer of ongoing emotional abuse and the entire Heard v Depp case has been incredibly triggering as im sure it has been for many. Im thankful you mentioned the ramifications of the recent defamation trial as I see so few people discussing it in a level headed manor.

Im not surprised by the outpouring of vitriol and, to put it plainly, horror I’ve seen from Depp supporters (some of whom are people that I once trusted/respected). I do not mean to come off as rude, but to simplify, had anyone used an ounce of critical thinking, it’s glaringly obvious that Johnny Depp is an abuser. I am repulsed by the the things I’ve seen on twitter and tiktok especially.

I’ve never once seen an Amber Heard movie, in all honesty this is all I know about her, and yet the ripple effect of her situation has been felt deeply. I’m also bisexual, and I have only seen a few posts discussing the ways in which Heard’s own bisexuality was used against her (not to mention Depp’s history of grooming and abusive behavior towards people of all genders). I apologize for this ask being all over the place, I’ve been so emotionally scattered and distraught, but I needed to say that it’s affirming to see folks like you speak so openly on a topic I myself and too fearful to breach.

I’m horrified by this situation, truly horrified, I’m unsure how we ended up here. And I’m tired of being called an abuse apologist. My heart goes out to Heard, Megan Thee Stallion, Melissa Benoist, and many others who are now also under attack; celebrities and others alike.

First off I would like to offer my sympathy for what you have survived! It can't be easy to have to live with that.

I'm glad I've been able to help you in some small way in the midst of what is, frankly, a clusterfuck of epic proportions.

I don't know where you live, so I can't give you any advice or reassurance for whether this particular legal precedent will affect you or not, but I want you to know that there is always someone in your corner, somewhere.

💜

#i stand with amber heard #anon

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aizawaorkuroo · 5 years ago

Text

on the house (chapter 5) - cold brew

Ship: Yagi Toshinori x reader

Rated: Explicit [18+]

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: You and Toshinori spend the morning together.

Warnings: Language, smut, Vaginal Fingering

AN: This blog is 18+!! also im pretty nervous about this chapter and could edit it forever, but I was tired of staring at it, so here it is lmao, but I also had part of this written a long time ago so actually getting to it was wild tsegrfws

OTH Masterlist

________________________

Your alarm blasts annoyingly in the dark of your room. You’re surrounded by warmth, coaxing you back into a deep sleep. As the alarm continues, you suppress a groan and blindly shift in an attempt to reach out and stop the nuisance. Something solid and warm tightens around you, holding in place. It feels nice, nice enough to forget your alarm. Wait.

You pry your eyes open, blinking into the darkness. Your eyes adjust, and tufts of blonde hair come into focus. Memories of the previous night flood your brain, and your face heats up.

You twist against Toshinori’s arm to shut off the alarm. Looking out the window, you cringe realizing how early it is, and you hope you didn’t wake him up. When you turn around, you’re met with two sleepy, blue eyes tracing your face.

“Hey,” you whisper quietly.

“Hi.” His voice is thick with sleep, and something flutters deep in your chest. “Is it... it’s okay?” Your brows pull together, a questioning noise pulling itself out of your throat.

“Is it okay that I’m still here?” he gently asks. “I can leave if you want. It’s the weekend, so I’m free. Do you... have to go to work?” Butterflies delicately flutter inside your stomach, and you reach out to caress the side of Toshinori’s face.

“I’m glad you’re still here. And I think I’m gonna take the day off. Just gotta make sure everything’s okay at Sweet Bean.” He nods against your hand, and you twist to blindly grasp for your phone again, squinting as the artificial light blinds you. You text two of your other employees, before opening the chat you have with Suga and Aiko and type quickly.

Hey guys! My throats not feeling very well. I think I’m gonna stay home today. Jai and Ami will cover me later in the day!

You rub the sleep from your eyes when the phone vibrates immediately, and you flush at Aiko’s message.

I’m sure your knees hurt too slut 🤪🤪

jkjk it’s all good!

Your nose scrunches and you haphazardly throw your phone to the side. Toshinori’s arms gently wrap around you again, pulling you pack towards him.

“Everything okay?” You nod, curling back into his chest.

“Just wanna go back to sleep,” you mumble, shutting your eyes. A low chuckle resounds through his chest, flowing into you as the warm darkness overtakes you again.

________________________

Sunlight splashes your eyelids rousing you from your slumber. Your arms stretch out in front of you, and you twist before rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You still and hesitantly turn to face the empty space next to you.

You bite down on your lip, heart sinking into the pit of your stomach. Fuck. The fact that he didn’t even say goodbye weighs you down. Regret flows through you, slow and sticky. Maybe you had rushed things last night? You shake your head to yourself at the thought. He had been the one to talk about getting to the point, not you. But still...

Your ears perk up when you hear small noises coming from the kitchen. A sweet scent drifts into the room, and you flop against the bed while trying to contain your grin, your fears and worries evaporating immediately. He was just making breakfast.

You make an effort to get up and you curl over yourself as your lower abdomen clenches in pain. Right. Your face heats up and you sit up, placing your hands right below your stomach. Closing your eyes, you let a familiar warmth flood your veins and focus in your fingertips. The energy circles back into you, comforting your aching body and making your spine tingle. When your hands drop into your lap, your mind feels quiet, as if everything’s right in the world. You break your peaceful composition and force yourself to throw on underwear and a sweatshirt.

You shuffle through the hallway to the living room. Toshinori turns and offers a shy wave from the kitchen. His boxers cling to his waist, and his shirt hangs off of his shoulders. You grin in return before flopping on the couch and shutting your eyes.

“You had everything to make pancakes, so…” He trails off, but you hum at his words. After a moment to process what he said, your eyes flick open and you blink up at the ceiling.

“Wait, I had everything already?”

“You don’t know what you have in your own kitchen?” You purse your lips at that, and get up, lazily making your way to the kitchen. He turns to look at you as you lean against the fridge, and you offer him a shrug.

“Most days, I’ll make a coffee at Sweet Bean and call it a day.” A small frown pulls at his face, and he turns attention back to the batter on the skillet.

“Breakfast is important. Especially when you spend long days on your feet,” he chastises. Trying to suppress the overwhelming affection you feel, you open the fridge, grabbing a pitcher of cold brew that you had been experimenting with.

“You’re not my parent,” you tease. He offers a short laugh, but you see him visibly tense, and he moves the finished pancake onto the stack of already completed ones.

“Is this…is this okay? That I’m here.” His voice wavers, as if he’s unsure of his place in your kitchen, your home. You shuffle closer to him, setting the pitcher down on the counter. You reach out to place a reassuring palm on his arm.

“I’m glad you’re here. I like seeing you here.” He’s chewing on his lip nervously, not willing to meet your eyes. You squeeze his arm, and lightly grab his chin with your other hand, angling his face towards yours. “I liked waking up to you, Toshi.” The deep frown that’s grown on his face softens, and something easy and peaceful overtakes it. You smirk, your thumb stroking his jaw.

“And I really liked feeling sore when I woke up.” The tips of his ears turn a bright red that extends down to the rest of his face. His eyes flick away from yours, and you gently tug his face down to peck his lips.

“Was I...rough?” he whispers against you. You grin and shake your head.

“No. I just orgasmed a ridiculous amount last night. And you’re just really big.” The blush on his face darkens, and you let his face go, trying to ignore the warmth that sweeps through your system. He rubs the back of his head sheepishly.

“Are you still sore?” He looks uncomfortable, his eyes focused on the floor. You pat his arm again and shake your head.

“I used my quirk, so I’m good. Could maybe use a bath though…” you trail off, briefly wondering if his long limbs would fit in your tub. But at the mention of your quirk, his eyes flick back up to yours.

“Would you mind explaining your quirk again?” You nod, but eye the stack of pancakes on the counter.

“I will, but I’m kinda hungry.” He chuckles as you gently squeeze his arm. When you grab the cold brew, he grabs your free hand, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. He holds your hand to his face, and affection ripples through your chest, making your face feel warm. You pull away, hiding the dumb grin that’s sprawled lazily across your face.

It’s only when you’re sitting across from him at your small kitchen table (after assuring him it was not hard cold brew) that you begin to unpack your quirk.

“Like you already know, it’s a basic healing quirk.” You take a bite trying to think of how to explain the mechanics of it, but you’re sidetracked. “And not to expose my lack of faith, but these pancakes are really good.” He rests his chin in his hand, a humored smirk pulling at the sharp lines of his face.

“I’m not helpless.” You stick your tongue out at him before taking another bite.

“Anyways, it’s like I turn on a faucet, and warmth spreads through my body. I can focus the warmth to go wherever and…” you trail off. You hold your hands up, shutting your eyes and letting them heat up. When you crack an eye open, they’re glowing softly. Toshinori’s head is cocked to the side, his eyes trained on your hands. What a nice change of pace.

“What basically happens is that I’m able to accelerate cell growth and repair, and can transfer it to things I touch. And it kinda like, also makes people just feel better. Like happier. But I can’t do it for too long. Makes me get pretty tired” Your nose scrunches at how poorly the words are coming to you. “And I’m sure that’s nothing compared to what you see every day with your students,” you say, stretching your arms above your head.

“I think it’s wonderful.” You pause mid-stretch. He’s looking at you like you hung not only the moon, but every star and planet in the sky. You swallow past the lump in your throat, and your arms rest on the table.

“Well, my customers seem to think so too.” His head tilts curiously, and your nose crinkles as you smile at him. “I used it on the coffee beans and the tea plants.” You gesture with your head to the plants that sit on your small balcony. “The effects are dampened on food, but it’s enough to make a small difference.”

“Do you have a license for that?” he says in a faux serious tone. You hold out your hands, pressing your wrists together.

“You gonna arrest me if I don’t?” You watch the way his blush extends down to the planes of his chest, and pride bubbles in your veins.

“Something like that,” he murmurs, prompting you to drop your wrists and grin wickedly.

“Good to know, good to know.” He rubs the back of his head, eyes drifting towards the floor.

“You mentioned a bath, if I recall?” his voice is soft and hesitant again, as if despite your insistence that he has a place here, he doesn’t want to intrude. You hum at his words and take the dishes to the sink.

“Why? You wanna join me?” When you turn to look at him, a panicked look is on his face, and he sputters making attempts to back peddle.

“I apologize for assuming. I shouldn’t have done that. If you’d like me to leave, I’ll be gone.” As much as you enjoyed his awkward rambling, you knew it was cruel to let him continue. Especially when this was so new.

“Toshinori. I would love for you to join me.” His shoulders sag in relief, and he shakes his head.

“You are wicked,” he retorts. You roll your eyes before walking back to the table, and gently grabbing his wrist. You kiss the calloused pad of his thumb, and then his index finger, and then his middle finger. You kiss each of his warm, rough fingers before kissing the pulse point of his wrist.

“If I’m wicked, what does that make your hands?” you ask with heavy-lidded eyes. His hand twists, grasping yours and pulling you forward to straddle his lap. Toshi’s lips melt against yours, sending fire through your veins. You curl your hands in his hair, trying to pull his mouth closer to yours. His hands travel up and down the sides of your body before landing right under the hem of your sweatshirt.

As you tug at his hair, you briefly wonder if this is moving too fast. The thought uncomfortably pierces through your brain. Toshinori’s hands squeeze at the flesh they find, and the possibility that this will all crash and burn enters your mind. This could end in a glorious blaze that left you both singed. He pulls away, resting his forehead against yours, and when you lock eyes, you realize you don’t care.

________________________

Toshi leans back into your chest, the tips of his hair tickling your nose. Your thighs encase as much of him as you can. His legs stick out the edge of your tub. He’s all limbs, gangly and tall, too tall for your bath. You had warned him that it might not be the most comfortable for him, but he had insisted it would be okay. He wanted to be close to you, and you let him.

You run your hands through his sunflower hair, lightly massaging his scalp. He nestles himself further into your chest, and you smile softly. Your hands slowly trail downwards until they reach his shoulders. You press your fingers into the knotted muscles, and he shudders against you. You continue to lightly massage him, the beginnings of an idea forming in your mind. You slip your hands underneath his arms to his chest, careful to avoid his scar, and you press him tightly to you. He closes his eyes and leans his head against you. The two of you sit in silence before you press a kiss to his temple. Your fingers delicately edge around his scar.

“Can I ask what happened?” you whisper against him. He tenses against you, and you slide your hands around him to carefully massage his shoulders again. “You don’t have to talk about it, it's okay. I’m sorry for pushing you.” He shakes his head, his hair gently brushing across your face.

“I...it’s-” he inhales sharply, letting himself soften under your touch. “There was a bad villain attack...and I got hurt.” His words are slow and painful, and regret sits heavy in your stomach. You truly don’t know him enough to ask this. You squeeze his shoulders, in what you hope is a reassuring manner.

“It’s really okay. I’m sorry for asking.” Your arms snake down to hold him again, and he relaxes against you.

“It’s not easy for me to talk about. Everything changed after.”

“Does it still hurt?” He sighs, letting his body slump dejectedly against you.

“It’s hard to breathe now, and it aches. Gets really bad some days.” You hum at his words, something sad and aching burrowing itself in your chest. You rest your head on top of his, not wanting to force him to talk anymore. You let the silence crystalize in the air, not wanting to break the delicate balance. But your mind stirs again, hints of a question threading together to form an idea.

“Toshi? Could you sit up a bit please?” You ask trying to not let your nerves get the best of you. He immediately complies with your request, but you frown as he also leans away from you.

“Of course. Was I crushing you? Are you okay?” He worriedly questions and turns back to look at you. Of course, he would assume the worst. You shake your head and can’t stop the way your face scrunches up.

“No, I’m fine. I just wanted you to sit up and scoot back if that's okay.” The water splashes out of the tub as he scooches back until he’s nestled in-between your thighs again, but you don’t mind. You wrap your arms around him again, lightly tracing patterns onto his abdomen. Your forehead dips forward to rest on his back. He stills beneath you, but you. can feel his muscles beginning to relax.

“But can I try something?” As soon as he nods, your hands inch closer to the scar on the left side of his body. He stiffens under your fingers, and you tilt your head to lightly kiss up and down his spine. This may not help, but it’s worth a try. If you could help take away some of his leftover aches, even for just a little while, it would be worth it.

Your hands lightly rest on top of the scar, and he shakes ever so slightly. You kiss his shoulder blade, and urge the warmth you feel in your heart to move to your hands. The tips of your fingers begin to glow; the warmth you feel surges into Toshi’s body. He shudders against you and lets out a groan that goes straight in-between your things.

You slowly flatten your palms against him to cover more space, and he leans his head back, his hair tickling your face once again. His muscles flex beneath your palms, and you gently tighten your thighs around him, pulling yourself flush against his back. You close your eyes and inhale. When you exhale, you focus the warmth to flood the rest of your body.

You feel Toshi drop farther into your hold, and he lets out a shaky breath. You try to use your quirk for as long as you can, and Toshi lets you. When the glow retreats back into your body, you slump against Toshinori, trying to catch your breath.

The water sloshes as Toshinori breaks away from your grip and turns around to face you. You flush under the weight of his gaze, still taking deep breaths. He doesn’t say anything; neither do you. Instead, he reaches his arms out to pull you onto his lap. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you lightly play with his hair.

“How ya feeling?” you whisper. He dips down, letting his forehead rest against yours. His hands rest on your waist, fingers drawing invisible patterns on your skin.

“A lot better,” he murmurs.

When he pulls away, there’s something deep and dark in his eyes. Something you’re not sure you can handle. And he’s not sure he can handle it either, so instead, he glances down at your lips and kisses you deeply. You lean into it, and your hands solidly slide through his hair before you lightly tug.

His large hands grip your waist, and he squeezes lightly before his tongue swipes against your lips. You open your mouth and his tongue slips against yours. You feel something hard poking into your thigh, and you can't help but to squirm. He lazily trails one hand from your chest down and slips in-between your bodies. You pull away from his burning kisses as he cups your pussy with his hand.

“Please Toshi,” you whine.

“Please what?” He’s smiling innocently at you, watching you squirm against his hand.

“Touch me.”

“I am touching you.” You lightly slap his arm, frustration pulling a frown to your face.

He chuckles before trailing a finger in between your folds. You shudder lightly, and your hands fall to his shoulders to help stabilize you. The rough pad of his finger finds its way to your clit, and you gasp as he swipes his finger across it. Your nails dig lightly into your shoulders, and you bite your lip. Toshi chuckles beneath you.

“I wanna hear all the pretty sounds you make.” You squirm and let out a moan as his finger begins to lightly trace circles on your clit.

He watches you bloom and unravel as he touches you. He’s supposed to be good, unselfish; he’s supposed to be a hero. But he’s greedy for more of you, of the noises you make. His fingers leave your aching clit and slip inside you. You buck your hips against him as you let out another moan. He pumps his thick finger in and out as you grind down into his hand, searching for more friction.

“You still like my hands?” he teases. Your face twists, and you hide in your hands, embarrassment coursing through you as you continue to rock against him. The hand that was on your waist disappears and tugs at your wrists. Your hands fall back onto his shoulders, and he chuckles.

“I hate you,” you mumble. He slips another large finger inside you and lightly scissors them, stretching you out.

“Whatever you say.” His thumb finds its way to your clit, and your face scrunches up in pleasure. A white-hot sensation builds within you, something deep. He’s shifting his fingers now, pumping them both deep inside you searching for a way to get closer to you. You drop one of your hands from his shoulder, searching for his cock. You blindly fumble but one of his hands catches your wrist, stopping you from grabbing his cock.

“Don’t worry about me. Just wanna make you feel good,” he mumbles into your hair. He moves your hand back to his shoulder before gripping your waist again. You continue to squirm and writhe against him as the coil in the pit of your stomach begins to tighten. Toshi’s fingers slow ever so slightly as he works a third large finger into you. You shudder and cry out his name.

He picks up the pace, and you whine. His fingers are searching. And the second they find their goal, your mind grows hazy. They thrust into you, heavy and warm.

’Toshi,” you mewl, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Fall apart for me, sweet girl.”

The coil snaps.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream, and you slump against his chest. Your thighs twitch and you writhe against his still moving fingers. The pleasure is disorienting, making your mind feel thick like honey. He slows his fingers as you continue to ride out your orgasm, and you pepper kisses against any skin that you see. When he finally stops, your panting against him.

“How ya feeling,” he asks, throwing back the same question you asked him earlier. You nuzzle into his chest, exhaustion pulling at your bones.

“Tired,” you murmur into his skin. He chuckles and lets you rest against him, as you try to gain some energy after overusing your quirk and orgasming intensely. When he finally helps you out of the bathtub, your legs feel like jelly. He helps you into something comfortable before putting on his clothes.

You lie on your bed, watching him get dressed, trying to fight the sleep that pricks the back of your eyelids. The bed dips when he sits next to you, and Toshinori reaches a hand out to stroke your jaw with his thumb.

“I got called into work, so I have to go.”

“To the school?” Your prop yourself up on your arms, heading tilting in confusion. He pauses, a sharp frown consuming his face. He looks away from you before nodding.

“Emergency teacher conference.” You hum at his answer, thinking about all the trouble that’s been happening since the USJ attack. “But I’ll call you if that’s okay?” Your nose crinkles as you grin, and you nod, letting your eyes shut.

Wait.

Without opening your eyes, you let out a small laugh.

“I still have to give you my number.” You feel him stiffen next to you, and you bite your lip to suppress another giggle. Cracking one eye open, you see him looking at you, face red out of embarrassment. “Well, do you want it?” He looks away from you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he nods. You rattle off your number, and he dutifully types the number out, face still aflame.

He pockets his phone and stands up, and you reluctantly follow, insisting that you’re not tired enough to not walk him out. When you open the door for him, he pauses and looks down at you. You meet his piercing gaze with a small smirk.

“That was some first date, huh?” He shakes his head at your teasing, but he bends down pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“I had a nice time. Goodbye, Y/N,” he murmurs against your lips. When you pull away, your heart stutters, and a peaceful feeling falls over you.

When the door finally shuts, you let out a long exhale before dragging your tired body back to bed. You stare at your phone, chewing on your lip nervously. The realization that you would have to wait for him to text you first has nerves igniting in your belly. You shut your eyes, trying to let the panic dissipate.

With sleep just around the corner, you hear a hopeful ding from your phone. Blinking open an eye, you one new message from an unknown number.

It’s Toshinori <3

Trying not to think too much about the heart, you let sleep finally overtake you.

________________________

The look on your face as he said goodbye plays on a loop in Toshinori’s mind. Guilt worms its way into his stomach. There’s no teacher conference. You were right to be suspicious, but you had dropped it so easily, choosing to trust him instead.

Toshinori does not like lying to you. But he can’t tell you that he’s All-Might. Just... not yet. It’s going to change everything; he can feel it. He can’t stand his true form, withering away. But you don’t care. You like him. You like him.

But if you knew he was All-Might, would you be disappointed? Would you prefer All-Might to Toshinori? Would that make you a target? Would you hate him? Fuck, you’ve only been on one date.

Questions rattle around his mind, and Toshinori shakes his head, a frown tugging at his lips. He doesn’t have time to think about this not right now. A smile forces its way back on his face. He has to be here, present in the moment, not thinking about you. He lands abruptly, hands on his hips.

“I am here!”

While it’s true Toshinori wants nothing more than to selfishly think about the future, All-Might doesn’t get that luxury. Not while there are villains to defeat. But despite his best efforts, you linger in the back of his mind, an ember glowing in the dark.

________________________

Taglist: @bougainvilliea713otaku

#yagi toshinori x reader #toshinori yagi x you #toshinori yagi x reader #yagi toshinori x you #yagi toshinori smut #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha x you #bnha smut #on the house #posting this at 3 am and hiding #💫.yagi

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

Note

For a writing prompt, Indruck post apocalyptic au (preferably everyone is human?) Indrid is infected by some sort of alien parasite, and the only way they can save him is to cut it out of him without anesthesia? Feel free to be as graphic as you want, but if it’s too whumpy for you, no pressure to write it! Thanks as always!

Here you go! It’s mid-level graphic: if it were a movie, you wouldn’t be seeing guts everywhere, but you would see the wounds. Also, content warning for body horror, namely the kind where a fungus takes over your body, and referenced suicide (no suicide actually occurs, don’t worry)

He should have seen it coming.

The tell-tale dampness and smell in the air, like battery acid and rotten milk, the fact that he’d made it the whole trip without seeing any Mycilioptera (that was, according to Joseph, the scientific term for the for the cat-sized, skittering alien creatures looking for someone to sting).

The creature was on him with a droning, high whine, scratching his face, smearing stinging mucus across his eyes and mouth. He made a rookie error, following his instinct to rip off the the substance dulling his senses, rather than feel sweep his arms over his body, locate the creature, and hurl it as far away as he could.

When the stinger hit his stomach, he screamed. The noise was useless; this quadrant of the city was abandoned months ago. He collapsed to the ground, clutching his sides as the pain seeps through them. His eyes cleared enough that he forced his fingers to work, grip the handle of his hatchet, and cleave it with a crunch.

Now, clutching the steering wheel of the Winnebago (in this world you do not need a fast car; you need something with thick sides and room for supplies and friends), he knows there are only two ways this can go.

If he is lucky, the parasite will be slow acting enough and he will stay lucid enough to reach the ranch in time for someone to remove it.

If he is unlucky, he will run out of time, and the parasite will take control of his body, manipulate him zombie-like to an advantageous location, and burst from his chest, mouth, and eyes in milky-white stalks, sending spores into the air, which will either grow in to adults or be inhaled by any other humans in a two mile radius, subjecting them to a prolonged version of Indrid’s fate.

He leans on the gas pedal, hurtling down the empty backroad. They found an abandoned, un-pilfered gas station and filled all the vehicles, with some left over for scouting and supply runs. And, if it came to it, an escape.

From the passenger seat, his backpack meows. A familiar black and brown head pokes out, the ratty collar still reading “Winnie.” Winnie, the reason he ran into that abandoned parking garage during a salvage mission in the first place.

Because she’s Duck’s cat, the one he thought he’d never see again after she fled out the door when the city evacuated. And Indrid loves Duck Newton more than anything in the world.

They’d been friends before everything went to hell, inching towards a confession of deeper feeling and Indrid still remembers the way his heart felt when he spotted Duck at the evac staging shelter. He hadn't even opened his mouth when Duck was hugging him, holding him tight and saying he was so fucking glad he was okay.

When three, then five, then ten infected humans burst in the evac center, Duck had Indrid’s hand they were running before almost anyone else knew what was happening, bandanas over their mouths because Josephs last message before the cell towers were overloaded was to keep their noses and mouths covered.

They made it, against all odds, out into the countryside, Thacker’s Quonset hut and Mama’s farmhouse as safe as they’d hoped. The others trickled in one by one or two by two; sometimes bringing other survivors with them. Other survivors found them later, though the humans they saw became fewer and fewer with each day.

Mama took in everyone who wasn’t infected, while Joseph, Dani, Duck and Thacker operated and sewed up the infected who could be saved (if removed before it takes over the host, the parasite will die when exposed to air). Those who could not were given choices; most chose a swift death, especially when they learned that dying before the parasites emerged would kill the alien inside them.

And every night, Indrid and Duck shared a small bed, clinging to each other and telling jokes or stories until they could sleep. Two months in, Duck kissed him in the dark and Indrid kissed back, and when Duck asked if it was only the end of the world driving Indrid’s affection, Indrid shook his head

“I’ve wanted this for awhile. And I don’t know what’s coming. All I know is I want to be with you when it does.”

At the front of the Winnebago Indrid wipes his eyes; what a foolish thing to say. He doesn’t want Duck here for this, that’s for damn sure, and yet he drives towards him anyway,

He’s feverish, sweat running down his face and arms shaking, and while his veins are still blue, he can see the parasite rippling under his skin; it’s not wasting any time.

He’s not going to make it. And if he tries, he’ll put all his friends in danger

There’s no choice but to pull to the side of the road a few miles from the farm and step from the trailer, leaving the door ajar so Winnie can escape into the wild. He’s crying all the while, breath coming in shaky gasps; just because he’s doing the right thing doesn’t mean he isn’t miserable and terrified.

Indrid pulls out his pistol. He won’t be an incubator, he won’t spread this, he won’t help the things that took so much of his world from him.

He won’t ever see Duck again.

He sobs, once, then wretches as the fever grows and his vision goes spotty. He has to do this, even though every time he looks at the weapon his whole body shakes with fear.

“‘Drid!”

Duck’s voice, just audible over the thrum of an engine. Then tires screech into view, Aubrey piloting a jeep. Duck jumps to the ground before she’s even stopped.

“‘Drid, don’t you fuckin dare-”

“Nono, stay back!” He scrambles on his hands and heels, slamming into the side of the trailer, “I got stung, I already have a fever, I can feel it moving-”

Duck drops to his knees, lifting Indrid’s glasses.

“Your eyes are still brown. It ain’t too late.”

“But the veins near the wound are going white” Joseph stands behind Duck, “we won’t be able to get him back in time.”

“Th-that’s why I pulled over, I, I can’t get the rest of you infected, please, please just go-”

“You got the field kit?”

Aubrey tosses it to Duck.

“We can still save you, sugar. And I’m sure as hell gonna fuckin try.”

Duck and Joseph haul him to his feet and carry him inside, laying him on his back on the table. Aubrey follows him, sitting down on one bench and taking his hand.

“We got no anesthetic, so this is gonna hurt like a motherfucker, but you can do it. Okay?”

Indrid nods weakly.

“We’re gonna get you through this. You’re” fear flickers across Duck’s face, “you’re gonna be okay.”

Aubrey braces Indrid’s upper body, Joseph his lower, as Duck cleans around the puncture in his stomach and sterilizes his tools. Aubrey holds up a hand,

“We need something for your mouth, right?”

“Good call” Duck retrieves a wooden spoon from a drawer, setting it between Indrid’s teeth.

“Okay” Duck takes a deep breath, meets Indrids eyes, “okay. I’m gonna start cuttin. Ready?”

Indrid just manages a thumbs up.

It hurts, because a blade cutting into your skin will always hurt. And because it hurts Indrid screams.

“That’s good” Joseph is trying to sound reassuring, but even he looks worried, “scream if you need to, research suggests it helps with the pain.”

“It’s not too deep, thank fuckin christ.”

Indrid stares at the ceiling and yells when Duck widens the incision.

“Almost can see ‘im. Yeah, there, he’s startin to shrivel already from the air.”

Relief mingles with the pain in his tears. Aubrey pets his head, “you’re gonna be okay, see?”

“C’mere you, you fuckin monster, you fuckin think you can take him from me” Duck hisses, then says gruffly, “Joe, need you to hold it open, go wash your hands.”

Once Joe is in position, there’s a horrible, wet sound as Duck places his hand inside.

Searing, blinding pain as he pulls the parasite free, Indrid’s blood running down Duck’s arms. He bites the wooden handle and it cracks. The creature wrinkles and dies in Duck’s hands and he hurls it outside.

“Shit, shit you’re bleeding a lot. Okay, fuck, okay, that was the hard part, this is just stitches. Just stitches.”

Indrid whimpers, clinging to Aubrey’s hand and scraping his nails against the formica table. Duck hits too deep on a stitch and Indrid winces and cries as his boyfriend curses.

“Here, Duck, trade with me.” Joe holds out his hand and Duck passes him the needle. The shorter man settles by Indrid, taking his other hand. He’s still bloodstained, and Indrid can feel him shaking, but he brings Indrid’s knuckles to his mouth and kisses his knuckles again and again.

“I’m here, darlin, I’m here, I got you, it’s almost over.”

Indrid focuses on his voice, pretends they’re in bed together, counts the kisses on his hand and wrist while the pain fades to the background. Dimly, around kiss number thirty-five, he hears Joseph sigh in relief.

“Done.”

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

Indrid curls up under the covers, clothes sticking to him with sweat and his stomach throbbing with pain.

“Easy, sugar, easy” Duck sits up from a makeshift bed on the floor, “here, lemme get you some painkillers.” He comes back with a glass of water and two white pills. Indrid swallows them, lets Duck help him from his shirt and wipe the sweat away with a cloth.

“How did you know to come look for me?”

“Just had a feelin. I kept lookin out at the road, saw the ‘Bago weavin, goin a million miles an hour, and just knew somethin was wrong.”

“Thank you. For coming for me.”

“I always will. Thanks for not deckin me or kickin me while I was workin on you.”

“Duck you saved my life, kicking would be rather rude.”

It’s a weak goof, but Duck smiles and kisses him.

“Oh, uh, here, someone else wants to say thanks.”

“Mraoow?” Winnie stares at him from Duck’s arms.

“We scared her burstin into the trailer. Poked her head out right after you passed out. So you, uh, missed me bawlin like a baby seein her again.”

“Awwww” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, ruffling Winnie’s fluff.

“I mean, that and it hit me how close I came to losin you. Poor Aubrey was tryin to comfort me in the Jeep while Joe drove you back here in the ’Bago.”

Indrid strokes his cheek. He understands; the thought of never seeing Duck again was the worst thing to happen to him all day, sting included.

“Come to bed?”

“You sure? Might not be too comfortable.”

“I want to be held by you. I want to remember we’re both still here.”

Duck joins him under the blanket, Winnie curling up on their feet.

“Yeah, yeah we are. And I love you so goddamn much.”

“I love you too. And I promise to cut a parasite out of you if the need arises.”

“God I fuckin hope not.”

“Me too. There were...fewer of them this time. I think they may be dwindling.”

“Fingers crossed. But even if we got a long ways to go towards rebuildin a world, I still got you, and you still got me. And that’s worth a whole hell of a lot.”

Indrid kisses him, inhaling the smell of clean skin and scratching his cheek against Duck’s stubble.

“You’re right, my love. It is.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #taz amnesty #whump #reader requests #post apocalyptic au #body horror

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damienthepious · 4 years ago

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im..... aaaaaaaaa

A Moment As An Optimist (chapter 2)

[ch 1] [ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, Forbidden Love , (alas…….), miscommunication followed quickly by communication

Summary: It is one of Damien’s favorite events of the entire year, all revelry and romance and joy, and he cannot wait to share it with his lovers. Or- with one of them, at least.

Chapter Summary: He promised he would not spend his evening moping. However, Arum is a notorious and consummate liar.

Chapter Notes: This is too soft even for me. I literally can't read it again or i'll fucking evaporate. byeeeeeee.

Arum tries to sleep. He does. Not particularly long after they leave him, in fact, Arum sighs and sags and gives up pretense, gives up any illusion that he is doing anything at all besides thinking about the humans, thinking about the celebration he cannot possibly join them in, thinking about the dance they cannot share, thinking about how- how beautiful they always look, together, how beautiful they look without him-

He gives up the pretense, and he curls up in bed.

Sleep fails to find him, though.

How many more such nights will there be, in his future?

How many more celebrations, how many dances, how many embraces will he be summarily excluded from? It is none of their faults-

He curls his arms around his own chest, a tangled parody of an embrace.

It is none of their faults. But the world, such as it is, will always hold Arum away from so large a part of their lives. When already Arum is a new and awkward third to their years of familiarity and knowledge and understanding-

Arum cannot resist the slow bleed of helplessness in his chest, the distinct sensation of inevitability. It has been some time since he has felt the feeling so sharply. Not since the early days, when their relationship felt so tenuous and fragile and Arum himself felt so certain of failure, not since those days has he felt so... resigned. His bond with the both of them can never possibly measure against their bond with each other, least of all while they are busily creating new memories and new bonds with each other while Arum-

While Arum curls and waits, wide-eyed and sleepless, for them to return to placate his hurt.

A recipe for resentment, if ever Arum has heard of one. He, resenting their happiness without him and despising himself for it. They, despite their kindness, their understanding- certainly they will tire of expending their energy in the pursuit of his elusive comfort eventually. His ill-nursed wounds will become their burden, with time, and one day they will look at him and they will sigh and their frustration with him will outweigh their affection.

Damien nearly chose not to leave at all. Nearly insisted upon staying, in fact, because the little poet is more compassion than good sense, and he is kinder by far than Arum deserves.

Arum cannot stop thinking of that. Of the cruelty in his own hands, the potential to dig his claws into the pair of them and drag them down into the dark with him, of how easy it would be to ply Damien with guilt and keep the pair of them all to himself-

An obvious cruelty. He would never forgive himself, of course, and he is certain as well that such efforts would only cause their resentment towards him to fester even more, in the long term.

He curls into an even tighter ball, hissing between his teeth.

Amaryllis would scowl at him and flick him in the nose if she knew how ridiculous he's being, at the moment. But then, she is not here, is she? The entire issue is that he is alone, and they are hand in hand somewhere beyond his reach, and Arum does not believe in fate but this certainly feels like what is meant to be.

Foolish. He squeezes his eyes shut, and then he wastes what feels like nearly an hour attempting not to think at all.

He gives up on sleep at long last, as he gave up on working earlier in the evening, and he drags himself from the bed with a heavy sigh. The Keep accommodates gently, no hint of teasing in its voice as it opens the way to his greenhouse, giving him soft bioluminescence to light his way.

He walks slowly, carefully, picking his way between the foliage and distracting himself with all the numerous marks of Amaryllis' hands upon this part of his home, the little labels she has affixed to sticks stuck like miniature flags in the dirt beside the less easily identifiable herbs, the cartoonish unhappy faces she has used to demarcate the more... deadly of his floral charges, the even rows of newer greenery she has introduced-

It only hurts a little, her fingerprints in his soil without her presence in fact. He is unsure whether or not he should feel lucky, that Damien's presence here is so much more ephemeral. If Arum allowed himself, he could still his mind enough to hear the echo of honeysuckle's poetry, whispering between the leaves. He has spoken so many lovely words here, between the trunks and bramble, Arum is certain that they must still be flitting in the shadows like moths and motes.

At least, he thinks, their mark will remain upon his home, upon himself, even after they have grown tired of humoring him.

He is unsure how long a time he has expended in this melancholy observation before he feels the Keep hum, before he feels a small spike of delight from the structure. After a moment, however, it goes oddly quiet. Suspiciously so, perhaps.

Arum raises an eyebrow, frowning vaguely upward.

"What?" he grumbles. "What are you up to now?"

It hums noncommittally, hedging, and Arum's frown deepens.

"What do you mean, nothing? You cannot hide from me, you enormous fool. What are you up to?"

It pauses for a long moment. Arum feels the silence as if the creature is holding up a metaphorical finger, and his impatience spikes, his frill fluttering as he gives a warning snarl, but the Keep ignores him for nearly another minute before he feels it pulse with a strange little shiver of excitement and-

He scowls. Something like mischief. Never a good sign, where his Keep is concerned.

"Do not give me that mood. I demand you explain yourself, you gigantic meddling-"

It opens a doorway before he can finish the sentence, and Arum is surprised first of all to realize that it is only showing him the way to the other side of the greenhouse, to the section dominated mostly by thick-trunked trees (which Amaryllis insists on labeling as the orchard), and as Arum stomps through with a snarl half formed into further complaints, the words disappear from his lips.

His Keep has strung vines among the branches above, lighting the wide, leaf-strewn space with blooming bursts of warm orange bioluminescence, and standing together beneath that canopy, Arum's humans are smiling, hand in hand.

He has never seen them dressed so elegantly. The rich blue and soft brown of Damien's kurta ripples in the light as he turns, smiling, the subtle weave of the silk only barely catching the eye with a near-imperceptible floral pattern. Amaryllis glows just as brightly, draped in a warm brown that matches the accent of Damien's clothes, glittering with carefully woven beads in an asymmetrical river curling down from her shoulder to her waist.

Arum remembers, when the portal closes at his back, to breathe, and then he remembers after another moment how to speak.

"I... y-you are... you have returned much... much earlier than I expected," he manages. Eventually.

Amaryllis grins a little too wide, visibly pleased with herself, and then she pats Damien's arm and the knight, his own eyes gleaming and soft, steps closer to Arum himself as Amaryllis tugs lightly on one of the nearby vines.

"I'm glad that we have found you still awake, my lily," Damien says softly, his tone utterly earnest, and Arum struggles to think beyond the pounding of his heart. "I feared that we may have left you alone for too long."

"O-oh?" Arum blinks, and then shakes his head quickly. "I- rather. I told you, honeysuckle, I have been perfectly- perfectly fine. What are you-"

"Just trust us for one sec," Amaryllis says, flashing him a sharp, striking smile, and Arum's words vanish yet again. Her smile softens at whatever look she has stunned onto his face, and then she reaches up, placing her recorder in the bell of a large pale flower the Keep has provided, gently amplifying the whirring sound of the machinery kicking on throughout the space as the Keep lowers the bioluminescence even further, slipping towards the quality of candlelight without the flicker.

There we go, Amaryllis' voice says mildly on the recording, and Arum can hear the sound of footsteps on stone, the light chattering of people, the laughter of hatchlings- children, rather-

All the gentle, rumbling murmur of a festival in the evening dimness.

"Amaryllis," Arum says, soft, and the humans step closer. "Did you-"

"Shh," she says, wrapping an arm around Damien as they slip close. "Trust us."

"Would you care to accompany us tonight, Lord Arum?"

Arum feels himself go still, the warmth of the attention of these shockingly gorgeous creatures almost too much to bear, and with a rattle in his chest he manages, just barely, to nod.

They reach, both in the same moment, and take Arum in their arms.

Amaryllis leaves one hand settled at Damien's lower back, the other she slips up over Arum's shoulder, her fingers brushing light along the back of his neck. Damien leans closer, letting his cheek rest on Arum's other shoulder as one hand wraps around his back, the other still clinging to Amaryllis on the other side, a tangled little triangle of limbs further complicated when Arum instinctively lifts his own arms to embrace them in return.

They hold him, they hold each other, and Arum blinks, both pleased and confused, but he does not have time to worry deeply as chattering on the recording quiets only a moment before the music begins.

The song is slow, gentle strings and rumbling drums and something bright and chiming, low murmurs from the crowd overlaying the instruments as the two humans hold him close, and this is- Arum is warm, and held, and he feels overwhelmed in perhaps the best possible way.

"Wh-what are you-"

"Close your eyes," Damien murmurs, his fingertips pressing against the scales of his back.

Arum blinks again in surprise, but after only a breath of pause he obeys, trusting their hands to hold him as he ducks his head.

They begin to sway with him, just slow, and after a long moment of music and murmurs, Damien begins to speak, his tone melodic, reminiscent of a spell.

"We arrive just after the sparring has finished, the feast midway through. The stalls have been cleared from the market square, and the wide tawny and peach flagstones beneath our feet look nearly golden in the light from the lanterns that have been strung in a gleaming, delicate web above our heads, as if the stars themselves have descended to grace us with their light from an orbit we can nearly, nearly touch. They've hung lanterns on the darkened buildings surrounding as well, and the flickering flames touch everything with fingers of light so diffuse and mellow that all within their glow take on the quality of dreams. It is the sort of light that plays across features, that makes movement from stillness, that echoes and accentuates a dance.

"A dance, such as the one we intend to share with you, this night. The musicians enter, smiling and shaking hands with the sparring performers as they pass, and the crowd stills with anticipation and delight as they tune their instruments and confer low about the piece with which they should begin. But then- I suppose you've heard that part already, have you not?"

Arum keeps his eyes closed, feeling their hands, feeling the beat and the way the humans are swaying him along with it, and when he realizes that he cannot make his voice catch he simply nods, certain that Damien can feel the motion.

"They begin with something soft. Our Rilla rolls her eyes, having hoped for a bit more excitement-"

Arum's mouth pulls into a helpless smile as Amaryllis makes a noise of mock-betrayal, jostling the three of them as she swats a hand at the knight, but Damien's voice only goes warmer as he continues.

"But she smiles nonetheless as I take her hand, and we both take yours. Perhaps you frown as well, reluctant to be drawn into the romance of such a moment, but- will you... will you allow us to take your hands, my lily? Will you dance with us?"

His throat is too dry, his heart beating far too fast, but-

"Of c-course I- always, I- you know I will-" he manages, his eyes still dutifully closed, and Damien breathes a laugh.

"Thank you. Thank you for indulging me, my loves-"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"So," he says, and Arum hears the edge of laughter in his voice before he drifts back to his sonorous, enchanting tone. "So, we draw you out into the center of the square, and no one is bothered a single whit, not a single creature looks at us twice. No- this is my story, my lily, and I will tell it how my heart has made it. We are long past such concerns here, in this moment, in this space. The flames paint Rilla's eyes rippling liquid dark, your scales gleam beneath the soft twirl of your cape, and none look our way except to note how beautifully my partners glow. We lift our hands, my love, we take you safe within our arms, and... and together, my love, we dance."

They sway with him, slow and measured, warm and close, and Arum-

Arum can see it. Can see this gleaming fantasy that Damien has woven around them, and the sting is so much duller when Arum can feel their embrace, can feel their hands and their hearts, and he could almost believe himself truly there. Truly included in this part of their lives, their celebration and joy. He could almost believe that if he opens his eyes now, he will see the swirling crowd, miraculously safe, and his humans safe as well in his arms, bathed in billowing lamplight.

I miss him, Damien says on the recording, his voice so terribly small, and Arum's breath catches as he holds the poet tighter.

We left him like an hour ago, Amaryllis says, practical and mild. And we'll be back home as soon as we're done here. She pauses, and then after a moment she sighs. But... yeah. Me too.

Perhaps... Damien says, so soft that the edges of his voice crackle through the mechanism, perhaps, someday...

Someday, Amaryllis agrees, and then Arum can nearly hear her smile. But we'll worry about someday when it's a little closer. Let's just keep working on tonight.

Arum breathes slow, struggling to keep the drumming of his heart under control, struggling not to hold them tighter and tighter and tighter, struggling not to collapse entirely under the weight of his affection, and Arum could still dig his claws into his fear, could still worry over every frayed edge and every moment of potential friction, could set his eyes on the uncertain future and fixate his fear on the idea of these creatures tiring of such beautiful, meaningful efforts for his sake, but-

But Amaryllis is always so much more clever than he, with such a gift for economy of language. Let us keep working on tonight, he thinks, another string of words with the strength of a spell, and then he finally opens his eyes again.

They are still the most beautiful creatures he has ever, ever seen.

"I love you so dearly," he rumbles, and his voice is unsteady, catching on every sharp edge as it comes up, but he cannot bring himself to care. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I cannot love you in the light, as you deserve. It is not right for you to be relegated to solitude and darkness with me while you both burn so brightly-"

"Don't you dare," Damien says, sharp and fierce, and Arum smiles.

"It sounds... beautiful, honeysuckle. It sounds like a dream." He inhales slowly, still feeling the scene that Damien described dancing around him like fireflies in the air. "I- I cannot help but be sorry that I am the cause for you both to have pulled yourselves away from such beauty."

"It is far more beautiful for the sharing," Damien murmurs. "If we wished to stay there, to simply drink in the evening for ourselves, rest assured that we would have done just so, my love."

"We'd rather be right here," Amaryllis says softly, smiling as she brushes her thumb over his cheek, lifting his chin. "With you."

She leans up the rest of the way, kissing him slow and thorough and certain, and when she pulls away Arum feels breathless for more reasons than one.

"Your presence in our lives does not diminish us," Damien says, his voice wavering with feeling. "Do you think I would have looked so closely, remembered so clearly, drunk in the evening with such fervor and care, if I did not wish for the memory to crystallize, if I did not intend to set this gem for you? Arum-" Damien leans back, enough to kiss Arum's cheek once, soft and sweet. "Arum, love is a living thing, nourishing as it is nourished, and even if circumstances are such that we cannot share every moment we wish with you in truth, in the most literal sense, that does not mean that we cannot share our lives. It does not mean that we cannot give ourselves to each other. If our love must exist in the shade to survive, that only means that we must attend to it with more care, that we must nurture each other and our love with every ounce of passion it deserves."

"We love you," Amaryllis says, and her own tone is shockingly full, unsteady, her eyes bright when Arum blinks in her direction. "We love you, and we're better for loving you. And we're gonna keep loving you until you're completely sick to death of us."

Arum barks a laugh, short and surprised, and then he gives up any remaining mirage of self-control and squeezes his arms around the pair of them, lifting them into the air. "You won't be rid of me that easily," he growls, burying his snout in Amaryllis' neck as she yelps a laugh. He spins, still holding them, a slow turn to the rhythm of the song still playing beneath all of their words. "I... I am-" He swallows, nuzzling closer, feeling their laughing breaths and their sturdy hearts beating, safe against him. "I love you. I pity the creature I was before I met you. You- you make me wish to be better, you make me wish to make the world better, for your sakes, and- and I can no longer imagine the shape of my life without you."

"Good thing that won't be a problem, then," Amaryllis says, breathless but still unbothered as she cradles his head in one hand, pressing a kiss to the scales just beside his frill. "Because we aren't going anywhere."

"No," Damien agrees. "Not so long as you will still have us."

#elle's fanfic #a moment as an optimist #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #sir damien #amaryllis of exile #the keep #[yells in aggressive fluff and comfort]

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sexyshakespeare · 4 years ago

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LIFEGUARD AU, CH 1: CAPTAINS ON DUTY

/Kuroo Tetsurou, Sawamura Daichi, Kozume Kenma, Oikawa Tooru/ /Small mentions: Hinata Shoyo, Bokuto Koutarou/ This was inspired by a really cute meme about the Haikyuu boys when someone is drowning- credit to op for making that! We absolutely loved it, and I had to start writing this AU cause- Kuroo, Daichi thirst strong -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

They were both on duty today. He’d be thankful- having Sawamura on his team was definitely a load off his back.. but- “Oh fuck- another one- you want to get that or should I?”, Kuroo frowned as he saw them struggling to stay above the surface of water- right in the middle of the pool. He’d been watching them steadily swim to the middle.. and now they couldn’t swim anymore? It didn’t make any sense to him- but that was the nature of this job- absolutely no time to think. They had to rely on instinct and their rigorous training. And their good form of course. It was barely noon and they’d had twenty people almost drown- if Daichi or he weren’t in perfect shape, they’d have been too exhausted to move by now. “Man- I’ll take it..”, his voice sounded- tired. Kuroo smiled softly at him and patted his shoulder as he started to run with his board towards the pool- pool C this time. They were both on duty for two other pools- and it was a busy day. It really didn’t help that a lot of their friends had shown up today as well. It was a pool party of sorts- which Tetsurou and Daichi couldn’t join in on cause they were on duty. The rooster haired man sighed heavily and leaned against his chair, his eyes scanning the pools for anyone else who suddenly decided their legs had turned to lead at the deep end of the pool.. His eyes fell on a familiar, comfort inducing sight.. his pudding head. Kuroo smiled softly looking at him- he was sitting on one of the foldable chairs, squinting at his phone, his pretty hair falling over his face. He probably hated being here.. he knew he’d only come cause Kuroo was on duty. The man found himself smiling wider at the thought- he showed his support for him all the time, even if he didn’t quite have the words for it sometimes. Then Kenma looked up. What was he looking at.. well- it didn’t seem very interesting cause he saw the blond look back down into his phone and lean back into his chair. Kuroo looked a little to his left- his eyes bugging out when he saw him- WAS THAT OIKAWA?? HIS ARMS WERE FLAILING- DEAR fucking god- Where was Daichi?? Probably still at Pool C- he had to run. He barely had time to grab his floatation device before running towards the area. “TETSU CHAN!” “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING-“ “IM DROWNING OBVIOUSLY?” Kuroo squinted at him- he didn’t look like he was drowning.. he was tall enough to stand up at that depth. “JUST STAND UP-“ “I c AN T” He groaned a little and got into the pool- leaving the board outside. He swam towards the middle, putting his arms around him to pull him onto his own body- before tipping him very purposefully forward- it resulted in his legs definitely touching the ground- just his head above the water. Kuroo raised his brows at him. “Well- h a- I guess I forgot how?”, he said cheekily and winked at him. Why was he like this. “I ought to smack you-“ “Tetsu chan don’t be like that! I swear I just forgot..”, another grin from him- his hair sopping wet. He laughed at him a little and grabbed his chin- squeezing a little and splashing water on him. Oikawa joined in fast, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, and laughing in his ear. He loved playing with him- but he seriously was at his job right now- Then Kuroo looked up then to see Kenma /glaring/. Oh wow.. “Kitty.. you okay?” No sound.. “He’s going to drown me for real..”, Tooru whispered in his ear before throwing a sheepish grin towards Kenma. Kuroo patted his chest a little and got out of the pool- his hair was wet too now, and had to be pushed out of the way. Oh- his shorts were wet as well- sticking to his thighs.. annoying. He picked up his floatation device and started walking back to his post- catching several eyes on him. M a n- did he feel awkward. Well- it was nice in a way, to get all that attention. He looked up a little and waved back to the group of girls waving at him- and of course he had to smile, it was only polite. The next thing he knew- Kenma was standing at the edge of the pool- tilting his head slightly as he looked down at the group of them.. a strange smile on his face- that wasn’t normal.. and that mad look in his eyes when he hacks the final level boss to pieces. “Kitty..?” “Hm?” “..you want a hug?” He nodded slightly and wordlessly put his arms around Kuroo- pushing his head into his bare chest, the drops of water not bothering him in the least. He still had that look in his eyes- and he was still looking at those poor girls.. who had definitely stopped giggling at the moment. Kenma’s smile grew impossibly wide- cutting through his face like a knife. He smiled a little and put his arms around him as well, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “Kay- I gotta head back now.. you going to be fine?” The blond nodded slightly- though he was still very clearly giving them the stink eye. He had the strangest ways of showing affection.. and yet it made the man’s chest feel warm. Kuroo separated from him- at which point Kenma stood up on his toes to give him a little kiss. It was so obviously a display of /ownership/- he noticed, as he tilted his head in an uncharacteristically cocky way towards the group at the pool. Needless to say.. it got the lifeguard blushing a deep red. “Right- I’ll see you later.. eat something okay?”, he said quickly and walked away towards his station. Well, that was something.. Kuroo shook his head to get the feeling out of his head, as he came back to his post and saw Daichi there- p a n t i ng. “O II are you okay?? Drink this-“, he was immediately pushing the squeegee bottle with Gatorade in it towards the man. His eyes trailed down his wet body- his shorts outlining.. something. He blinked a little and looked away- eyes widening before he could stop himself. Daichi drank the Gatorade, chugging down quite a bit before leaning back against the table and groaning. “I had to fish out three people in under an hour- NOT including Hinata- and Bokuto-“ Kuroo laughed a little, wondering how those two had ended up in trouble already. “Dare I ask?” Daichi simply shook his head as he tried to catch his breath. “Hinata did a canon ball in the deepest part of Pool B- of course- and Bokuto just jumped right in to save his protégé-“ He frowned a little and huffed- looking adorable as he did. What a man.. Kuroo thought to himself- looking like an absolute hunk, and still managing to look cute. “Of course- I had to drag them both out as they flailed uncontrollably and gasped for air-“ Kuroo laughed heartily, throwing his head back. And that was when Daichi noticed his wet hair and body- his thighs looked painfully slick at the moment. He cleared his throat and looked away, smiling politely at the wooden post instead of looking the other man in the eye. “I had Oikawa pretend to drown just a while back so-“, he chuckled to himself, picking up a towel to wipe down his chest. “Don’t bother..”, Daichi suddenly found himself saying- his eyes fixed on the other’s glistening abs. “Huh?” “O h I mean- you’ll probably have to jump in after someone else in a few anyway-“ “AH right- but this chlorine can’t be good for my hair man..”, Kuroo said with a little pout and set to work drying his hair roughly- the bedhead returning to its previous glory. Sawamura sighed heavily and sat in his chair, shaking his head to himself. Just.. why /did/ they put them both on duty together- and on a Sunday? It seemed like the worst management decision anyone could take. Kuroo joined him, sitting down in his chair. His gold eyes sneaked a glance at his arms this time- tan and wet. He wasn’t complaining about it at all, clearly. “What-“ “You’re going to get sunburnt my man-“, he said with a confident smirk. Daichi hated that smirk. He hated it with a passion. Kuroo reached over to their desk, the sinews on his torso rippling slightly as he stretched. Daichi suddenly found himself frowning a t the man’s body- it had no right to be doing this. After some searching around in the drawer- the neko man returned with a tube of sunscreen, and passed it to Daichi. “Right- though I put some already-“ “Here let me- you seem exhausted-“, Kuroo frowned at him with concern. But his smirk just wouldn’t go away. Daichi didn’t trust that smirk. “My boyfriends will find you.. and hurt you- you know..” “O H my dear god- DAICHIII-“, he grinned at him, suddenly shaking with laughter. Kuroo loved doing this to him- it was definitely a pretend game he played- and it worked on Sawamura so well. “I just wanted to help a friend out! I don’t want you getting sunburnt..”, he smiled yet again- a little too wide. What was it about Daichi that made him want to be extra cheeky. The fact that he was such a serious man, maybe. It made him want to find the cracks- the very idea that he might one day fluster a man like this? Bliss. “Well then- make sure you cover every bit of you- I won’t look..”, Kuroo said yet again, with a grin. He was going to get kicked in the balls one of these days.. on one of these double shift days.. “You know- I’m glad you’re here-“, Daichi said suddenly- his smile polite and his eyes soft. T h a t took him by surprise. “AWW really! You like me that much?”, Kuroo put his hand over his heart as he blinked several times- batting his lashes. “We need an idiot to handle all the idiots- I could never have gotten through the day without losing my mind..” “OIIII” It was Sawamura’s turn to laugh now, as he applied sunscreen on himself and watched the clock. “You want to grab lunch?” “Mhm- sounds good-“

#daichi #kuroo #kurodai #daikuroo #kenma #oikawa #haikyuu #bokuto #hinata #lifeguard #haikyuuboys #kuroken #asadaisuga

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vodkaexplorer · 4 years ago

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64 for either chickles or magtok? :O i will lose my flipping mind (or litererally 64 for any ship if yuo wanna do a different one cuz it's just so romantic im gonna scream)

64. Being Unable To Open Their Eyes For A Few Moments Afterward

why not...both?

Chickles:

“It was a bad day." Charles said with as much sympathy he could muster for the triviality that had been brought before him. “We all have bad days."

The way he said his platitude with such a matter-of-fact cadence grated on Pickles, upper lip curling in an angry sneer. “Oh, ‘we all have bad days’.” He mocked. “What do you - what would you know? You get to fuckin’....fuckin’...drink whiskey all day in here!”

"Well, it’s brandy, usually." Charles corrected, and Pickles shouted out in frustration.

Charles was not an easy person to read. He kept his book close and closed, but when you spend so many hundreds of hours with anybody, you come to know their tells. In this case, Charles carried no tension in his shoulders or irritation between his brows. He leaned back in his seat, watching Pickles with those intelligent, dark eyes. While Pickles was deeply involved in the throes of his own self pity, he knew Charles well enough that he knew his manager was finding this all funny.

Irish blood boiling hot, Pickles stormed over to the desk and slammed his hands down. “You think this is cute?”

Charles’ brows lifted and he gave an amicable hum. “Mm,” he rolled his chair back so that he could stand. “You have a problem with me, now?” His voice ever even.

“Yeah I got a problem!!” Pickles barked, face reddened with anger.

“If you just want to keep yelling, by all means. Whatever helps the process.” Charles suggested as he came around the desk, keeping one of his hands on the top of it as he walked around it to Pickles, slowly. Like approaching a wild horse. “Might I suggest an alternative?”

Pickles narrowed his eyes, and Charles extended an open palm, coming to a stop just out of Pickles’ reach. The drummer would have to step closer to close their distance. An offer of trust.

Like a fussy cat that couldn’t bear not to get the hidden treat cupped in its’ master’s palm, Pickles too couldn’t resist reaching out and try and grab onto the inviting hand. Charles slipped his hand up before Pickles’ could, and caught Pickles instead by the wrist, sharply tugging him forwards, into Charles.

Pickles opened his mouth, about to say something as he was incensed by the trick - but before he had the chance to feel slighted, Charles covered Pickles parted mouth with his own. His arms came up and around Pickles’ back, holding him tenderly as Charles’ craned Pickles’ head back to deepen their act. Their eyes closed.

Pickles busied an angry hand in the back of Charles short, carefully kept hair, the other taking a tight hold to the back of his suit jacket.

And they kissed. They didn’t move much, only peppering one another with inconsistently paced kisses. Some long, languid and sensual. Others short, fervent, and needy. For every complaint Pickles’ had coming into the office that day, Charles banished it away with his affections.

Traded instead of words, their wordless conversation moved at the beat of their sweet kisses.

Charles was sure to make their last kiss last. The sympathy he lacked in sentences was made up in the empathy extended in the imprint of their lips on another.

When they finally broke, they continued to hold each other, seeking each other’s closest comforts. They put forehead to forehead. Locked together. Frustrations be damned. Pickles couldn’t imagine what it might look like to open his eyes again, now that he was lulled into a dreamy fishbowl by Charles. He breathed him in instead, breathed the office in. Felt what it was to relax his weight into Charles’ torso.

“I hope you’re feeling better,” Charles whispered.��“But I’m sure I can always find some space to extend today’s meeting?”

Magtok:

The tips of Magnus’ fingers pressed more weary folds into his eyelids as he attempted to ward exhaustion back. It slithered into the corners of his fuzzy consciousness, tempting him to turn to bed.

"Sleepins?" A gently curious voice asked from behind him.

Looking back over his shoulder with a frown, he saw Toki standing a few feet from the doorway. "Not yet. I've got a few things to wrap up here. You go on ahead, buddy."

"Stayins up all night ain'ts good for your health."

Magnus snorted and turned back to his work. "That's funny, because I think I remember that you stayed up all night playing that game. What was it again? Something with spaceships.”

He didn't have to see the sulking look to know it was being made. Still, Magnus couldn't help but smirk dryly to himself at the thought of Toki’s petulant pouting.

"Wells, it’s different when it’s for somethins fun."

Magnus heard Toki approaching, and allowed the settling of Toki's hand against his upper back, rubbing subtle circles into the tension points near his spine. It felt good, and Magnus couldn’t help but sigh as his shoulders relaxed.

Toki began to dip in, to try and kiss Magnus on the cheek, but Magnus leaned back, jaw craning away as he put a firm hand over Toki’s bicep. He half heartedly attempted to push him away. “No, no Toki. I’m tired. I’m busy. I’m not up for distractions. The sooner I finish the sooner I sleep - didn't you just say staying up is bad for my health?”

“Unless you're doing somethins fun!" Toki used Magnus’ exposed neck to his advantage, one of his hands gently pushing the mane of curled hair back so he could lightly press a kiss to the junction that connected Magnus’ jaw and ear.

Magnus sighed again. This boy, always smelling of cinnamon hearts and summer grass. His Achilles heel.

Toki came around one side of the chair, and used his opposite hand to cup Magnus' jaw tenderly.

Magnus' eyes closed to a curtain of darkness. When Toki's lips met his own, he was sure he heard the chime of a crystal bell, its ring like the drop of water into a clear pool. Toki's intentions rippled from him and into Magnus, transforming him from the disgruntled, bent gargoyle over his desk and into something malleable. Mortal. Warming Magnus to life.

They kissed in silence, and Magnus found that his own arms were up and around Toki, a hand at the nape of the young man's neck, his other cradling onoe of Toki's firm triceps.

The two grown men were too large for the chair, but Toki stubbornly slipped his legs through each arm as he climbed onto Magnus’, his solid weight settling over Magnus' lap. They touched and kissed and enjoyed each other, Magnus convinced out of his focused tasks and into Toki’s attentive lips.

When they stopped, Toki rested against him. His arms held Magnus loosely, and Magnus’ eyes remained closed as he steeped in Toki's presence. They breathed together, and Magnus settled his cheek comfortable against Toki's head as he stroked the young man's back. In his mind’s eye, he saw open skies and rolling hills - he things that he saw in Toki.

The liminal limbo of his conscious, no longer awake, yet not quite asleep, Magnus fell into peace.

#lampmeeting #IM NOT!!! PROOF READING ANYMRE!!!!#throws the bad lamps around #ANYWAY #i hope u like it #i enjoyed writing these lmao #KISS PROMPTS #magtok #chickles #I HOPE THIS IS WHAT...THE PROMPT IS ASKIGN FOR KLJDSA #drabble #ficlet

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