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atths--twice · 11 months ago

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Chapter Four

Painting 101: A Study in Art

Saturday afternoon

“Here,” Scully said, handing Mulder two clothespins. “If you gather the edges of the tarp together and pin them, it lessens the chance of it flying off the table. Or blowing up and hitting the rocks we’ve painted.”

“Smart,” he said and she nodded as she picked up the tarp she had brought with her and began to unfold it. He took one end and she took the other, spreading it over the picnic table. “It was a good idea to bring this. Considerate, I mean.”

“Yeah well,” she said as she pinned one side of her corners together. “I know it’s a public bench and who knows what other people have done here… oh, like write Janey blows hard in permanent marker. Lovely.” He looked at her and watched her shake her head as she read the words written on the table. “So, I thought bringing the tarp would both keep us from touching or seeing those previous activities and protect the table from further ones.” She pinned the other corner and looked at him with a smile.

“Hence the tarp,” he said, smoothing down his own side and smiling back at her.

“Yeah… hence,” she replied, her smile growing.

“Alright then,” he said, quickly finishing his task as she began to lay out the rocks she had gathered and some others they had found when they had gone to a bonfire the previous evening.

Hannah, and some of Dana’s other friends, had arranged to have a bonfire at the beach. While it was not Mulder’s usual scene, he had gladly joined them.

He and Scully had walked along the shore in the dwindling sunlight as the fire was set up, holding hands and hissing when the cold water hit their feet. She had stopped to pick up rocks, putting them into her pockets and then asking him to do the same when she had run out of room.

When they had returned to the group, the rocks were transferred to her backpack and she had smiled as she closed it up, setting it next to them on the blanket they were sharing.

“We’ll have a lot to paint tomorrow now,” she had said, taking his hand and leaning her head on his shoulder as the fire popped and crackled.

She had stretched her legs out and crossed her sandy feet. He had frowned as he noticed something and as she wiggled her toes, he leaned forward to get a better look.

“Are you… is that a ring on your toe?” he had asked and she had shifted, beginning to pull her feet back.

“Oh… yeah. I forgot to take it off,” she had said quickly.

“What is it?” he had asked, moving to take a hold of her foot.

“Fox… Mulder, you don’t…” she had said, trying to stop him. “It was just a silly thing my sister sent me and I… it’s not me. I just forgot to take it off.”

“You don’t like it?” he had asked, gently wiping away the sand to get a better look, but watching her face to wait to do so.

“I do,” she had said quietly with a nod. “I just… it’s not me. I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Can I look at it?”

“Yeah,” she had whispered and he had smiled as he looked down and moved her foot closer to his face to see it in the glow of the fire.

It had been silver, not thick but also not thin and in the middle of it, a moon and two stars had been cast.

“How is it not you?” he had asked, rubbing the ring and then her toe gently. “The design?”

“Wearing it at all,” she had said, looking down at it. “It’s more something my sister would do.”

“I see,” he had said, remembering how she had spoken of her sister. “Did she make it?”

“Yeah. She said she is learning how to cast and work with silver.”

“I think,” he had said, rubbing his thumb across the moon and stars. “With my limited knowledge of your sister and my growing knowledge of you… you should definitely wear it.”

“Why?”

“Hmm,” he had said, looking down at it and smiling. “You said you liked it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s call that reason number one then,” he had said and she had exhaled a breath. “Reason two, unless you’re wearing shoes that expose your toes, you’re the only one who knows you’re wearing it. So, no one can comment on it- either for or against.”

“Yeah,” she had said again, looking down at her foot and nodding.

“And reason three,” he had said softly, causing her to look up at him. “If it makes you happy, makes you feel any way… different than yourself or whatever, then you do what you want. Who cares what anyone has to say, how they may look at it, or what their personal opinion is. They don’t matter. They can fuck off.”

She had gasped and her mouth had dropped open, her eyes widening.

“You said fuck,” she had whispered.

“Yeah, I did,” he had said, a smile stretching across his face.

“I didn’t know you vineyard boys said things like that,” she had said and he had laughed, his hand moving from her foot to her ankle, his thumb rubbing around it softly.

“Oh, we definitely do,” he had said and she hummed as she scrambled up and was suddenly straddling him, her arms around his neck.

“What else do you do that I don’t know about?” she had whispered, her lips dropping to his as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

A loud chorus of ohhhh and wolf whistles had filled the air. He had pulled back and she had laughed as she kissed him once more and then moved off of him. He had felt his face flushing as she goodnaturedly called for them to shut up and mind their own business. Kissing sounds were then heard and he had exhaled deeply as she had taken his right hand in her left and then flipped them off with her right.

The fire had crackled and then popped again, smoke blowing toward them as they waved it away. His head still buzzing from their kiss, she had laid her head on his shoulder and stretched her legs out again.

“I’ll keep wearing the ring,” she had whispered and he had smiled as he looked at it. “Because… fuck ‘em.”

“Exactly,” he had agreed. “Fuck ‘em.”

“You certainly added more rocks last night,” he said as he looked at the large group of them on the table. “I like the ones you chose.”

“Thanks. I like to find ones that are large enough to paint something interesting but also some that are different. Like this one,” she said, picking up a rock that was completely smooth except for two small holes that appeared on both sides. “I think I like this one the best and I know how I want to paint it.”

“How?” he asked.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” she said and he nodded with a smile. “I’ll get the paints and stuff out now. Pick your rock.”

He looked through the numerous rocks and decided on one as she finished setting up the items they would need to paint.

“Okay. Let’s get started,” she said and they smiled as they sat down beside each other and prepared to paint.

He paused and watched her, appreciating the way she selected her paint colors and added them to one of the paper plates she had brought before moving onto the paintbrushes. Dipping the brush into black paint, she began to add it to the rock with the two holes.

“I can feel you watching me,” she said, turning her head to look at him. “It’s a little unnerving.”

“Sorry,” he said, grinning as he reached for a paper plate and a tube of paint. Creating his own palette of colors, he stared at his rock and waited for inspiration to hit. “Have you always done this? Is painting rocks a hobby of yours?”

“No. Well, not exactly,” she said, shaking her head as she continued to paint the rock black.

“Do you paint other things instead? Like canvases?”

“No again,” she said, looking up at him with a smile.

“Alright,” he said, smiling back at her. “So…?”

“I had a rock collection when I was younger,” she said, her attention back on the rock as she painted slow strokes. “Like I told you, we moved a lot with my father being in the Navy. I had rocks I collected from California, South Carolina, Washington state, and Japan.”

“Japan? Really?” he asked, picking up his paintbrush and tapping it softly against his rock. “What was that like?”

“I don’t remember much about it, being so young. Well, except the base and the sea. I was only five when we left, but I brought my collection with me. They were sacred.”

“I’m sure they were.”

She smiled at him and nodded. Setting her paintbrush into the tall plastic cup she had filled with water, she clasped her hands together and sighed.

“I never painted the rocks in my collection and to be honest, it never occurred to me to paint any. But, I worked as a counselor at an overnight summer camp when I was eighteen and it happened to be one of the activities we did with the campers. Someone had collected rocks from the beach and brought them to the camp. We were only supposed to observe and offer assistance if it was needed, but there were so many rocks, I painted one with my cabin of fifteen year olds.” She smiled as she picked up a different paintbrush and touched the bristles. “I told you that I was going through some things last year, things that wouldn’t have allowed this…” She gestured between them and he nodded, remembering their conversation on the boat. “Well… I guess you could say it started around that summer and kind of continued on in waves.”

She laughed almost bitterly and he stared at her, waiting to hear more.

“You know how some people are late bloomers when it comes to puberty?” she asked and he nodded. “Well, for me, I suppose it was rebelling.”

“Hmm. You have an older brother. And a sister,” he said, watching her face. She met his eyes and nodded. “You saw them grow up and then leave. You were done with high school and college was on the horizon. I could see all of those factors leading to a bit of rebellion.”

“Are you studying psychology?” she asked and he chuckled softly.

“No.”

“You might want to reconsider that,” she said, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“I’ll think about it,” he replied, chuckling once again.

“It could have been all of those things,” she said with a sigh. “But I think I just… I don’t know. I just felt angry and upset a lot of the time. I felt… kind of out of place in my own skin.”

“Well.. in my… studies and from books I’ve read,” he said, his tone serious as he put a hand on his chin and stroked slowly. “As well as in my observations…” She grinned as she watched him and he smiled back with a shrug.

“You’re so adorable,” she whispered and then leaned toward him, kissing him softly before pulling back.

“I was serious, though, about the changes in your life,” he said. “They can all manifest to cause turmoil we never anticipated.”

“Yeah,” she agreed with a nod. “I know. But at the time though, that kind of thinking would have really pissed me off.”

“I completely understand,” he laughed and she smiled again.

“It was just…” She sighed and then looked at him, her eyes traveling over his face. “I’ve never really talked about this with anyone.”

“Not even a friend?”

“Not in its entirety,” she whispered and he nodded slowly.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You can-”

“No, I want to. I just… I don’t want you to think less of me. Or… I don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t,” he promised, shaking his head and smiling slightly as he gently squeezed her knee and she sighed again with a nod.

“I was tired of being perfect Dana. The one everyone kind of babied and kept an eye on, but then seemed to forget about. I was… the result,” she said and he frowned, not understanding. “My sister had pushed the boundaries of things as she grew up. So as the result… I was treated differently.” He hummed and nodded. “I had stricter curfews, rules about makeup, dating, school, and friends. Bill, my older brother, behaved like my father at times, especially when my father was gone, telling me what to do and how to behave. We got into many fights over it and I really hated him sometimes. When he left for the Navy, I was more happy than sad to see him go.”

“That’s not too unusual,” Mulder reassured her. “Especially if he acted more like a father figure than your brother.”

“I know, but I felt guilty about it after a while,” she said and he nodded. “But I kept it pushed down, not wanting anyone to know. Then my sister left. Well… she sort of left as she would come and go, not having, as my father would say, a known purpose. But, even though they would fight, my parents asking her, sometimes pleading with her, to have direction and drive, it would end in a sigh and a shrug as if to say, Well, that’s just Missy, what can you do?” Scully sighed heavily and shook her head, her eyes downcast. “It felt… felt unfair and like… everything was then put onto me to be better than perfect and do what they thought I should do. At first I did, being the person I am. But then it made me angry and I started rebelling. It felt good at times, but shameful at others.”

“Sounds about right,” he said quietly, tapping her arm gently. She raised her head and looked at him, her eyes wet with tears. “Middle of four children… it’s hard not to be overlooked and also forced to excel.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, setting her paintbrush down and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Yeah.”

They were quiet for a couple of minutes and then she sniffled as she wiped her eyes again.

“It was small things,” she said, letting out a deep breath. “Staying out past curfew. Not calling if I’d be late. Leaving my room a mess, even though that killed me.” She laughed and then sniffled, wiping her eyes again. “I was technically an adult, but still living at home for the time being. I fought with them, acted out, went on dates with men that I… that I didn’t really like, because I knew it would bother my parents. But when the men wanted more from me… I broke it off and then…” She shook her head and he gave her a small smile as she looked at him. “I was so self destructive, if I had met you then, I would have hurt you with my actions.”

“You know,” he said softly, setting down his paintbrush and taking one of her hands. “I’ve always been a really good judge of character.”

“You don’t have to brag,” she said with a sob and he chuckled as she shook her head.

“Sorry,” he apologized with a smile and she nodded, sniffling softly. “But what I meant is that… I tend to observe, then act. Always have. I would have seen past that bravado you put up. Seen you. And I would have been your friend.” He leaned closer and gently kissed her forehead as she let out a shaky breath. Pulling back, he smiled and she scrunched her chin as tears filled her eyes again. “But… that wasn’t the journey we were on. So the past is the past and the present is now.”

“Yeah,” she whispered and he nodded.

“I’m sure I would have wanted to know that Dana. Just as much as I want to know this one. Older and wiser.”

“I’m twenty. I’m not old,” she said, rolling her eyes dramatically and he laughed softly. She smiled as she dried her eyes again and then stared at him. “Thank you. For listening and understanding.”

“Of course,” he said, squeezing her hand.

“We kind of steered off topic,” she said, glancing at the rocks on the table.

“Does one have to do with the other?” he asked and she looked back at him.

“Yeah, in its own way,” she said. “When we painted the rocks at the camp, I was listening to the girls in my cabin talking. There were two camps actually. On one side of a large lake was the boys camp, and on the other side was the one we were at, the girls camp. So naturally, the girls wanted to figure out a way to get to the boys camp.”

“Of course they did,” Mulder said with a laugh.

“And of course, my job as a counselor was to discourage such behavior. But then I thought about all of the times when I wanted to do something, and I was told no, or simply given a look that meant that was not how I was to behave, and I remember saying under my breath- fuck it. And then I said it loud enough for them to hear me and all of them stared at me in shock.”

“I’m sure.”

“As we sat there,” she said, touching the rock she had painted and smiling. “We came up with a plan to sneak around the lake and see the boys. The rush I felt from doing something… bad… made me feel invincible. It was different from how I had ever felt before and I liked it. A lot.”

She glanced at him and he smiled, encouraging her to continue.

“Well, we snuck over, although…” She laughed and shook her head. “I don’t know if snuck is the right word as we were quite loud. We had invited another cabin so it was twenty four girls and four counselors walking through the woods at night, laughing and chatting in loud whispers.”

“How far did you get?” Mulder asked with a chuckle.

“Nearly to the cabins. But the boys' camp leader met us in a golf cart, shaking his head and crossing his arms. The girls all screamed and started to run, us counselors following after them. I was in the back of the group and when I looked back, he was laughing.”

“I bet.”

“We all laughed as we walked back and some were planning when our next attempt would be, but for others it had been enough. I felt torn as I would normally have been scared to go once and mortified to go a second time. What if that leader was there again?” She looked at him with wide eyes and he laughed. “But then, as we got back to the cabin, and the girls started getting ready for bed, I thought about how exciting it had been to break the rules a little. So the next time we planned to go over, I was one of the counselors who took them. The group this time was smaller, and even though we didn’t make it much further, instead of heading back to the cabin right away, we stayed by the lake for a little bit. We threw rocks in the water and looked up at the stars, talking about boys and growing up and… everything and nothing.” She smiled and he nodded, picturing the moment perfectly. “I heard them talking, thinking about how they were different and braver than me. I wouldn’t call them defiant, but my father certainly would have. But sitting with them there, I thought about how I wanted to make a change.”

“And so you did.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “ I did, and like I said at times, it was great and at times I hated it. It was a year of some serious soul-searching before I started to come back to myself. And strangely enough, it was finding both my rock collection, and the one I had painted at the camp, that had turned things around.”

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well,” she said with a smile. “The rock collection made me think about myself as a child and the things that I had held dear and were important to me.” She smiled again and let out a sigh. “And then as I looked at the rock that I had painted, with the added thumbprint of each girl to remember them by, it made me think of myself as the grown up I now was. Staring at the two together, I realized that I’m more like my younger self than what I believed to be my older self. They are two sides of a coin, and yet I am more like one than the other.”

“But you need both sides to make the coin whole,” he said softly and she nodded.

“Exactly. That��s exactly it. I was trying so hard to be one or the other, I didn’t think about the fact that I could be both. So,” she said, laughing through her nose. “So, I changed again, or maybe not changed, just embraced who I am. A people pleasing, good girl at heart, with a bit of a rebellious streak that might not be right at the surface, but definitely lingers below.”

“Huh,” he said, his hand once more at his chin as he stroked it thoughtfully, his eyes on her. “Yes, that would be my assessment as well.”

“The girl at the country club who would work up the nerve to convince you to join her in some debauchery, scared and thrilled that we’d be caught at any minute,” she said, her eyes shining as she placed a hand on his knee.

“And the boy who was just simply terrified of everything- getting caught, you for being so bold, and myself for the joy it brought me,” he replied, covering her hand with his own.

“That place wouldn’t have been able to handle us,” she whispered and he laughed as they both leaned forward and their lips met.

“Ewwwww!” came the cry of children’s voices and they pulled apart to find the source of the sound.

A small mixed group of boys and girls around the age of seven were staring at them with disgusted faces.

“Kissing is yuck!” one kid said and the others agreed, nodding vehemently.

“You’ll change your mind one day,” Scully called to them and they shook their heads before running off toward the playground.

“They will,” she said to Mulder. “Especially if the person is as good a kisser as you.”

“Back at ya,” he said and she laughed. “Whaddya say we get back to these rocks? I was promised Toni’s after this and I’m starting to feel a little hungry.”

“Yeah,” she said, squeezing his knee gently. “Let’s do it. You know what you’re going to paint now?”

“I do,” he said with a nod.

“Then let’s get started,” she said, turning her attention back to her rock. “Thanks for listening. And understanding.”

“Of course,” he said with a nod. “It’s free of charge this time, seeing as I don’t have a degree in psychology.”

“Yet,” she said, raising her eyebrows as she glanced at him.

“Right,” he agreed with a laugh and she nodded as she picked up her paintbrush.

After painting six rocks each, they began to clear away their mess and the extra unpainted rocks as they left the others to dry a bit longer. When everything else had been done, they looked at the creations they had made.

“I like them,” Scully said, smiling at his rocks. “This one especially.” She pointed to one of the last ones he had made and he smiled happily.

“I made that one for you,” he said. “I’m glad you like it.”

“What?”

“It’s this picnic bench,” he explained, pointing at it. “It looks ordinary on its own, the sun setting behind it, but it’s not. It’s a place where I learned more about you and why rocks are important and what they represent.”

“Fox… Mulder,” she said, her fingers running lightly across the rock. “I love it.”

“You’ll notice I didn’t add Janey blows hard, so it’s not completely accurate,” he said and she laughed.

“It’s better than accurate,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, hugging her close. “Thank you again for telling me.”

“Hmm,” she hummed and then looked up at him, silently asking for a kiss. He smiled as he kissed her, the wind blowing softly around them. “I made one for you too. Can you guess which one it is?”

“Oh, let me see,” he said, letting go of her and looking at her rocks, which were painted and detailed much better than his own.

He looked through them all twice before he shook his head and looked at her.

“I don’t know. They’re all beautiful and very well done, but I…” He shook his head again and she smiled.

“This one,” she said, pointing to one with a medium blue background and what looked to be purplish blue berries clustered together on a dark green branch.

“I don’t-”

“You gave me your sweatshirt on the camping trip,” she said softly. “Without thought of being cold yourself. It was so warm and smelled so good. We didn’t really know each other and yet you did that. Then you fell in the water and didn’t ask for it back.”

“Well, I had other clothes.”

“Still…” She shook her head and squeezed his hand. “Then you heard me singing while we were looking for plants and things to eat.” She laughed and shook her head. “God, I was trying so hard to get your attention.”

“What?”

“I wanted to know you better. And as I gathered up the berries, I promised myself I would do just that,” she said. “So, I painted them for you. Because now that I have gotten to know you better, I want to know even more.”

She looked at him and he grinned, lifting her off her feet and kissing her as she squeaked in surprise.

“I do too,” he whispered, kissing her again and setting her down.

“How about we accomplish that over an early dinner?” she asked, her eyes sparkling. “Say… Toni’s? My treat?”

“It’s like you’re reading my mind,” he teased.

“Imagine that,” she said, smiling as she began to gather up the rocks.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, picking up the rock with purplish blue berries painted on it and smiling. “Imagine that.”

#the x files #msr #alternate universe #college au #college classmates #bonfire #kissing #hanging out together #day at the park #discussions #getting to know each other even more #childhood memories #stories of the past #teasing #laughing #comforting #happy #flirting #xf fanfic

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silver-crowned-riders · 2 years ago

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Caring for my clothes/fabric-wearing Pokémon!

ALRIGHT! I suppose Rotomblr is a good place to share information like this and, heh, I'm pretty knowledgeable on the topic if I do say so myself.

I train a bunch of Pokémon that wear clothes or fabrics. It's such a weird and freaky thing to a bunch of people for some reason, oooh where do they come from do they ever take it off so weird blah blah blah. Most people just get distracted being weirded out insteada learning anything! SO! I wrote about what I do for my team! Here it goes!! - J

Ribombee

These dudes make scarves out of wild materials, they're super crafty and can work well with their tiny hands and nature skills. Thin and lightweight is what they'd want, and they wouldn't mind a somewhat scratchy texture either. They enjoy the details (it's not about a perfect ~soft~ consistency just cause they're fairy types!! Arceus on Spear Pillar you guys' fairy type stereotypes give me a headache. AHEM!) and they can really tell when love's been put into it. Gifting eachother scarves can sometimes be part of how some Ribombee find mates too, along with making the most impressive pollen puffs!

My Ribombee had an old and plain scarf it wasn't all that attatched to. What I did was take the cotton left behind by a fleeing Whimsicott me and Ribombee went up against, did some minimal processing of the cotton with what I had at the base, dyed it brown and suprised her with it! She's never taken it off.

Oh, and I came up with a method to make that spike thing, but it's kinda hard to explain and pull off... there's Mewtube and Bulba-How tutorials, and if you can't pull it off you can get help from your Ribombee! Again, it's a social thing for them, they don't mind.

You don't really need to worry about cleaning a Ribombee's scarf. Most of what they make would kinda just fall apart if washed, so they've learned to use their hands very delicately to do the job themselves! They're probably better at it than you, so just back off for these ones. Plus, like touching a Skitty while it's licking itself, it's just kinda rude. Don't be rude!

Mimikyu

OOH OOH, OK THIS ONE'S SUPER INTERESTING! So ghost Pokémon's bodies work different from usual ones as you all probably know. The reason why Mimikyu hatch wearing a rag despite there clearly being a face drawn on the fabric is that over time a rag becomes bonded to one's body and essentially becomes a part of the Mimikyu! Hah, I get the feeling, like my gloves I made that feel like a part of me too, or like, my sweatpants when I was a teen.

However, the fabrics do get old and do need a wash. Not cause your Mimikyu, like, sweats or anything, it's less an odor issue and more that they can feel the fabric and old ones can get uncomfortable over time. Gyeuh, can you imagine something scratchy and full of dirt being bound to your body? Makes me squirm a little.

It's important to get a whitish fabric and a black, brown and yellow/orange marker or paints depending on which would work on your fabric, plus a little string and stuffing for them to make the head with. I don't think they have individual preferences for how the rag looks, they wanna look like Pikachu and they have a specific idea for how to go about that.

I took my little guy to the fabric store only cause I'd need something blank to work with (plus I don't dig the vibe of those places! There's people who don't know what they're talking about everywhere and the smell of a hundred different detergents and marker inks following you around! I always have to bring Swirlix along there to get myself through it.) I let them feel out whichever one they like the most and I let them run wild with it. Then, I let them go into the closet to change, and out they come a new man!

When it comes to cleaning, wild Mimikyu would just take a dip in a pond or whatever, or just... not wash. Eh, can't judge. However for my guy I follow whatever is needed for their specific fabric at the time. In the meantime they hide under a mattress while I leave Clementine there (my Scrafty) to make sure no one tries to take a peek at them.

Shuppet

Shuppet is really interesting because yeah, it looks like it's kinda just the sheet... and that's because it is! It's not like Mimikyu, that's just it's body. You can't replace the sheet, but it can still get dirty, so you can bathe a Shuppet the same way you'd clean a fabric! Unfortunately the one thing about being a Rider who's into clothes stuff is that there isn't really a "punk" detergent out there, and no one who like. Wants to make a small business around detergent or whatever. So I just get some (groan) Baby Smoochum's Laundry Detergent since I've found its what works best.

(I would shoplift it, but like. The cashier at the store I go to is really nice and I don't wanna get into an argument with him...)

Oh yeah, and if you use something else, make sure it's NON-TOXIC! Shuppets ain't immune to poison, remember! It won't really care if you use something scented or not, it's senses are specialized towards emotion, so it has a dulled sense for taste and smell of real food.

You don't need to do dry clean or anything for these guys. You'd normally want to do the wash on low for the sake of the Shuppet, but mine is a CERTIFIED DUDE who likes swirling around inside the laundry machine at HIGH, ADRENALINE-PUMPING WASH CYCLE SPEEDS!! It looks really fun tbh. So that's how I do it!

I don't think I'd be able to do the washing machine method when (or if, at this rate,) he evolves though. Stronger ghost Pokémon easily curse things if you're not careful, and I'm not going through all this effort just to end up with haunted ghost clothes!

Scraggy and Scrafty

Common misconception that these are another clothes-wearing one. From what I've heard usually only Scrafty's dex entry clarifies it, but that's thick shed skin, not actual clothes! And SOOOO many people treat that like such a freaky, world destroying fact when they learn it! GAH! Arceus forbid nature isn't perfectly pretty by human standards all of the time!!

But yeah, for Scraggys and Scraftys (or... Scraggies and Scrafties?) you just keep an eye on areas where dirt can get stuck under the shed skin like around the feet or in the tail and let them soak in the bathtup (or a lake if you're on the road) every now and then.

That's what I got for my team! They're the ones I'm most knowledgeable on, but I'm knowledgeable on the topic and can give pointers for other Pokémon too if you have questions!

#rotomblr #pkmn irl #pokemon rp #pokemon irl #jace posts #pokemon headcanons #long post

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alleiradayne · 2 years ago

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In Baldur’s Gate, Dragons Dungeon You! | Art Master Post

An SPN/D&D mashup that can be read on its own or part of the greater series The Way Things Ought to Be.

On a quiet afternoon a week shy of Christmas, Dean is interrupted while poking through the news for a case. Someone is pounding on the Bunker door. After a brief huddle with Sam and Castiel, they investigate to find Charlie on the other side, a box of books at her feet. She needs to use their archive for research and a place to stay while she does it. Of course, she's always welcome at the Bunker. And when Dean discovers her trove of Dungeons & Dragons books, she offers to run a quick campaign.

But the mysteries aren’t just in Candleekeep. Charlie seems to have one of her own. Except no one can put their finger on it. The campaign unravels--along with Charlie’s secrets--as she tells the story of The Scrivener’s Tale.

Chapter 3 - Video Killed the Radio Star

Summary: The campaign begins... Warnings/Tags: Intrigue, D&D stuff, roleplaying, cursing, consumption of alcohol Characters/Pairings: Castiel playing Castiel, Dean Winchester playing Rawridan, Sam Winchester playing Mephisto, Eileen Leahy playing Fechin, Jack Kline playing Comet Shadowpool, Charlie Bradbury Pop Culture Reference Count: 10 Word Count: 3818 Song: Video Killed the Radio Star - The Buggles

For what felt like the first time in ages, Sam held in his hand something he had actually created. Filling out a character sheet, he'd discovered, had tapped into a neglected craft, a forgotten artistry. Not that he lacked inspiration. Between time with Eileen and studying Rowena’s library, months had slipped through his fingers like water. And there had been no shortage of jobs, although they all had been much more particular about which cases they took and how often. With more and more hunters joining the ranks, Sam had leaped at the chance to take a break, if not for himself, but for his family. Years ago, he might not have seized such an opportunity. Everything had changed, and for the better, since undoing Chuck's finale chapter. The thought crooked his lips into a small smile as he scanned his character sheet again, then set it on the table, satisfied.

Across the table, Dean and Castiel babbled like caffeinated children as they gestured to their own character sheets. And beside Castiel, Jack signed to Eileen across the table so quickly Sam struggled to keep up. Something about music—no, a song…

“Alright, I’m ready.”

Charlie handed Eileen’s character sheet to Sam. “Do we need anything else?” he asked as he passed her character along.

For a beat, Charlie appeared confused, as though Sam had sprouted a second head. Her eyes slid to the table where she stared that long, far-off look, blinked, then shook her head. “Jeez, I almost forgot the map and the figs.”

“Figs?”

Charlie hefted a small plastic set of drawers from the floor and set it on the table. “Figurines,” she stated, tapping the top. “Pick out a fig to represent your character on the battlefield.”

Dean glanced at the table, then turned back to her. “What battlefield?”

Again, Charlie retrieved yet another item from beneath the table. With a flick of her wrists, a three-foot long vinyl sheet rolled out and revealed a grid of one-inch squares. Then she tossed a set of wet-erase pens at the edge, along with a marker-stained rag and a spray bottle.

“Battlefield,” she stated as she picked up a marker and began to draw. “Pick out your figs and…” When she finished her structure, she replaced the pen cap and set it aside. “You’ll place them inside as you’re introduced.”

Sam pulled the figurine drawers towards him and opened the top drawer. Neat rows of highly detailed pewter figures sat nestled in dense foam. “Did you paint these?” he asked as he hefted a tall, mulberry-skinned tiefling in dark purple robes and black leather.

“I did, but it was a short-lived hobby,” she said as she motioned to Eileen, and Sam slid the drawers to her.

After the figures completed a trip around the table, everyone had selected their miniature representative—Jack’s tiny fairy complete with lute and sword, Eileen’s many-bladed half-elf, Castiel’s plated-covered human bearing a pike and shield, and Dean’s minotaur hefting a massive sword in both hand. When Dean handed the drawers back to her, Charlie retrieved a figure out of the bottom drawer as well.

“Who is that?” Dean asked.

“Mind your own business,” Charlie chimed with a coy smirk as she handed Jack’s character sheet to Dean who passed it to Castiel. “Listen, just kick back and relax while I get the story started. Y’all ready?”

Ever prepared, Sam intended on doing much the opposite of relaxing, pencil poised over a blank notebook.

“The Restricted Section Tavern teams with life, bursting at the seams with the sound of merriment and commerce. Sam, your character is seated at a table and about to receive dinner…”

A heavy mug thumped on the table before him, dragging Mephisto up from the depths of his surging thoughts. He smiled at the barmaid, a young human no more than twenty and five. He placed a stack of coins on her tray as she set a heaping bowl of hearty stew before him, then thanked her too late. She had whirled away to the next table, and it wasn’t as if she could hear him anyway. Only a few chairs remained empty in The Restricted Section, and within minutes, he knew they would fill. Best tavern in all of Candlekeep, as far as he was concerned. Brightly lit, a massive iron chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, bathing everyone and everything in a golden glow. Sturdy oak beams crisscrossed the tall roof, and in the furthest corner of the dining room, a roaring fire warmed weary traveler and aged scholar alike. Ale, mead, and wine filled his nose, mingling with the scent of savory meat, carrots, and potatoes.

A second steaming bowl of the very same stew he ate appeared on the table before him, snatching his attention once more. “We’re short on space, sweetheart.” The barmaid had returned again, her tray laden with bowls and mugs. “Do you mind?”

She side-stepped to reveal a tall half-elf, her leathers and linens bedecked by all manner of daggers strapped across her person. The deep green hide and clean, ivory linen clued Mephisto in on everything he needed to know. He stood and inclined his head. “I would be honored.”

The woman bowed in kind, a small smile crooking her lips, then seated herself. Though she seemed comfortable—it wasn’t every day that one was required to keep company with a Tiefling—Mephisto left well enough alone.

“Wait a minute, are you serious? You named your character Mephisto?”

Sam twisted to look at Dean and found a disgruntled glower. He shifted in his seat, then said, “Yeah, so?”

“A demon-thing. With horns and hooves. Named Mephisto?” Dean repeated. “Don’t you think that hits a little too close to home?”

“Would you rather see me go dark-side in real life or live vicariously through a D&D character?”

Dean opened his mouth to retort, then snapped it shut. After a surly moment of teeth grinding and side-eyeing, he said, “Stick to the tabletop games.”

Sure. He wanted to poke the bear. Just once. But he decided against it. He turned to Charlie with an eye roll and asked, “An elf just appeared in front of me?”

He found her staring at an indistinguishable spot three feet in front of her, eyes wide and glassy. Unseeing. He knew that long, far-off look. And that settled it for him. Something was up. But what, Sam could only imagine. It was hardly the right time or place to ask. Prying was out of the question. So instead, he nudged Dean, then gestured to her with a bob of his chin.

Dean reached out for Charlie’s hand, but the moment he connected, she startled back and snatched her cuff. Then she shoved both hands in her lap beneath the table and continued the story. “Sorry. A half-elf. Not an elf. She appears to be in good spirits, but reserved.”

Not one to intrude, Mephisto focused on his dinner, but kept a discreet watch. Motion near the hearth, caught just out of the corner of his eye, snagged his attention and he craned his neck to get a better look. There, he watched a child—no, a fey—step up onto the shallow stage on the far wall. In one hand he carried a lute by the neck, a harp in the other, and a drum tucked under one arm. With all the grace of a dancer, he set the drum in front of a short stool as he straddled the seat, then placed his lute in a stand. Practiced fingers plucked at the harp strings as he held his ear close, adjusting where needed with delicate turns. Then the fey straightened and looked across the room, a satisfied smile on his face.

The dull roar of the dining hall stilled so sharply, Mephisto thought he had missed something. But then the fey on the dais rose to his feet and spoke.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I hope I find you all well, and by the night’s end, even better.”

A pindrop would have sounded loud as a blacksmith’s hammer ringing on the anvil. As the fey returned to his seat, Mephisto found himself on the edge of his. There was something familiar about the bard that required no introduction. Who was the storyteller that appeared too young for his pipes, but sounded wise as an aged wizard? He had little time to ponder such questions, for the fey raised his long, nimble fingers to the strings and began.

“I have a song!” Jack chimed.

Charlie shook her head as though to hear him better. “Uh… sure. Go for it.”

“It’s more of a story, but I think I can put a song to it,” Jack said. “Only if… you’re okay with that.”

If Sam had not seen the look she gave him, Jack’s trepidation might have confused him. Charlie stared at him, the faintest hint of fear escaping her tightly contained demeanor. But then she said, “Alright, give me a performance roll.”

Jack plucked his largest die, a D20, from his tiny pile and gave it a roll. After a check of his character sheet, he said, “Twenty-two.”

“Have at it, Van Halen.”

The fey established an impressive theme, intense and foreboding despite the harp’s dulcet tones. Several measures passed, then the accompaniment softened to a whisper, and he sang.

Lords of lore, I implore Gather ‘round for a story One long lost to time’s cruel march And the scribe’s unforgiving quill

He sang a robust tenor, and his fingers flourished a swirling melody on his harp’s strings. Each verse spun a web, a tapestry of a tale long since forgotten. Enamored, Mephisto had hardly moved an inch. The fey’s song and story painted such a vibrant picture, he had only but to close his eyes.

I knew the heart of the tarnished exile Spurned by her kin, her queen For fire and treason and plot But I knew her, the onyx sovereign Before the Night of Obsidian Knives I had always known her heart

Three lies for three crowns One black, one silver, one gold Thrice they trusted And thrice she betrayed I had once known her heart

The midnight towers fell first Toppled by her war Next the silver spires Corrupted by her greed Last the golden peaks Murdered by her delusions And I wished I had known her heart

For she had wrought ruin upon The ancient realm of those three crowns On that Night of Obsidian Knives The rivers ran with black, silver, and gold Black and silver and gold Black and silver and gold Black and silver and gold

What a memory, Mephisto awed. With every verse, the story twisted in a new direction, guided by spine-tingling chords and soaring refrains. Nearing the end, a crescendo vaulted, measure after measure, into a wild clashing dissonance as the fey lamented the legend lost to time.

I thought I had known her heart But I had only feared my own For there the truth had always hid And had I but looked I would not be here today Transcribing my final intention Burn Witch Burn

I should have known my heart

His final words quieted, sang so reverently, and not a dry eye remained in the entire tavern. With a rolling final chord so forlorn, the fey lowered his head in benediction. Then the chord faded, and the song ended. A sorrowful quiet filled the tavern, interrupted only by sniffling noses and clearing throats. The fey raised his head, a brilliant smile on his youthful face, and the tavern erupted. Cries demanded more, and coin funneled hand over fist into an ornately carved box at the edge of the dais. He thanked each of his patrons individually, shook their hands, welcomed their embraces and tears, basked in their praise. But why? Yes, the bard had performed the ballad quite marvelously. Even Mephisto had welled up a bit. But something else had resonated with Candlekeep's residents, a deeper meaning unbeknownst to him.

"Roll a history check for me, Sam."

Sam shot a sidelong look at Charlie, hidden behind her Dungeon Master's screen. He could only make out the knot between her brow, her stare focused on her book. She said nothing else, remaining motionless. So he picked up and tossed his D20 along his character sheet. "Oof." He considered his sheet. "An eight."

Was that relief he heard in her sigh? "You don't know the ballad's story or origin." Her glare rose just above the screen to peer at Jack.

Sam followed it only to find Jack's easy smile and bright eyes. He considered them both for a beat. "What?"

Resin clattered on the wood behind Charlie's screen and she laughed—or scoffed, the screen muting her as well—and then she rose above the board, smiling. "Nothing. Would you like to play another song?"

"Sure," Jack chimed.

The fay set his harp aside and hefted his drum. “How about a dance?”

Travelers and locals alike cleared out a space in a minute, their movement rote. Though he had spent two nights prior at The Restricted Section tavern, he had yet to see their ritual. No wonder the bard had not introduced himself. It was then that Mephisto spotted a shiny gold pin in the shape of a lute, scroll, and quill on his lapel. College of Lore, then. Not just an entertainer. A certified storyteller, historian, and artist.

In the midst of the commotion—and Mephisto’s distraction—the tavern doors opened wide, unnoticed at first.

“I enter with Dean.”

“Cas, I’m not ready for either of you yet,” Charlie began, but then she spotted the crestfallen look on his face. She glanced at her book behind her screen, then looked back up to him. “Alright, I’ll make it work.”

“I go in first,” Dean said.

“I do not believe that is a good idea, Dean. You’re playing Minos’ beast.”

Dean grimaced, but then rolled his eyes and agreed. “Alright, fine. But I’m right behind you.”

Castiel nodded, and Charlie continued. “Castiel, you enter the tavern…”

A dark haired, blue-eyed human in shining mithral plate crossed the threshold, drawing several looks. What followed, Mephisto imagined no bard could have anticipated.

Stranger than fiction, indeed.

A minotaur ducked under the frame to enter on the heels of the human, then rose to his full seven feet. Clad in similar plate, he cut a terrifying figure, and every single soul in the tavern froze. When had they last seen, if ever, a minotaur in Candlekeep? Or anywhere for that matter?

As the odd pair scanned the tavern, the minotaur’s golden glare stopped at the fey on the dais, then snapped to the patrons holding tables and chairs. He grinned. If a minotaur could grin.

“Good man, allow me.”

He shuffled between the throng, then plucked the rather large table from the struggling man’s hands as though it were a feather, and gently set it aside. He turned back to the fey and asked, “A dance, Master Bard?”

“If you would have it, yes,” the bard said with a nod, nonplussed.

“Then I’ll make way,” the minotaur replied as he gingerly navigated the crowded tables. “Hooves make poor dancing partners. But I do enjoy watching a lively jig.”

Mephisto released his spear to cover his mouth in hopes to hide his laughter. Across the table, the half-elf had dropped her chin to obscure her own grin. Between them, they were the only patrons that had seemed to hear him. Still petrified, the rest of the tavern appeared to have missed the minotaur’s humor. He had taken up an empty space in a nearby corner and seated himself on the floor. When he looked up, he saw everyone staring back at him. Then he tossed a heavy bag of coins on a nearby table and said, “A round for the tavern on me! Have a drink and a dance!”

An uneasy cheer—but a cheer nonetheless—from the patrons broke the tension. They took to the cleared space as the bard began a jaunty beat on his drum, and dancers danced in trading pairs. Servers weaved through the tavern in a wild rushing step of their own, and the fey sang a fascinating tune about a lycan and his human wife.

“Rawridan!”

Mephisto diverted his attention to the nearby corner where the unlikely couple had taken up a position. The human hardly had to lean over to speak to the minotaur—Rawridan—chastising him for what appeared to be careless spending.

“That was supposed to last the rest of the week.”

Rawridan shrugged. “I’ll win it back. Or the archivist will finally pay us.” He paused then and looked the other regal warrior in the eye. “Both. Probably both.”

When the blue-eyed paragon glanced in his direction, Mephisto suddenly found the bottom of his mug more interesting. A server refreshed his drink with great haste, and he used the distraction to continue eavesdropping, but the conversation never resumed. Rawridan had grown preoccupied with the dancers, his massive hands clapping along as he bobbed his head in time. And the gilded soldier—a paladin, Mephisto surmised—appeared mildly annoyed rather than truly affronted as he had at first. At least, he too, found some enjoyment watching the dancers as they bounced from one end of the space to the other, the beat quickly gathering speed.

Infact, the bard had long since finished his song and had merely continued to provide a beat for the dancers. Faster and faster, they spun and twirled and changed hands and kicked and stomped and cheered until they could no longer stay on their feet. Several patrons collided—intentionally, it appeared—and another raucous applause ended the song.

“A drink well earned,” the fey began as he set aside his drum. “And a final song as well. What will it be?”

Several songs shouted from the thinning group, and the fey nodded, gesturing for more. He picked up his lute and plucked at the strings, twisted the knobs at the headstock, listened with one ear. Patrons peppered him with more and more songs, an endless list, and even the half-elf added her opinion. Though it had snagged the bard’s attention, he still waved her off.

So thoroughly present, Mephisto found himself suspended between moments, those liminal spaces between thoughts. A chill coursed along his spine, and he shivered. Old bones rattled between his ears, but he saw no dice on the bar. Louder and louder, the rattling tumbled in his head, drowning out the people around him. No one else seemed to hear the clattering as it rose like rolling thunder.

But as quick as it had started, the rattling stopped. Then the tavern door opened again, and Mephisto knew without a shadow of a doubt who was about to enter The Restricted Section. When he stood, so too did the half-elf beside him. As did the paladin and his companion, Rawridan. And across the room, the fey stood as well, lute dangling from one hand. Patrons fell silent once more, following their bard’s wide stare to the door.

From behind her screen, Charlie withdrew the miniature she had selected and kept hidden. She set it on the map just inside the tavern’s doors, then cleared her throat and said, “You see…”

A harried young man in researcher’s robes crossed the threshold, unassuming and particularly nonchalant. The tavern-goers resumed their chatter and song requests, largely ignoring the Avowed Acolyte with whom Mephisto had grown familiar the last three nights. Ramilir, one of Candlekeep Library’s hardest working Avowed, spotted him immediately. He also spotted the others that stared him down, first the half-elf beside him, then Rawridan and the holy champion. Last he spotted the fey on the dais, and it was then that Mephisto understood.

Fate had gathered five threads for Ramilir to weave. And he had come to the tavern to collect those he was promised. With one more cursory glance across them, Ramilir nodded, then turned back for the darkness beyond the tavern door and disappeared into the night.

Without hesitation, Mephisto followed, but not before Rawridan and the paladin darted rather quickly out ahead of him. The half-elf crowded in behind him, and much to the dismay of the tavern’s patrons, the fey vaulted the dais. Quick as a quail, he threaded through the crowd and darted out the door a step ahead of Mephisto.

A crackling streetlamp barely managed to illuminate the otherwise dark road, both ends disappearing to nothing beyond its aura. Chill wintery air washed over him, refreshing his lungs as Mephisto breathed deep. He recalled Ramilir’s letter then, wondering if any of it had been true. Several referrals had recommended Mephisto, according to the missive, and not only for his prowess in pact magic and curses; no, it seemed several old acquaintances had recalled his time in the Waterdeep Library where he had studied with Farideh, the infamous adventuring Warlock, and had developed a keen eye for errors in translations, historical inaccuracies, and outright lies. So it was unsurprising that Ramilir had requested his assistance with a boatload of research.

But what of the others? The half-elf with her copious blades, and the bard with a voice like molten gold? Several guesses stacked up quickly, but none satisfied his curiosity. And then there stood Rawridan and the paladin, both formidable in their own ways. What use might Ramilir have of them? Did he expect trouble?

“I owe you all an apology.”

Charlie yawned as she said, “And that’s it for tonight. I’m beat. Long day.”

“Wait, what?” Dean squawked. “What happens next?!”

One after the other, Charlie stacked her things, books, screen, pencils, and dice in one arm, then stood. “You’ll find out tomorrow. G’nite, y’all.”

Before Dean could protest any further, Charlie slipped away, shuffling through the war room. Indeed, she appeared beyond exhausted, listing to one side before she descended the steps to the hallway. Sam hoped that the Bunker provided her some measure of comfort. Or peace of mind. Anything to help her forget whatever kept her up at night.

He glanced around the table, but nobody said much of anything. Dean appeared quite confused. But then Castiel asked him if he wanted a snack, and that shook him loose, so whatever bothered must have been trivial enough.

Eileen and Jack wandered off at some point, deep in conversation. Sam, however, remained in the library, wondering. Charlie wasn’t a rookie anymore. She had driven all night, but for a… ritual? A curse? Regardless of what it was, it had to be serious for her to do something so drastic.

There was no use sitting alone and ruminating about it. If he was going to help Charlie, he had to speak with her. Tomorrow, though. Clearly, she needed the rest.

Sam stood and traipsed to the kitchen, resigned to solving yet another mystery. After one of Castiel’s snacks.

This series is complete! Reblogs are loved and feedback is welcome!

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someonestole15 · 7 months ago

Text

It takes about the half-life of Polonium for me to write one post.

Dead are not silent.

In the dead of night, you can truly hear their whispers, each of them asking the same question. Why in a million years would I be the one to leave so soon? I keep thinking on an answer to that question but so far, I have found nothing but static, dead air. Radio crackling from the dying signal, I allowed it to slip loose from my grip and fall into the void beneath me. Bright light ahead, forming into a console somewhere within my OS.

>>CPU impact detected, checking system status... >>Unit condition compromised, Damage within acceptable limits. Proceeding with reboot

From my dreams back to reality, a voltage coursed from my powercells through to my heart and CPU, kick starting everything and sending most sensors to 11. Hurts like hell, I tried to keep my breathing calm as the shock faded into a blissful numbness with the safeties cutting off the data flow. Sensory input returning slowly and the numbness subsiding, I hazily got on one knee as my gyroscopes started calibrating. Which way is down, gravity pull this way so that must be it, right, now how does one walk again...

Systems calibrating to my weight, one leg at a time I stood myself up and took in the surroundings, my scanners painting the forest around me in wireframe before the optical systems finally calibrated, allowing color to return to my vision. Rain, navigations messed up so no idea how we got here, I patted down my jacket and noticed my pistol and shotgun were still in their place and the hazmat suit, despite a few scuffs, was still intact.

Booting up my scanners, I felt them spin around for a bit inside my skull before settling in to the front and scanning the zones around me. No active hostiles, the scan came up with four tags near me, it took a moment for the identifier to read their tags. Rest of X-ray, status: alive, a faint sigh of relief got through my filters as I glanced up to see cooling towers visible above the trees at a range of approx. 300m, my rangefinder could not get an accurate reading.

Slow and steady to where Valkyrie was lying, the rest of squad not far from her. Red visible even through the hazmat gear and her scanners quietly ticking away, I gently pulled her over to her side and gently shook her.

“Hey, you better not be dead on me.”

“Who...” Dazed but alive, she grabbed onto my jacket shortly before identifying me. “Oh it’s you. Where were you, what happened?”

“Not sure, seems I caught a close look at a rifle stock if I read my logs correctly.” I responded as I gave her my hand and helped her up.

“We had a similar tale from what I can remember; the security team took us down as soon as we got out of the range of the cameras.”

“Things are not adding up, but we have more important things to figure out what is going on.”

“Alright, I got your six.” She said while racking back the slide on her handgun, the faint red glow from her eye shining through the mask.

Speculation as the only thing to rely on, we moved from marker to marker, waking up our remaining squad members. One by one, the tracker on my HUD filled up and once we had all five, we took shelter near a service cabin close to the edge of the clearing, using the piled up logs as cover. Rations and medical kits to recover and bind up the few wounds, the weather started to clear up but the mood in the squad was clearly down.

“So now what?” Oscar asked, grabbing the pack of smokes from his vest pocket once again.

“I need to think... What did you find inside?” Richter asked, holding onto his bandaged arm. Likely painful even if just a graze, it would take a moment for the painkillers to kick in.

“It was more than a leak, the entire section was contaminated and the traces were consistent with a chemical weapon we found on that haul a few weeks back.”

“Right, they knocked us out once we were out of camera range... Played me like I was some damn boy scout.” Richter said with bitterness in his voice and pacing around, kicking away small rocks and sticks as he walked.

“Breathe. Don’t get angry, get even.”

“Even? All right... We need to get through to Control.”

“I think... Yes, I am getting a signal through; whatever they were using for jamming is not active anymore.” Diana said, followed by a round of testing from the rest of us. Hazy signal but it did connect; Richter grabbed hold of his radio with a pained grunt before switching over to his working arm.

“Control, this is X-ray, do you copy?”

“Control copies, thought we lost you X-ray.”

“Situation update, stand by.”

“Copy, send traffic.”

Traffic sent, data packages from smaller pieces coming together, the radio remained quiet until Richter had relayed all the information, responding only with a quiet “Copy that.”

“X-ray, this is Control. Listen up; it is clear from what you said that the mission objective could still be completed. We will dispatch a backup team to assist in both containing the hazardous materials and securing the plant. Going to be a hell of debrief...”

“Roger that control, what are our orders?”

“Secure the front gate for a rendezvous with the backup team and continue operation Pale Flame. We’ll look into who or what might have caused the guards to turn on a rear echelon unit.”

“Got it, X-ray out.” Richter said into his radio before turning to the rest of us. “You heard the man. We will secure the front gate for our backup unit. Phoenix, are you able to take point?”

“Ready and able.”

“Good, rest of you, spread out and cover the flanks. Clear? Good, execute.”

An arrow cutting across the clearing and onto the forest road leading back towards the plant, scanners like flashlights leaving no place to hide as the road beneath our boots shifted from gravel to dirt and finally asphalt. Arriving at a row of garages and shutter doors, we cleared corners and moved through the area, avoiding a few blocked off paths and reaching the road leading to the plant itself. Short jog from here to the reactor complex, I grabbed cover as Richter gave the command to halt.

“Anything on the scanners?”

“All quiet.”

“Same here.”

“I would have expected a patrol by now, something is certainly not right.

“That many guards for a lone power plant... ”

“Take cover. Time to kick the hornets’ nest.” Richter said under his voice as he drew his pistol and removed the magazine, firing one shot towards the sky. Echoing throughout the forests and sending a flock of birds scattering from the trees, I could hear the faint clicking from my sling mounts as we waited for anything to appear on the scanners. Loud to silent again, the wind rustling the fabric on my jacket and nothing on the scanners, just as on the way here.

“Clear. Double time, head on a swivel.”

Steady pace across the opening and into the plant complex, we double-timed it across the parking lots and access paths until we reached the front gate. Our truck was still parked there, partially covered by a blue tarp, almost as if someone had tried to hide it. Security cameras and motion trackers offline beyond the fence, the container command outpost had been dismantled, but the handler was nowhere to be seen. After confirming that the gatehouse was empty, we kept our eyes on the plant and waited for the backup team to arrive.

Boot tapping gently against the concrete to the beat of the track, my scanners picked up movement along the road. Pause, the faint hum of an engine reached my audio systems as the radio signal came through.

“X-ray, this is Gamma, do you copy?”

“This is X-ray, we hear you.”

“Copy, we are approaching now, how’s the situation at the gate?”

“Gate is clear.”

“Glad to hear X-ray, Gamma out.”

Faint humming to a low-pitched growl as an APC pulled through the gate and parked up near the middle of the parking lot, deploying a squad of CTO soldiers before a large transport truck followed it in. Hauling what I would guess to be a mobile laboratory, it passed us and stopped behind the APC, deploying a smaller crew of CTO soldiers, one of them wearing an orange armband over his dark hazmat suit.

“2-2 takes security. 2-3, on me.” Voice muffled by the mask and with an electronic buzz to it, the man seemed to be quite carefree despite the situation at hand.

“Looks like we got here just in time, you haven’t burned the place down just yet. Lieutenant Ryan Gray, Gamma squad command, here to assist.”

“Glad to have you Gray, I trust Barnett gave you the details?”

“Chemical weapon on the loose and we’re here to help in containing it. We gathered the ones who weren’t busy or dying, so you got all hands of 2-3.”

“We managed to secure a scan of a sample before the guards turned on us, shouldn’t take too long to work out what works.” Diana said, pulling up the chemical formula on her PDA.

“Alright, Davis and Carlson, lend her a hand. Richter, stage is all yours.”

“We had a team recon the inside of the plant. So far, it seems the contamination is localized inside this section of labs here.” Richter explained while setting up a small holographic mapping tool and pulling up the plants blueprints on it.

“These kinds of laboratories usually have an external sprinkler access point, so all we have to do is locate it once we have figured out what we need.”

“External, so outside... It seems to be clear out here but we cannot be sure about the inside. If the security team is hunkered down in there, they could potentially cause more harm than just a chemical leak.”

“Indeed, I think we form three teams, one per reactor and secure them. We have enough soldiers to have at least three soldiers from 2-2 in the squads.”

“I’ll take one.”

“You sure Richter?”

“I’m sure; a busted wing is not going to keep me down.”

“Full of piss and vinegar that one... All right, two more.”

“I’ll take a team; I was on the team doing internal recon so I have a basic layout in my memory.”

“I didn’t catch your name.”

“Phoenix.”

“Think I’ve heard that somewhere... If Richter is fine with it, then so am I.”

“All yours. Bring them back alive.”

“Will do.”

“Oscar, I want you on the third team.”

“Yep, I might be a bit rusty on the team leading but I’ll give it a run.

Plan coming together, we divided into our teams and rearmed, the empty medical kits to full and damage to the equipment patched together. Richter in charge of Alpha, me running as the lead for Beta and Oscar taking Gamma’s name for his squad, easing up the communications as everyone behind was now under the X-ray squad marker.

Cassander, Alexander and Demetrius, three old kings lending their names to the three reactors inside, I felt the faint feeling of claustrophobia creeping in as my filters settled in place and the squad communications came online. Richter’s team headed for Cassander and Oscars made their way to the Demetrius, leaving Alexander for us, I reminded myself of the basics of squad commands and took point with Valkyrie and the rest of the squad behind me. Trust takes time and I am glad to see Richter having enough to let me run this squad in here, Ryan stayed behind with the laboratory and comms, losing both our contacts to the CTO command, although not something I’d do every day... I have enough in keeping Valkyrie and myself alive, having a third member ended up in a dead dog. Shake myself back to reality; we got a job to do.

Déjà vu walking across the corridors, a trail of dusty footsteps still visible on the floors although faintly, we made our way through with multiple red warning lights and a low tone alarm making the entire area feel more eerie than before. Reports of warnings and alarms matching what we heard from the other teams, we carried on deeper inside the utility corridor; the radiation readings remained low, almost too low even for an inactive reactor.

Blast door spanning across the corridor, bringing us to a halt, the squad took positions to guard the rear and sides while I pointed one of the soldiers to open the door via the terminal. Quick fingers and equipped with the required access keys, the soldier, tagged on my HUD as Fox, got through the doors security and unlocked it.

“Nice job Fox. Pack up, we’re moving.” Valkyrie and two others through the door, Fox stopped me before I could pass through and handed me their tablet.

“Sir, I think you’ll want to see this.”

“Lay it on me, what am I looking at?”

“I managed to get into the main control systems to see the reactor status and the percentage there shows zero fuel.”

“What?”

“All the control rods are fully deployed and the turbines are slowing down, likely running on trace steam from the reactors cooling system. It will likely last a few more hours but after that this place will go dark.”

“And no sign of the security teams anywhere... There is no way they could have hauled off that amount of fissile material so either they are still in the core or moving it out now. Let’s get a move on, relay this to the other teams.”

“On it sir.”

Past the blast door and through a few security doors, we reached the reactor control room. Servers recording data in separate rooms and more switches than there are days in a year, another pair of soldiers, tagged as BAT and HOUND, split up and started running down the reactor checklist. No direct access to the reactor core but a large steel shutter covering the window with several radiation warnings and instructions written on it, I felt the faint buzz of radiation emanating through it.

“Can you get this shutter open?”

“Working on it, the system keeps locking out on me.” Hound stated, tapping on the keyboard and responding to Bat as they ran down the checklist. Eyes darting across the screens, Hound finally let out a sigh as he tapped enter one more time and the shutter started opening.

“There, this thing is antique. Bat, next item.”

“Right, next on the list is...”

Small increase in radiation on the scanners but again, not enough to match a running reactor, the core hanged from the mounts above a pool of coolant with all of its shielding open, the control rods lowered and all the spots where the fuel was supposed to be, empty. Therefore, the data was right, and with no guards in sight, it was as if they had taken the fuel with them, running the possibilities through my head, I grabbed hold of my radio and contacted Richter.

“Richter, it’s Phoenix, we got an empty reactor housing here.”

“Same over here Phoenix, zero fuel. Logs say it was running this morning so there had to be fuel here.”

“Oscar, anything on your end?”

“Same with our reactor, no rods.”

“Roger that, secure any information and logs you can find then bring the reactor to a shutdown state. After that, rendezvous back at the front gate. Richter out.”

“You heard the man, pull the plug and copy the drives.”

“On it.”

Voice over the PA, announcing the reactor shutdown protocol before the shielding lowered back into place and reducing the radiation readings to near zero. Bat and Hound brought the reactor down and confirmed the shutdown had been completed and everything related to the core was in standby, would not want the pumps flooding the place with nothing to cool down.

Needle back to zero, terminals scoured for information and sensors recorded before securing the control room with rolls of warning tape and leaving the facility, reuniting with the rest of the team and meeting back up with them by the front gate.

Cataclysm event incoming with 26 tons of nuclear material missing, I do not want to see someone setting this place on fire.

Then again...

Hey there, sorry I've been gone again.

Life has been a lot for a while now and I am battling writers block even as I post this. Being sick and having no voice from the coughing left me with few options for things to do, so here I am.

The heat is also getting to me but staying hydrated has somewhat helped with that and I urge you to do the same.

Starting up the next post soon enough, hopefully the waiting time between then and now won't be that long.

Catch you later. Harry

#logs of an android #stories #writing #scifi #sci fi & fantasy #science fiction #fiction #fantasy #cyberpunk #text post

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pastel-peach-writes · 3 years ago

Text

“You’re Mine Now.” | Jinx x Reader

╰┈➤ PLOT: After scoping the chaos she’s made in Piltover, Jinx spots a cowardice person begging for their lives on top AND underneath a pile of fallen debris. She decides to make them her apprentice.

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: Descriptions of Pain, Maybe OOC

⍣ ೋ Enjoy!⍣ ೋ

“Please, please,” The person covered in dirt and dust pleads. They had a layer of sweat across their face and their eyes were glossed with tears. As they looked at the blue-haired girl with purple glowing orbs on her shoulders, the concrete slab that’s fallen on their leg was getting heavier with each second and the pain increased. “Spare me,” They speak in a broken whisper.

Doe eyes and all, Jinx tilts her head to examine the person. Too hurt to get up and leave, yet, too desperate to accept their fate. They looked to be around her own age, maybe a little younger. They laid on their stomach, their left leg bent in front of them as their arms attempted to prop up their body.

“Okay!” Jinx peps, setting aside her weapon to crouch down. She sits on the back of one leg and bends the other in front of her. Resting her arm on the leg in front, she begins to speak. “You seem like the perfect person to keep me company. Not that I need company, I have plenty! You just look cute and fun,” She says, her eyes roaming their body. Their body was laid across a pile of fallen debris and pieces of a building; the lower half of their body trapped underneath the concrete and their pants wet from the fountain that exploded nearby.

With a hum as satisfaction, Jinx gets up from the ground and starts walking around their body with a twirl of her braids. “What’s your name, my new buddy?”

“Y-Y/n,” They mutter, watching as Jinx shoved aside a piece of a building off of them. She grunts, huffing out some air to move the hair out of her face as she flips the concrete slab over and off the person’s body. Crouching down again, Jinx dusts off Y/n’s pant leg and chews on her lower lip.

“You’re broken, like a doll,” Jinx explains, continuing to remove dirt and fallen shards off of them. “Your leg’s all bent outta shape and your skin looks like it’s seen better days.” Jinx sits down, leaning on her palms. She moves her head so her braids were behind her and looks at Y/n who was struggling to look behind. “Ya need some fixing?”

“Whatever you want,” Y/n coughs. “I just want to get out of here, please.” They move their fingers to get a grasp on some rock, wincing as they begin to pull themselves up. “Stop tormenting me and take me home.”

Jinx cackles, falling forward before leaning on her palms and throwing her head back. Her eyes crinkle in the inner corners and her chest heaves up and down as she deeply laughs. The remains of a streetlight shine on her, showing Y/n neon green and purple marks on her skin.

To Y/n, these marks looked like marker ink. Not drawn on, splattered. As if the blue-haired girl was caught in a paint-throwing crossfire. However, it didn’t matter how the colors brought out her eyes or how her laughter seemed to brighten up Y/n’s spirits, they were still hurt, afraid, and wanted to go home.

All Jinx did was laugh at them.

“Take you home? Home!” Jinx finishes her laughing, looking Y/n straight on. “Oh, snookums. You’re going anywhere but home. You’re coming with me now. You’re mine now.” She leans forward, grabbing Y/n’s chin and pulling them forward. “Got it?”

Y/n hissed in pain, twisting their torso to look at Jinx. Their spinal cord burned and their side cramped, not to mention the numbness of their leg knee and the pinching of their tailbone. This girl was going to be the death of them. Literally.

“Fine. Got it... whatever. Just help me out! Please!”

Jinx grins, leaning closer to Y/n. Their noses touched as the pale-skinned girl looked over their features. Cut lip, bruised nose, and sweat on their brow. “Someone who begs pleads and isn’t afraid to look desperate.” Jinx’s thumb grazed over their lower lip, taking off the dirt that remains. She pulls her thumb away to look at the grayish-maroon color that was stained on her skin.

“Perfect.” She kisses her thumb and presses it onto her weapon. She tilts her head to the side as she surveys the thumbprint near her neon pink doodle. Jinx chews on her bottom lip, tilting her head in the opposite direction with a content hum. “Now, whenever my trusty weapon is with me, you’ll be with me too.”

With Y/n’s body finally free from what was containing them, Jinx grabs their arm and slings it around her shoulder. As one hand held the arm sturdy, another reached around their waist to pick them up.

The hurt person groaned, glancing at Jinx. “If you’re not taking me home, where are you taking me then?”

With a grunt, the girl hooked the weapon’s handle under her foot and kicked it upward. She grabbed it with the hand that was holding Y/n’s arm and looked at them with a small playful smirk. “My place, of course. We gotta get you patched up and settled in! Trust me, you won’t be lonely though! I have a couple friends there already!”

Jinx twirls around, unknowingly dragging Y/n’s feet against the rocks and kicking up miniature piles of dust. “I can see it now! You’re going to be the best friend and assistant I’ve ever had!”

Y/n’s cheeks puffed up in sickness, watching as the world around them blurred, developed motion lines, and they began to dissociate their vision. The streetlights that usually glowed a soft yellow in a circular shape, started to become thin lines that were multiplied by ten.

“Oh, but, you can’t see where we’re going though.” Jinx stopped her spinning, glancing down at Y/n who was hunched over and slipping out of the girl’s grasp. “Oops!” Jinx childishly laughs, tightening their grip to scoop Y/n up. “You’re so fun! Like a rag doll...”

Jinx pulled Y/n closer to her hip, biting her tongue in thought. Her body swayed in a slight motion as her eyes scanned their torso and face. Much like a rag doll, Jinx wanted to move them around and make their limbs do crazy, unusual things. However, she could tell by the discoloration of their skin that anymore messing around was going to cause a bigger mess.

Instead, her brows downturned as a soft pout formed on her lips. “Come on, we should hurry and get you cleaned up. Can’t have my best bud hurt and dying out on me, can we?”

A small scoff escapes Y/n’s lips. Their eyelids felt heavy, the pain in their body now just a familiar feeling, and the aching in their feet numbing. With all the smoke, mixtures of dryness in the atmosphere, and the scratchiness of their throat, Y/n decided not to speak anymore. It was their fate to be scooped up by a girl with blue braids and to be severely injured.

Jinx grins softly. “Your silence says enough. Let’s go.”

WC: 1,171

#arcane jinx #jinx #jinx x you #jinx x reader #arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane fandom #jinx arcane #jinx fanfic #jinx/powder #jinx/reader #jinx/you #pastel-peach-writes #Gender nuetral reader #gender-neutral terms #arcane fanfiction #jinx fluff

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nmikaelsonimagines · 3 years ago

Text

Villains: A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

Request from Anon: Hey, could you do a klaus x reader imagine where reader is captured by one of klaus' enemies and tortured for info on him, but then he finds her and saves her? If not that's ok! Ily <3

I’ve been waiting to use this gif for so long! Hope this is okay for you lovely, and enjoy x

Everybody saw Niklaus Mikaelson as the villain of the story. If this was a superhero movie, he would be the boss, his siblings almost acting as his sidekicks. Everybody saw him as something to be feared, something that needed putting down, defeating, the Joker locked away in Arkham Asylum.

But what was never accounted for was the Joker meeting his psychiatrist, and a twisted love story ensuing. Of course, the love story that had blossomed between Y/N and Klaus had a much more happy ending than the one spelled out in images of black and red.

In those images, the colours were markers of control, the villain overpowering the woman who had fallen for him. For Klaus and Y/N, black was the backdrop of blood, red gushing from the enemies who tried to take her away from him.

Everybody saw Niklaus Mikaelson as the villain of the story, but for Y/N, he was nothing more than a hero. He would come to her rescue, not in a cape, but in a black jacket that hugged his figure perfectly, his identity known to all.

He would come to her rescue, she told herself as another cut opened on her palm, the blade of a knife piercing her skin, blood staining the ropes that kept her bound. Y/N gritted her teeth as pain set in, refusing to let the people who had taken her see her as vulnerable. That was always the first mistake the damsels made in the movies.

To scream would be to show that she could be broken, that she could be used against Klaus.

To scream would be to let them know she was the perfect bargaining chip, and she refused to let that happen.

She took a breath, staring at the cuts along her skin, the blood that had dried and the blood that looked as if it had only just been painted on her. She had seen red paint before, crimson on the end of a brush held by delicate hands that had the ability to tear into flesh, to punch through bone.

Y/N knew that when Klaus arrived, such a scene would unfold. She visualised it in her mind as she glared at her captors, as one of them asked the question that had been asked a hundred times. A request for information on Niklaus Mikaelson, the Original hybrid, so they could take him down.

This time, as had been the case with previous occurrences, Y/N said nothing. She hissed as a sharp sting had her head falling to the side with the impact of the slap that was delivered, the ringing in her ears doing nothing to cover up the supposed insults that were thrown her way.

Klaus had brainwashed her. She was no better than him. How could she defend someone as evil as him? She must be a villain too.

If Klaus was truly the villain in the eyes of these people, then she was proud to be compared to him.

Y/N was conscious of how much blood was flowing from her veins, how images were starting to become a little hazy around the edges. She was barely awake when she saw a familiar outline enter the room, one with deep blue eyes. She was barely awake when she heard sickening crunches, when she saw streams of crimson paint the skin of her captors, when she saw her rescuer without a cape on his shoulders. A hero in a black jacket, dots of red bright against their backdrop,

The last thing she heard was his voice, those delicate, bloodstained hands on hers as she slipped away into unconsciousness.

The first thing Y/N heard when she woke up was the sound of crystal glass clinking. The first thing she saw was a familiar outline holding the glass, one with deep blue eyes. She sat up as she looked at Klaus, sat next to his brother - Elijah the ultimate sidekick - black jacket ripped, red stripes trailing down his skin.

She breathed his name, and his attention turned to her. There was relief in his eyes, love and adoration flowing from every pore. But behind it all, there was still that devilish glint Y/N knew and loved, the one that made him the villain in so many stories, the hero in hers.

She stood, walking over to the table where he and his brother sat. She pulled up a chair, a glass of whisky in one hand, the other reaching across to hold Klaus’s. She considered making a joke, about how it was just another day in the life of the Mikaelsons, but the look in Klaus’s eyes stopped her.

She knew later he would tell her how he really thought he had lost her this time, how scared he was that she might be gone. He would tell her that he had healed her, refusing to leave her side until she awoke; he had only been at the table as Elijah insisted he needed to give her some space. She would tell him his momentary absence didn’t matter; he was always with her, and she loved him for it. She would reassure him with her words, her touch, her kiss. Just as she always did.

Klaus’s grip on her hand tightened, and she smiled at him, black and red combining to form the most perfect of pictures.

His smile back was the reminder she needed.

Even a villain could choose to be a hero. And when it came to Y/N, Klaus would make that choice every single time.

Masterlist

#TVD #tvd imagine #tvd imagines #the vampire diaries #to #the originals #the originals imagine #the originals imagines #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson imagines #klaus mikaelson x reader #niklaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson imagines #niklaus mikaelson imagine #niklaus mikaelson x reader #Joseph Morgan

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

Note

Lao Nie and Nie Mingjue have a good day together and bond. What was their relationship like before the qi deviation?

Boys - ao3

“Two paths, hmm?” Lao Nie said, squinting at the road markers in front of him. “Well, I don’t see why we can’t go down this one to the right –”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because little uncle asked me not to let you meet any new dangerous women,” Nie Mingjue said, looking as serious as ever – only his little hands, swinging to the side, revealed that he was just a ten-year-old. Still a child, no matter how mature he tried to act. “And a place called the Springtime Ghost Valley sounds like it probably has dangerous women.”

“Hey,” Lao Nie protested mildly. “Who’s the father here, me or you?”

“If a-die wants a new wife, little uncle will find one that isn’t inclined to kill him.”

That sounded like a recitation.

“Then what’s even the point,” Lao Nie grumbled, and reached out to ruffle his son’s hair, enjoying how Nie Mingjue yelped when he did, glaring up at him with offended dignity.

In all honesty, Lao Nie had no idea how he’d ended up with a son as serious and sincere and earnest as Nie Mingjue – he himself hadn’t taken anything seriously in years. Probably it was his mother’s influence.

Now that was a woman.

Not that his foxy second wife hadn’t been woman enough to blow him away either…

Hmm.

Perhaps they had a point about his taste in women.

“How about men?” Lao Nie suggested. “If it really means so much to you, I could swear off of women entirely –”

“A-die.”

“Mm?”

“Leave Sect Leader Wen alone.”

Lao Nie cracked up.

Because Lao Nie was the father, however easy-going he might sometimes be, they ended up heading down the right-hand path regardless. They were supposed to be night-hunting, after all – it was the perfect bonding experience according to Jiwei, though Lao Nie suspected his saber of having selfish intentions there – and deliberately avoiding a place with ‘Ghost’ in the name was hardly appropriate for scions of a Great Sect like theirs.

Although the reference to springtime was admittedly a little worrisome.

If it turned out to be a brothel, with the ghost thing being just a clever if somewhat tonedeaf marketing ploy, Lao Nie was turning around and taking them both home at once. He wasn’t going to risk little Nie Mingjue turning out anything like that awful Jin Guangshan – or, nearly as bad, having to explain anything more about the joys of sex to those earnest little button eyes and dimpled cheeks with no time to prepare first. He still hadn’t recovered emotionally from the last few times Nie Mingjue had asked him a question like that.

When they finally reached the end of the path, turning a corner to behold a clearing that was probably completely ordinary during the daytime, Lao Nie found that he’d been both right and wrong.

“It’s a ghost brothel,” he marveled. He’d never seen anything like it in his life.

“Dangerous women,” Nie Mingjue reminded him.

“A-Jue! Let your father live a little!”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes.

Lao Nie virtuously ignored his slightly judgmental brat of a son. It wouldn’t do him that much harm to go visit for a while, with the risk of Jin Guangshan-ness being relatively minimal; they were ghosts, after all. It was the duty of every cultivator to fight against evil, wherever it lived, no matter its form –

“Fighting? Is that what it’s called?”

“Who taught you sarcasm?” Lao Nie asked, knowing perfectly well that the answer was himself. “I ought to smack them.”

Nie Mingjue crossed his arms over his chest and pouted at him. “Fine, it’s fighting, we’ll go fight them. Do you want me to start drawing ghost-repelling talismans?”

“Liberate first!” Lao Nie sang out. “Come on, let’s go see what they’re like – er, that is, I mean, see what grievances they have that are keeping them here, of course. There’s no harm in dangerous women. Just don’t let them eat your yang energy!”

“It’s not my yang energy that I’m worried about, a-die…”

The ghostly madame was an extraordinarily charming person and Lao Nie liked her at once.

Not liked her liked her – he’d fallen head over heels with both of his wives from the first word, and that hadn’t happened here – but still, conversing with her was an extraordinarily enjoyable way to spend time.

She was witty and clever, with a broad range of knowledge and a gift for keeping a conversation lively and exciting; she could meet every verbal riposte with ease, and looked utterly gorgeous and composed the entire time. Sure, she kept trying to lure Lao Nie into an orgy in which all of his yang energy would be slowly sucked out before his body was ripped to pieces and his bones cracked open so that the ghosts could consume the marrow within, but what a way to go, right?

Nie Mingjue spent his time making friends with the ghost prostitutes.

Lao Nie wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.

Well, he supposed he’d been expected a range of things – anything from Nie Mingjue getting suckered in by one of the ghosts and needing to be rescued by his father to Nie Mingjue just pulling out his Baxia and trying to stab them because he felt offended by their existence. He wasn’texpecting his ghostly conversational partner to suddenly frown mid-sentence and say, “What is he talking to them about?”

Lao Nie turned his head slightly and started listening.

“– just because you’re a ghost doesn’t mean you have to work allthe time, surely,” Nie Mingjue was saying, completely serious and earnest in the way he so often was. Lao Nie’s son had in fact inherited his sense of humor, only it tended to be buried fairly deep down and make its way up to the surface in an understated way in the most unexpected times; the rest of the time, he was straightforward to a fault, treating everything sincerely. “The birds in the trees, the animals in the fields – even among prostitutes, even the street-walking ladies know they need to take time to rest! I can’t believe you really have to work every single night. How long has it been since you had a night off?”

The ghost prostitutes around him had contemplative looks on their faces.

“Isn’t the whole point of becoming a vengeful man-eating ghost that you have more power than regular humans? I don’t know, it kind of seems like a bad deal if you have even worse conditions after all that –”

“I’m sorry,” the ghostly madame said, looking irritated underneath all her carefully painted smiles. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment…”

Lao Nie had to bite his hand to keep from laughing out loud.

“I think we’ve all learned a valuable life lesson today,” Lao Nie announced.

Nie Mingjue was pouting again.

“I don’t think we did,” he said, sounding profoundly skeptical. A filial child like Nie Mingjue shouldn’t sound so skeptical of his beloved father’s words of wisdom, really; if Lao Nie wasn’t so heartless, he might be offended. Of course, the skepticism might have originated from the heartlessness, so it was all six of one, half a dozen of the other in the end. “Those poor ghost ladies! They were still fighting each other by the time we left!”

“I’ve never seen a ghost pull another ghost’s hair before,” Lao Nie conceded. It had been brilliant. “One day, someone’s going to figure out a more reliable way to use ghosts to fight ghosts, mark my words.”

“Isn’t that demonic cultivation?”

“Oh, sure,” Lao Nie said, still cheerful. “If whoever it is does too much of it, eventually it’ll build up into a backlash that’ll kill them in some grossly horrific manner. Probably ripped into pieces by the backlash. And that’s not even counting how they’d be ostracized and hunted by the cultivation world first! But still, imagine how exciting it’d be in the meantime!”

“A-die…”

Lao Nie patted Nie Mingjue on the head again, earning another glare. “Immortality is a lie, A-Jue. We’re all here for a short time, each and every one of us, and only the length determined by fate and man. All that matters is what we do with the time that we have, and whether we’ve used it well.”

“To fight against evil wherever it lives, no matter its form?”

“To leave the world a better place than when we entered it, and to let our memories linger in the hearts of those that love us,” Lao Nie said. “Fighting evil is the best way to accomplish the former, and living a good life the latter. And you might as well have a good time doing it, if you can! Everything else is just extra.”

Nie Mingjue thought about that for a moment. “And a-die likes to have second helpings of extras?”

That was true. Lao Nie was a man of prodigious appetites of all sorts.

Despite that, he protested, “That wasn’t the point I was trying to make. I was being serious for once.” Seeing Nie Mingjue’s skeptical look, he made a face. “I can be serious, sometimes!”

“Can you?”

“It’s been known to happen! A date written on a wall will be right once a year.”

“Not if the wall gets painted over.”

“Ouch,” Lao Nie said. “I don’t even understand the metaphor you’re making, and I’m still going ouch.”

“Uh-huh,” Nie Mingjue said, utterly unimpressed. “You know, if you wanted one of the ghost ladies to be Third Mother, you would’ve been better off with the one playing the qin, not the ghost madame. She was much more powerful.”

Lao Nie arched his eyebrows. “Was she?”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “She had claws like a lizard.”

Lao Nie tried to remember which one of them had been the ghost girl playing the qin. He couldn’t quite remember at first – the women there were all surpassingly lovely, almost to the point of over-saturation – and then suddenly an image came into view, a beauty with a veil and sharp sword-like eyebrows, leaning over the qin with the shining pearl hanging in the center of her forehead dipping down.

And, yes, claws like a lizard.

“Hmm,” Lao Nie said. “That might have been a dragon, actually. You should be careful of those, they’re tricky.”

They’ll rip you and three dozen other cultivators besides into more pieces than can be picked up without blinking an eye, he meant, and you won’t even know what hit you. Avoid at all costs.

“Oh,” Nie Mingjue said, blinking. “Oops.”

“…what do you mean, oops?”

“Nothing bad! If I’m not supposed to interact with her, does that mean I should go and give back the gift she gave me?”

“She gave you a – give me that,” Lao Nie said. “This instant.”

“But a-die, you said there’s no harm in dangerous women –”

“For me, you foolish child!”

“I suppose it’s fine,” Lao Nie finally concluded, having inspected the dragon pearl from all angles several times over. “I don’t know how you do this, A-Jue.”

“Do what?”

Lao Nie thought about how his foxy second wife had cooed over his eldest son with a (slightly disturbing) fervor that she otherwise reserved only for eating snacks, and how viciously she’d dealt with anyone who’d even thought of interfering with Nie Mingjue in any way. He was fairly sure he himself had only survived his second marriage on account of having such a charming son.

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally said, mostly because he wasn’t entirely sure how to explain – or if he even entirely understood. “Anyway, it’s nothing dangerous. Rather the contrary! Dragon pearls like this are given to baby dragons to protect them.”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “What feeds on baby dragons?”

“…I think it’s mostly to protect them from themselves,” Lao Nie said, feeling a little uncertain about it himself. “And if it’s not, I don’t think I want to know, to be perfectly honest. There’s fighting evil, which is only right, and then there’s suicide, which is a waste – a wise man should know how to judge the difference between them. Anyway, that wasn’t the point I was trying to make.”

“It wasn’t?”

“It wasn’t, and you aren’t allowed to start worrying about the fate of theoretical baby dragons – I forbid it.” Nie Mingjue scowled. He’d probably started worrying already. “My point was actually that a pearl like this is a remarkably powerful protective tool for cultivators – one of those things that can only be found by chance and not made. Keep this on you, and you’ll never have to fear your opponent in battle.”

Nie Mingjue looked thoughtful.

“What do you want to do with that pearl, anyway?” Lao Nie asked after they’d gotten home and split up just long enough to take a nice long relaxing bath and gobble down dinner. “Do you want to put it in the treasury?”

Nie Mingjue blinked twice, which for him was practically the same as looking terribly shifty-eyed.

“You already did something with it,” Lao Nie deduced. “Something that isn’t using it as intended.”

“Oh, no,” Nie Mingjue said, looking shocked at the mere suggestion. “I’m definitely using it as intended.”

Lao Nie looked him up and down. “You’re not wearing it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t use it. Protection from your opponents in proper battle – that seems like cheating!”

Lao Nie felt a slight headache coming on. People who said they wanted a good boy for a son had no idea what they were getting themselves into, he reflected. Why couldn’t he have birthed a complete rascal instead?

“All right,” he said, instead of saying any of that because at the end of the day, bewildering as he might be, Nie Mingjue was his son and he loved him more than anything. “So what did you do with it?”

“I gave it to Huaisang.”

Lao Nie blinked. He supposed that really was using it for its intended purpose – protecting babies from themselves – although he suspected the dragon lady had been thinking of Nie Mingjue as the baby.

“Although…”

Lao Nie raised his eyebrows.

“…I think he may have swallowed it.”

My boys, Lao Nie thought, and had to sit down and hold his ribs because he otherwise feared he might split his sides from laughing so hard. Only my boys.

#mdzs #sect leader nie #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #boys

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mouthfulloftoothpasterry · 3 years ago

Text

Feeling like a family

Summary: Y/n visits Harry during his lunch break, letting him in on the relationship both her and Milo have with Xavier. Then they go to the zoo and have a little family day :)

warning/ disclaimers: swearing, family issues.

Things have been going amazing with Harry and Y/n. Ever since their date a couple weeks ago they have been seeing each other more and more. Harry has been coming into her bookshop while she’s working when he can. Just to surprise her and make her day a little better, sometimes he brings her lunch on the weekends and she visits him when he is spending hours after school hours grading art work and setting projects up for his students.

It’s been new and exciting, and extremely fun. Not to mention the kissing has definitely been a plus. They went to have coffee with each other a couple days after their date, spending a good portion of the morning together. They have basically been inseparable since, Harry even invited Y/n and Milo over for dinner so they could all get to know each other better. Loralie was just excited to have guests that weren't family, and also to see a friend from school outside of school. She had a great time with Milo, they played together while Harry and Y/n cleaned up dinner together and snuck kisses in the kitchen.

It's another Wednesday. Harry had Loralie and Milo's class now and he is letting them finger paint. It’s mainly been a calm class, he didn’t have to deal with much usually and if a kid did have a melt down the teacher and/or teachers assistant would deal with it instead of making Harry deal with it. “Looks great, Lora,” Harry says, kissing the top of Loralies head before scooting past her and walking over to his messy desk. He has papers, projects, markers, paints, all over his desk, even with all the time he spends after school he feels like he may never get it organized.

“My mummy likes your daddy.” He hears, looking up to see Milo and Loralie talking. His cheeks turn crimson when he hears it, did they really give it away that easy? Their children now caught onto the fact that the two were dating? That was just embarrassing. “My daddy likes your mummy.” But that was more embarrassing.

Harry ignores it (and the burning in his cheeks) and just hopes that the teacher will hush the class. He busies himself with cleaning his desk, trying to shove the papers into the drawers and file folders that they belong to but his mind is still distracted. He’s gonna have to tell Y/n that their kids know. The bell rings and he looks up from his desk. “Okay, you can leave your paintings where they are. I'll put them on the drying rack and you’ll get them tomorrow!” Harry sings, moving over to Loralie to kiss her cheeks and say a goodbye until he sees her at lunch time. “Bye daddy” she says, waving to him after kissing his cheek and joining her class.

Harry laughs, letting out a sigh and putting the messy finger paintings on one of his many drying racks. It’s his lunch time now. He has to supervise lunch so he gets his break before everyone else.

He wanders around his class room, doing random things and cleaning up his messes that he’s made from the two days of the week before him. He didn’t have plans for lunch, he would probably just have an extra big dinner. He’s happy to find Y/n cured his rumbling tummy when he sees her walking through his classroom. He smiles, chuckling at her big dramatic smile that was obvious teasing. “Hi, darling.” He says, leaning over his desk to press a kiss to her lips.

She sits on the art table in front of his desk, setting two to-go boxes down. “Hi,” she says back, handing him one of the to-go boxes. “No sitting on the tables.” Harry teases while he reaches out to take the white Styrofoam box in his hands, quickly thanking her. “Suck it up.” She shrugs, her feet setting in the chair that was once tucked under the art table. “I just got you a sub and fries.” She says, plucking a chip from her box and taking a bite out of it.

“Why Are you here? Not that I’m not happy to see you, of course.” He smiles, reaching over and giving her hand a squeeze. She shrugs, tapping her shoes down on the chair while she pulls her food into her lap. “I forgot to put Milo's' lunch box in his backpack so I had to drop it off.” She says, making Harry smile. So he thought she would have lunch with him? She’s adorable. “So how’s your week been, babe?” Harry sings, sitting back in his big office hair and relaxing into it while he eats.

“Fine. Milo's dad visited.” What?! Since when did he come around? And since when was he “Milo's dad” and not “Xavier”? Harry knits his brows, gulping down his food before he responds, a little nervous. Harry and Milo are best buds, they have grown closer and he’s tried to pay him more attention when he sees him in class as well, he doesn’t want their friendship to be ruined now, even though what he is thinking is selfish. Milo deserves a good daddy.

“Since when does he come around?” He asks, Y/n rolling her eyes at his tone. “He’s a photographer so he’s always traveling the world. I mean he pays child support, he’s not a shit dad. I just have my own issues with him.” She says, her tone heavy with annoyance. Harry was under the impression that he was a horrible dad and didn’t even try to care for Milo, but now he hears he pays child support and visits?

“I just thought he didn’t care.”

“Well… he’s trying. Like I said he’s traveling the world so he can’t always see him but he pays child support and he’s trying to come around more. He did come over and take some cute photos of Milo though.” Y/n smiles, remembering how her baby posed so well for the camera. He was shy at first but then they found a stray kitty out on a walk and he was more than willing to pose with it.

Harry nods, taking a bite out of his sub. He finishes his bite and wipes his mouth with the brown paper napkins, “Is he gonna take Milo for the night or something like that?” Harry questions. Y/n is happy that Xavier is trying to see him more but she doesn’t think she would be able to be away for a night, especially when he doesn’t see Milo that much anyways. “I don’t think I would be comfortable enough to let Milo stay with him, for now at least. But he’s flying off and leaving Friday so I don’t have to worry.” Y/n confesses, taking a bite of her sub while she waits for Harry’s response.

“Yeah, I understand that.”

They eat together before Y/n deems it time for her to go. Giving him a hug and a kiss goodbye before she heads out and opens the book shop back up, letting Harry finish out his day.

*********************************************

Harry and Y/n had made plans to take their little ones to the zoo. Y/n told Harry that Milo had been going on and on about lions so it was the perfect time for them to go. Harry has packed up Loralies stroller, putting snacks, his wallet, and her diaper bag in the bottom carrier. Luckily (but also unluckily) Milo is at the age where he does not want to be in a stroller, every time Y/n tries to put him in it while they are out he complains and tries to get out of it the whole time.

Harry had picked them up, driving about an hour to the zoo. Milo and Loralie babbled to each other the whole ride which made their parents happy- meanwhile they were just humming to the radio and making small talk the whole ride.

“Are you ready to see the lions?” Y/n coos to Milo, pulling him out of his car seat and setting him on the ground, holding his hand so he doesn’t run off in the car park. Harry pulls Loralie out, pulling out her stroller from the back, preparing to put her in it. “No! I walk today.” Loralie says with a bit of aggression in her voice. Harry hands with his hand up defensively, “okay, but you're gonna want it after walking in the heat for hours.” Harry takes her stroller despite her not wanting to be in it, she takes Harry's hand instead, walking next to Milo.

Their first stop is the stingrays, getting the food from the people who work there then getting down in front of the large pond to pet their slimy skin. Milo and Loralie giggle the whole time, pulling their hands away as soon as they feel like slimy stingray and making dramatic gross faces that make their parents laugh. The kids definitely had fun feeding them and petting them but Harry and Y/n instantly shipped them off to the bathroom so they could wash their hands.

Next is the walk through aquarium, “come on, it's this way.” Y/n says, cooing down at Milo and fast walking toward the cave shaped aquarium. When they walk inside it's lit up blue. They look all around them and they see lots of fish, big whales, all different things. “Woah!” Loralie exclaims, making Harry laugh, kissing her cheeks. All of a sudden Milo breaks out in loud giggles, pulling at the length of her mom jeans. “Mama, Look!” Milo giggles, pointing to a fish sticking to the aquarium glass, looking like it's making a silly face at everyone. Y/n laughs, squatting down and wrapping her arm around Milo, resting a hand on his belly. “Let's go see them” Y/n says, pulling him up on her hip and kissing over his cheeks. She takes him over to the silly fish while Harry lets Loralie look around, staring above her at the large fish swimming by until she stumbles back. Harry catches her, standing her back up and taking her over where Milo and Y/n are, showing her the fish that Milo was trying to touch through the glass.

“He's so cute.” Harry compliments, laughing at how Milo's is so obsessed with the silly looking fish. Y/n turns to look at Harry, thanking him cockily- taking all the credits for his adorableness. Harry bumps his nose with hers in a butterfly kiss while their kids are looking straight ahead. He gives her a peck while the kids are still distracted then he turns back to the fish. “Okay, it's time to go look at the animals!” Harry cheer, pulling Loralie off of the ledge she was standing on.

They walk through the entrance of all the animals, seeing some monkeys. Loralie and Milo start to imitate the monkeys, giggling at each other and the animals. They move onto koalas, waving at the cuddly animals before they get to see the lions- this is what Milo has been waiting for. “ROAR!” Milo yells, trying to climb on the wooden fence between the people and lions. Y/n giggles at him, pulling him off the fence and on her hip. “You’re a baby lion, aren’t you?” Y/n coos, kissing his forehead. Milo nods before she pulls him in her hands, extending him out. “Nants ingonyama bagithi Baba!” She sings, making the boy giggle, roaring again before she pulls him back in, kissing all over his face, making him squeal and push away.

Meanwhile Loralie wants to pet the real baby lions. She’s got a frustrated face on since Harry didn’t let her climb over the fencing and pet the furry lions. Harry can’t help but laugh at her. They walk a bit more, walking for a while until they go to their next exhibit.

It’s all calm until Milo starts screaming. He sees a bird wandering free, it was a large blue bird with huge feathers framing its head. Y/n knew that the peacock was harmless, they wouldn't let it wander free if it was, but Milo was gonna be scared of it regardless. “No, no!” He yells, backing away from the bird, trying to scold it for just walking around. Y/n laughs while Milo grips onto her leg, wagging his finger at the bird and yelling at it for scaring him. “It’s not gonna get you, bubba.” She laughs, pulling him into her hip while they get to the penguin house.

They walk into the cold penguin house, their noses instantly crinkling from the smell. “Brrr” Loralie says, running her arms up and does while her teeth chatter. Harry laughs, tossing her little jacket over her shoulder to warm her up. “Look at the baby penguin.” Harry coos to Loralie, holding her up to the glass so she can wave at the little puffins. “Tiny!” She squeals, waving at the baby penguins.

“Yeah,” Harry laughs at her. “They are tiny, Lora.” He agrees with her, giving the back of her head a kiss before settling her back down on the ground, letting her wander off a few feet away to look around at the penguins a bit more before they leave and look at the polar bears.

After the polar bears, they head to the gift shop, Loralie gets a purple bucket hat with a blue monkey on it and a stuffed penguin she named “tiny”. Milo got a shirt of the name of the zoo and a matching stuffed penguin that he couldn’t choose a name for just yet.

They head back to the car, Loralie’s legs are tired on the walk but she refuses to go in her stroller, instead Harry holds her while they take the long walk back, one arm holding Loralie up to his hip and the other latched with Y/n’s hand while her other hand holds Milo's. Once they get to the car Loralie and Milo get buckled up in their car seats, sure to fall asleep soon.

Harry and Y/n get into the front seats, their hands instantly finding the others. “I had a nice day with you.” Harry smiles, his face only inches from hers. Y/n blushes, giving his hand a squeeze. “Yeah, I had a lot of fun.” She says, focusing on Harry’s thumb rubbing at the back of her hand. They hear little whispers and giggles, turning their heads back to their little ones. “Kiss, kiss, kiss!” They whisper- chant. Their parents' cheeks instantly burn, looking back to each other with big cheesy smiles on their faces.

“Well?” Harry shrugs, leaning in and pressing his lips to her. She giggles on his lips, both of the kids in the back yelling. “Ew!” Loralie says. “Gross!” Milo agrees.

The parents laugh, pressing one last peck to each other's lips before Harry starts up the car. They had a good day together. Harry got closer to Milo and Y/n got closer to Loralie. It kinda feels like they are becoming a little family.

Hii!! if you liked this please reblog and tell me what you thought of it!! please let me know if you would like to be on my tag list!! and please make sure you have read the first two parts :)

tag list: @romionefp @iaalien @hopeyoustaythenight @evanjh

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homoose · 4 years ago

Text

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part V (x reader)

Summary: Y/N meets Diana, and it goes better than she expected. Y/N meets the team, and it doesn’t go completely as planned. Spencer’s spidey senses are tingling.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort, fluff

Word Count: 5k

Warnings/Includes: alcohol/drinking, reader gets drunk on accident and is incredibly insecure and self-deprecating, I think that’s it

a/n: Thank you all for your patience and kind words in this really sad and weird moment of my life. This couple brings me so much joy and I’m absolutely dreading the hurt that’s coming in the next part. Sorry in advance 😭 But also, you can re-read Lighthouse and First of Many before the angst!!!!!! If you haven’t read those fics, I recommend it because there are some relevant connections. ♥️

Series Masterlist

———

Y/N felt his hands sneaking around her waist, rubbing low over her tummy, and then the press of his warm body along her back. She tilted her head to make room for him to settle his chin on her shoulder, smiling as his hands completed their journey and wrapped her up tight.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she answered, pressing their cheeks together.

“Are you almost done?”

“You made quite the mess, doctor.” It was the last weekend of Spencer’s sabbatical, and he had spent the afternoon cooking all of her favorite foods— a sort of preemptive gift for when he was back on the BAU’s unpredictable schedule. She’d taken on the responsibility of the dishes in return, which was no easy undertaking considering it seemed as though he’d used every single pot, pan, and utensil in her kitchen.

“If you’d let me help, you’d be done by now,” he complained, hugging her a little tighter and turning his head to drag his lips across her cheek.

“Let me just finish this pan, and then I’m all yours.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then another to the spot behind her ear, and one more to her shoulder. Then he propped his chin once more and rubbed his thumbs where they rested against her sides.

She laughed a little as she ran the dish brush along the edges of the pan. “Comfy?”

He hummed his confirmation, and she could feel his smile as she lathered the inside of the pan, then rinsed it, and finally drained the sink. She dried her hands on the kitchen towel and turned to face him. He didn’t remove his hands, instead just let them glide over her hips and then settle on her lower back.

“Thank you for all of that.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the fridge, packed full of leftovers. “My mom will be so honored to know you made her pot pie.”

“I could eat it every day for the rest of my life and be very, very happy.” He dropped his gaze and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Speaking of moms, I… I was wondering if you, um— if you’d want to meet my mom?”

Her eyes went a little wide, and he took her silence as an answer, continuing, “You don’t have to. It—it’s too soon.”

She brought a hand up to cup his chin between her fingers, bringing his eyes back to hers. “I would love to meet your mom.”

…

Spencer shut off the engine of the Volvo, turning in his seat to face her. She tried to settle her nerves without also spurring his own anxiety, which had been quite obviously flaring all morning.

“I’ll check in and visit for a few minutes, try to gauge what kind of a day it is, and then I’ll text you to come in or not.” He ran a hand over his face. “I really should have had you drive separate, because if it’s not a good day I don’t want you to have to wait around while I visit with her, but she’s been having a lot of good days recently, and—”

“Honey.” She found his hands where they were clutching a little aggressively at his leg and covered them with her own, running her thumbs soothingly along his skin. “It’s okay. Either way— whether I meet her today or we wait for a better day— it’s okay.”

He closed his eyes and breathed a relieved sigh. “Have I told you how much I love you yet today?”

“Mm, I don’t think you have,” she smiled.

He brought her hands up to his mouth, kissing the back of each. “I love you so much. The most.”

“I beg to differ.” She leaned over the console and kissed his nose. “I definitely love you the most.”

“Agree to disagree.” He shifted to meet her lips in a quick kiss. “I’ll text you in a few minutes?”

She gave him another kiss. “Sounds like a plan.”

Spencer dropped the keys into her hand and then climbed out of the car, closing the door and practically trotting toward the building. She would have laughed if it weren’t for the raging anxiety that was nearly suffocating her. She opened her door and put her legs out the side of the car, taking a deep breath and looking out over the parking lot.

Y/N knew that meeting Diana was a good thing. That Spencer wanted her to meet the most important woman in his life was a testament to their relationship. But the closer she got to it, the more she felt completely and totally out of place. What did she have to offer this woman’s remarkable son other than a mountain of student loan debt, an endless supply of expo markers, and an ever growing collection of toilet paper rolls?

She loved teaching kindergarten, and she was the first to defend the profession in most settings. But she was about to be in a room with two of the most brilliant minds on the planet, and she couldn’t help but wonder what she would possibly have to contribute. More than that, what would Diana Reid think of her son settling for someone so… ordinary?

Her phone buzzed with the incoming text message, and she bit back a sigh.

Spencer: It’s an incredible day. She’s already asking about you.

Y/N turned her face up to the clear blue sky, feeling the sun on her face and taking a deep breath. Then, she hoisted herself out of the vehicle, locking it and turning to walk toward the building. DC was hot and sticky this time of year, and she was grateful for the blast of air conditioning as she entered the facility.

The woman at the front desk— Suzanna, by her name tag— smiled kindly at her. “How can I help you?”

“I’m, um— I’m here to visit with Diana Reid.” Y/N began signing into the visitor’s log, smiling a little at Spencer’s hasty signature right above. “Her son is here, too— Spencer.”

“Ah, yes, you must be Y/N. Diana’s been so excited to meet you.” Suzanna chuckled lightly at her expression, and Y/N wondered just how much everyone already knew about her. “They’re just through there— in the sunroom.”

Y/N mumbled her thanks and turned in the direction of the sunroom, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from the skirt of her dress. She’d spent far too long getting ready this morning, including steaming the dress— a simple number with a black bodice and a skirt covered in books. It was her own personal nod to the incredible legacy that Diana had left— not only as a professor of classic literature, but also as the mother of the most incredible reader— and man— she’d ever met.

And now she had a moment of panic, wondering if maybe it was too on the nose, or if Diana would think it was silly and immature. She briefly considered turning and heading back out to the parking lot, but then Spencer appeared in the doorway to the sunroom, waving his thanks to Suzanna and then positively beaming at her . How could she deny him this?

He held out his hand to her, and she accepted it, instantly more at ease from the simple touch. He pulled her gently into the room, and there was Diana, perched on a floral sofa and looking quite elegant in a soft purple shawl.

She stood immediately, an absolutely radiant smile stretching across her face at the sight of them. Y/N watched as she clasped her hands in front of her and felt Spencer squeeze her hand at the same time.

“Y/N,” Diana smiled. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Y/N returned her smile. “It is such an honor to finally meet you, Mrs. Reid.”

She scoffed and waved her hand. “Just Diana, please.” Y/N saw the moment she noticed the dress, her eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. “I can already tell you’re perfect for my son: the lover of books.” She motioned to the seating area. “Come, sit.”

The three of them sat, Spencer in the armchair just across from them as she and Diana sat on the sofa. Y/N folded her hands in her lap and tried to straighten her posture. Diana leaned back against the couch with a smile.

“I really have heard a lot about you,” she repeated, sliding her eyes over to a blushing Spencer. “Spencer tells me you teach kindergarten.” Y/N nodded, and Diana shook her head. “I deeply admire the patience and energy you must have for that age group.”

Y/N laughed a little. “They can certainly be a handful. I hear you were a teacher as well.” Her eyes went a little wide at her mistake. “A professor, I mean.”

“Oh, yes, yes— 15th century literature.” Diana tilted her head, considering Y/N with a knowing gaze. “But teaching is teaching, no matter the age. And where would any of us be without our kindergarten teachers? The ones who teach us the very foundations of learning. Who not only teach us to read and write, but also to inquire and investigate and discover.”

Y/N felt unexpected tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, and she had to take a moment to breathe before speaking. “Thank you for saying that. Sometimes people assume that kindergarten is all play doh and finger paint.”

“What’s that saying about making assumptions?” Diana pondered.

“Issac Asimov said, ‘Assumptions are our windows on the world,’” Spencer offered.

“Mm, thank you for that, honey, but the one I’m thinking of is from an episode of The Odd Couple , I believe,” Diana corrected, winking at Y/N. “When you assume, you make an ass of you and me.”

“Ah.” Spencer held back a laugh, and Y/N’s heart felt just a little bit lighter.

Diana smiled brightly at her. “Your students must absolutely adore you.” Diana gestured vaguely to Spencer before continuing, “Spencer loved his kindergarten teacher— hm, Mrs. Hudson, was it?”

Spencer nodded in confirmation. Diana looked back to Y/N with a slightly mischievous grin. “His report cards always came back with the note that he was ‘helping’ the other students just a little too much— always the professor, even at five years old.”

Spencer let out an indignant squeak, and Y/N laughed. “My parents got a very similar note.” She gave Spencer a smile. “We just couldn’t help it, apparently.”

“I’m sure it didn’t help that he’d been reading for three years before he was even enrolled,” Diana mused. “Did he tell you that he originally considered studying the classics?” Y/N shook her head. “Well. When you’ve already read and discussed all the course material, it seems a waste of money, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed, I suppose it does,” Y/N agreed.

“Oh,” Diana tapped Y/N’s arm affectionately before gesturing back to Spencer, “and then there was the time that he became so fixated on the idea of becoming a magician that he somehow managed to trap a rabbit in our backyard.”

“ Mom ,” Spencer choked out.

“Oh my. No, no— please go on,” Y/N begged, waving her hand dismissively in Spencer’s direction and leaning closer to Diana. “I need all the embarrassing stories.”

Diana let out a lilting laugh. “The poor thing spent the better part of a weekend in a storage bin while Spencer tried to figure out the top hat trick.”

Y/N turned to him with a bewildered grin. “The storage bin was well ventilated!” he defended. “And she had plenty of food and water.”

“Did you figure out the trick?” Y/N asked.

“No,” he admitted sheepishly. “Mom found out about the rabbit before I could. And you need more than just the hat for the trick anyway.”

“We fed her one last carrot and then sent her back out to be with the rest of her bunny family, who must have been missing her dearly.” Diana winked at Y/N. “At least that’s what I had to tell six year old Spencer.”

“Rabbits are incredibly social and live in large colonies, so that actually was most likely the case,” Spencer supplied.

Diana smiled fondly at her son, and Y/N could practically feel the love radiating off of her. “Either way, I had one very sad little boy for the next week or so.” She turned back to Y/N. “We actually took a break from some of the more... advanced reading material so that I could read him The Tale of Peter Rabbit .”

“A classic in its own right,” Y/N said.

Diana nodded. “I’ve always said that children’s literature encompasses some of the most profound and imaginative storytelling. We can learn a lot from Peter and Ferdinand.”

“I love Ferdinand!” Y/N gasped. “Gosh, that’s one of my all time favorite books. My mom read it to me when I was little, and I read it to my kids every year.”

Diana threw her hands up. “And that right there tells me everything I need to know about your teaching. Well— that and everything Spencer’s already gushed about, of course.”

The three of them spent the better part of the afternoon laughing and trading embarrassing childhood stories. Diana was even more lovely than she could have imagined, and Y/N was grateful to be so quickly accepted into the small but incredibly loving family unit.

Every so often, she would catch Spencer’s eyes on her— soft and content and practically sparkling— and her heart would leap into her throat. He was uncharacteristically quiet, letting Diana lead most of their side of the conversation, only chiming in here and there to offer context or defend himself in a particularly mortifying tale. Diana unwittingly (or perhaps purposefully) revealed just how much Spencer had spoken about her; she already knew about Y/N’s home, her family, and most of her interests.

Spencer may have been quiet, but he was also blushing profusely— caught in the act of being absolutely enamored with her. Y/N found that she didn’t know how to feel about that. She should be happy. She should be thrilled. And in some ways, she was. Being with Spencer had made her the happiest she’d been in a very long time— maybe ever.

It was the happiness that scared her.

She deserved happiness. That’s what Anita would tell her. But the way she felt with Spencer— comfortable, natural, easy — was the rising action. She was still anticipating the climax, the mountaintop, the apex of joy. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t help it. She’d learned that every mountain had a valley, and the falling action always dragged her against every jagged stone on the way down. She never failed to plummet from the heights into the depths of where she’d learned to live, quiet and lonely and a little bit bruised.

This knowledge didn't stop her from soaking up every second of the highs.

“I’m starting to get a little tired,” Diana admitted. She reached across the couch and patted Y/N’s hand, squeezing gently, and then she looked to Spencer. “I start to— forget when I’m tired.”

The smile that had become almost permanent that afternoon faltered slightly, but he nodded and checked his watch. “Four hours is pretty good.”

She hummed. “They’ve been longer as of late.”

Y/N watched as his nose twitched. “Does Dr. Kincaid think that’s good or bad?”

Diana gave him a sympathetic smile. “She’s not sure.”

It was quiet for a long moment, and then Y/N stood. “Let me give you a minute together.” Diana stood as well, and Y/N clasped her hands together. “I don’t think I can articulate how incredibly happy I am to have finally met you. And I— I definitely don’t have the words to properly thank you for raising such a wonderful man.”

Diana took her hands, squeezing them gently before pulling her into a hug. Y/N returned the embrace, and Diana murmured, “Thank you for loving him. Through the highs and the lows.”

Y/N blinked back tears for the second time that day, nodding into Diana’s shoulder and hugging her tightly.

With a final squeeze, Diana released her, and Y/N excused herself back out into the foyer. She signed out of the visitor log and waved to a grinning Suzanna, and then headed outside to catch her breath. She made it to the car, unlocking it and settling into the passenger seat before leaning over to turn it on and get the windows rolled down.

Spencer emerged from the building, his hands in his pockets. He quickly made his way to the vehicle, practically running across the parking lot and sliding behind the wheel. Before she could even say anything, he was surging across the console to grab her face in his hands and pull her into a kiss.

She steadied herself with her hands on his chest, clutching at his shirt and returning the unexpected passion with a slightly bewildered smile. When he was finished, he pulled back to lean their foreheads together. She caught her breath and asked, “What was that for?”

“She loved you, and I love you, and I’m so glad you got to meet her.”

She could hear the emotion in his voice, and she slid her arms around his back, pulling him into a hug. “Me, too.”

He leaned into her for a minute longer, breathing into her hair and pressing another kiss to her shoulder. Then he pulled back, smiling widely. “How would you feel about meeting the other family?”

…

Spencer drove them to meet up with the team at O’Keefe’s, a favorite haunt of theirs on the evenings when they’d wrapped a case at a reasonable hour. They headed up the sidewalk hand in hand, with Y/N leaning a little into his side. She was feeling slightly more at ease this time around thanks to the buffer of knowing Penelope, Luke, and JJ already.

Spencer held the door open, trailing in behind her with a hand on her waist. She spotted Penelope’s bright green dress immediately, and Spencer raised his hand in greeting. The group gave them a raucous cheer, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile.

Spencer kept his hand on the small of her back as they approached the table. He greeted the group and then turned to Y/N, gesturing around the table. He introduced her to Tara, Matt, and Emily, the three of whom greeted her with warm handshakes. Penelope was practically vibrating with excitement as she scooped her up into a hug.

“Gosh dang it, you are just so cute ,” Penelope squeaked. She pulled back from the hug to take stock of Y/N’s outfit. “The books, I love it. And the shoes!”

Y/N laughed, twirling her ankle to show off the pink t-strap heels. “I’m definitely going to regret them in about an hour. But they look cute anyway.”

Tara sidled up to the two of them, raising her glass in solidarity. “Here’s to cute shoes and pinched toes.” She took a sip of her scotch and then turned to Y/N. “What’s your poison?”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Y/N insisted.

Tara waved her hand and gestured to Spencer. “You got grandpa to come out to the bar. You’re not paying for a single drink tonight.”

“I come out with you guys!” he squeaked indignantly.

A chorus of exasperated groans made their way around the group, followed by good-natured laughs. Tara raised a single eyebrow in Spencer’s direction, and then turned her attention back to Y/N. “Like I said, you won’t need your wallet tonight. What’ll it be?”

…

She did not, in fact, have to reach for her wallet at all that evening. Between the seven of them, Y/N’s cup was always full and her smile was nearly permanent. She heard endless stories about Spencer, complete with photo evidence— much to his dismay.

She learned that Tara had a doctorate in forensic psychology, and Emily had worked internationally for years becoming the Unit Chief of the BAU. Luke had been an Army Ranger and a member of the Fugitive Task Force, and Matt had traveled the globe with the International Response Team.

They were all incredibly kind, asking about her family and her work, listening with interest as she recounted growing up on a farm and her days spent teaching kindergarten. Despite their apparent interest, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little… silly. Stories of field trips and finger painting felt incredibly juvenile in comparison to the lived experiences of this remarkable team of people.

She did her best to steer the conversation back to the team whenever possible, which in some ways made the whole thing worse. But she managed to keep a smile for the evening, and she lost track of how many drinks made their way down the hatch. Luke ordered an assortment of snack foods for the group, and she gratefully accepted a few fries and a mozzarella stick to soak up some of the alcohol sloshing around in her stomach. At some point Spencer returned from the bar with an extra glass of water, sliding it her way with a knowing smile and a press of his lips to her cheek.

Eventually, Y/N had to excuse herself to the bathroom, patting Spencer’s arm and carefully navigating the dim bar. In the way that it so often did, the level of her intoxication made itself abundantly clear in the harsh lighting of the restroom. She stumbled out of the stall to wash her hands, using the countertop for balance and cursing under her breath.

She raised her head to analyze her appearance, groaning a little at the smudge of mascara under her eyes. As she swiped at the black rings, she considered that she had never quite figured out the ideal amount of alcohol— somehow always managing to get a little too drunk. And now she was too drunk in front of all of Spencer’s friends— his family.

Not only that, but for the second time today, she couldn’t help but feel so overwhelmingly ordinary . Surrounded by the team, all extraordinary and awe-inspiring in their own right, she was… plain, unaccomplished, boring . Spencer had called her remarkable; she felt anything but.

She closed her eyes against the tears that were threatening to spill over, remembering the last time she’d cried in a bar bathroom. She’d spent that evening wondering what was wrong with her… wondering if she deserved to have someone like Spencer at all.

“That’s just… the alcohol talking,” she reminded herself out loud into the empty bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. “Stop bein’ a weirdo.”

She pushed out of the bathroom and back into the bar, walking a little more cautiously as the alcohol started to course through her bloodstream. As she approached the group again, Spencer’s eyes found her immediately, and he reached for her, pulling her underneath his arm and into his side. He brought his mouth close to her ear and murmured, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just—” She slid her hand around his waist to keep herself steady. “Just more tipsy than I thought.”

He ran a soothing hand along her arm. “Do you wanna go home?”

She shook her head. “No, no— ‘M fine. ‘S nice to be with your friends.”

“You’re sure?” He squeezed her shoulder and lowered his voice. “Because honestly I’m kind of ready to go.”

She looked up from where her head was resting on his chest to see him smiling softly at her. “Whatever you want.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then turned back to the team and cleared his throat. “We’re gonna head out.”

Tara made a show of checking her watch. “10:45? I’m surprised you stayed this long, old man.”

…

Y/N’s eyes opened slowly and came into focus as Spencer’s car came to a stop outside her apartment. “Why’re we here?”

Spencer shut off the ignition and pulled out the key with a small smile. “I have a feeling you’re going to feel… less than stellar tomorrow. I thought you might like to wake up in your own bed. Hang on.”

He climbed out of the vehicle and closed the door before coming around to her side. She could feel the tears welling up as she fumbled with the buckle on her seatbelt. Everything was a little uncoordinated, and she felt absolutely ridiculous.

The door opened, and she carefully swung her legs out one at a time. Spencer stood slightly to the side, and she knew she should hurry up and let him get home, but she didn’t move to get up.

“Do you need help?”

She shook her head, and the action sent a tear rolling over her bottom lash line. She tried to swipe it away, but of course Spencer caught it.

“Hey— what’s wrong?” he asked gently.

She sniffed. “Are you just dropping me off?”

He cupped a hand underneath her chin to tilt her eyes upward, and his eyes were soft but concerned. “I was planning to come upstairs with you. Unless you don’t want me to.”

She shook her head. “No, I— you can come upstairs.”

“Okay.” Spencer cocked his head. “Honey, what’s going on?”

Y/N didn’t know where to begin. She was drowning in self-doubt— had been since about the one month mark. It seemed that every day there was something new to feel insecure about. The confidence she’d had on his doorstep in March was nowhere to be found.

That was too much for her slow moving brain to articulate at the moment, so she settled on: “They’re all so smart and funny and cool and interesting.”

“Okay…” he prompted.

“And I’m not,” she admitted.

His mouth turned quickly down. “That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “I’m just— a kindergarten teacher and I— I don’t have any cool skills or stories, and I don’t even have any muscles, and they’re all so pretty —”

“Hey, stop— stop.” Spencer squatted down to be eye-level with her. “First of all, you’re not ‘just’ anything. And you’re my favorite kindergarten teacher and the best one I know.” He grabbed her hand and laced their fingers together. “You have lots of cool skills and stories. And I don’t have any muscles either.”

She lifted her free hand to squeeze his bicep. “Yes, you do.”

“Muscles are overrated.” He smiled and brought a hand to her face, smoothing her hair back and then letting his fingers linger on her cheek. “And frankly, pretty is too mundane a term to describe you. I’d go with something like radiant, or ethereal, or incandescent.”

“You have to s‘plain your jokes to me,” she slurred, swiping her forearm under her nose.

“Not always. And besides, I have to explain my jokes to basically everyone,” he reminded her. He squeezed her hand. “But unlike everyone else, you let me explain them to you. And you actually listen to the explanation.” He shrugged. “I think I like that more than I like telling the joke.”

She was quiet then, eyes focused on a particularly interesting piece of loose gravel. She knew the list of her flaws was longer, but her brain couldn’t string them together in her current state.

Spencer shuffled closer and waited patiently until she finally looked at him before continuing.

“I love you. And not because of your job, or your cool stories, or your muscles,” he clarified. “I love you because you’re you. And, a little selfishly, because I love the person that I am when I’m with you. Okay?”

He smiled tentatively, and she let out a long breath. “Okay.”

He leaned forward and kissed her nose. “Now, come on. Let’s get inside.”

Spencer helped her navigate up the walkway and the three flights of stairs. Rather than rummage drunkenly through her purse, she passed it off and allowed him to retrieve her keys and unlock the door.

He supervised and provided balance support as she haphazardly swiped a makeup wipe over her face and fumbled into her pajamas. Finally he got her settled into bed with a bottle of water on the bedside table.

He pulled up the covers around her. “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” he murmured.

This was the moment that he’d realize what an absolute fool she was. He’d finally be alone in the bathroom, and it would become abundantly clear that she couldn’t drink responsibly, that she was boring, that she was obnoxious. She was sure of it, and her heart was fracturing into a thousand tiny pieces.

Spencer’s nervous laugh broke through her haze of insecurity. “Whoa, I thought we were done crying?” he joked. “Honey, c’mere.” Spencer pulled her up into his arms, rubbing a hand over her back.

She hadn’t realized she was making any noise until the sound vibrated against where Spencer had tucked her into his shoulder. As if she hadn’t been foolish enough tonight, now she was blubbering into his nice cardigan. Despite herself, she clung to him like he’d disappear like smoke between her fingers.

“I’m— I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed; it’s not funny,” he apologized. “Shhh, sweetheart . It— it’s okay, it’s okay .”

“I don’t want you to go.” Her voice was full of tears and cracked pathetically at the end.

“Okay, okay,” he agreed, a tinge of confusion in his voice. “I’m— the bathroom can wait, I suppose.”

That only made her cry harder, which poor Spencer responded to with even more aggressive soothing. He stroked over her hair and hugged her tight, shushing her and rocking her a little bit back and forth.

He was just so sweet . Kind and thoughtful and considerate— three things she hadn’t experienced from a significant other in a very long time. And it was exhausting waiting for the shift— for the moment that he realized she wasn’t worth the hassle. She was so tired of anticipating the end.

“I don’t want you to leave.” She hated how ridiculous she sounded, gasping and hiccuping.

Spencer froze for a full second and then squeezed her impossibly tighter. “I’m not. Baby, I’m not. I am right here.” He stroked a firm hand up and down her spine. “I need you to take some deep breaths with me. I’m gonna do it, too, okay?”

He led her in a series of deep inhalations and long exhales to the rhythm of his palm on her back. He murmured quietly to her, reassurances and promises and love. As her breathing came closer to normal, he pressed a soft kiss into her hair.

“I love you, Y/N. You know that, right? I wouldn’t change one single thing about you.” His hand on her back slowed to a stop, and she could practically hear him considering his next move. “I’m pretty sure Billy Joel wrote a song about it, actually. I love you just the way you are. ”

She couldn’t stop the laugh from bubbling up in her throat at the tone deaf melody, and she felt him smile against her hair. “Okay?”

She wasn’t okay, but that wasn’t his fault. She sighed and sniffed. “Okay, off brand Billy Joel.”

“That’s not very nice,” he chuckled, pulling back to swipe his fingers over her damp cheeks.

“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “I love off brand. Just as good as the real thing, and with some fun quirks.”

“Somehow I don’t think he’d appreciate the comparison.” He smiled softly at her, and then his expression melted into something a little more serious. “But I mean it. There is no place I’d rather be, and no one else that I wanna be with. When I say that I love you the most, I mean that I love you more than I have ever loved anybody. Ever.”

He looked at her so earnestly that she wanted to cry all over again. How was he so wonderful, and gentle, and loving, and perfect ? He’d promised to do better on a chilly night in January and then spent every single day since then doing exactly that.

“But I actually do have to pee,” he admitted sheepishly. “Are you going to be okay here for a few minutes?”

He was speaking to her as he would a child, and she was utterly mortified. She waved her hand. “ God , I’m bein’ so annoying.”

“No, you’re not. You’re a little drunk. And a lot adorable.” He tapped gently on her nose. “But you’re also kind of sad, and I don’t want you to be sad.” He propped the pillow up behind her. “It’ll be the fastest pee ever— four minutes, tops. Most of it will be hand washing. Okay?"

“Okay,” she smiled, and she really meant it.

He hopped up and trotted to the bedroom door. “See you in four minutes. Have some water while you wait.”

She followed instructions, sipping carefully from the bottle he’d left for her. She also rummaged through the bedside drawer for the Advil, popping two and washing them down with another swig of water.

Spencer returned to the bedroom with his cardigan and pants already discarded. He quickly slipped out of his button up and into his pajamas before sliding in beside her and holding out his arms. “All right, c’mere.”

“Hmm?” she hummed.

“I’m demanding snuggles,” he clarified. “That’s the price you pay for my chauffeur and caretaker services.”

Another smile slowly turned up the corners of her mouth, and he returned it, pulling her against his side. “There she is.”

She allowed herself to settle and melt into his warmth, the soft fabric of his t-shirt under her cheek and his fingers brushing lightly over her arm. She willed herself to stop waiting for the shift. She begged herself to stop looking for the end.

Maybe this time there wouldn’t be an end. Maybe she could have an infinite middle with Spencer Reid. Maybe she had earned that.

———

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years ago

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ascendance - 02

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: violence, dark themes, murder, bleeding, kidnapping, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

A/N: i am gonna try using the commas as dialogue markers for this work as i’ve gotten a few complaints about my love of the -, so i’m giving it a trial run. don’t be alarmed by it. hope you enjoy it xx

> NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST

Her head was pounding and felt as if some unseen force was squeezing her skull, causing her head to hurt even further but she daren’t open her eyes. She could open them, she was conscious enough to know she could open then but she had them squeezed shut, afraid of what awaited her once she did so. From her senses, she knew she was laying against stone, cold stone and she could hear water drops falling onto the surface, still she daren’t open her eyes. This was all a nightmare, just a nightmare that she was going to wake up from in her very tiny, over expensive, way older New York flat in front of the weirdest scenery someone could have.

The footsteps had her forcefully open her eyes as she scrambled backwards, back hitting a cold wall as her blurry eyes focused on the room. It was dark, almost like a basement yet she couldn’t exactly make it up. The beads of her dress had left marks on her skin yet somehow her wig was still in place. She didn’t know where she was and she hoped this was a really bad joke they played on newcomers. That’s it, a joke. It was just a joke, just hazing on the new kid. She’d gone through hazing a newcomer teasing in old companies, that’s just what it was. Don’t think of the worse, don’t of the worse.

Along with the echoing water drops falling onto the stone floor underwear, echoes of sleeps from above the ceiling started to become the main sound. She curled into a ball, fingers digging into her own skin as she hoped to wake up from this nightmare-like situation she was in. Suddenly, voice and steps was all she could hear, the water drops being drown up by those sounds until the door slammed open.

“WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS BILLY, HUH” a thick bronx accent was now the only thing that filled the room and she daren’t open her eyes, instead remaining scared on the floor. "DOES THIS FUCKING LOOK LIKE A 40 YEAR OLD WOMAN TO YOU?”

“I, I’m sorry, boss. She was in the dressing room and I thought it was her, I could see her face." she peaked her eyes open, still laying down on the floor, the same floor where four men stood looking down at her. She could barely make out all of their faces, probably a result of fear and adrenaline overpowering her brain yet she could make up one face. One face standing at the right end, with glossy eyes which appeared to be staring nowhere, was familiar to her. "It was a mistake, I’m sorry ... I ... I can go back.”

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, BILLY?” the man who had been yelling before hand, pulled his hand over his own face. “Soldat.”

“He’s a kid, John.” the man who she had spoken with before but whose name she still didn’t know said in a low, tired voice.

"A kid? Well, what the fuck are we gonna do with THAT FUCKING KID THEN?” the John person pointed at her and she almost stumbled back but her body couldn’t move. She knew she could move her body but she seemed paralysed. Her mind was rushing miles and miles an hour but her body was frozen into place. "Tommy, I expected better from you.”

"I thought he had the right chick.” said the man who still hadn’t spoken, shrugging.

The mood seemed to shift with that sentence alone, the carelessness of it turning the room bitter and colder than it already was. John’s jaw tightened, constricted muscles as he looked over to the only familiar man in the room with decisive eyes. The man was almost mechanical, grabbing the revolver stuck to his hip in his right hand before his eyes settled on her. Her heart seemed to stop beating, waves of cold shivers washing all over her as she prepared herself for the worse. However, his gaze darted to the side and hers follow and then ... bang. A thump onto the floor followed by silence and as she looked back to where her gaze had been stuck so, she saw Tommy laid on the ground, gunshot to the head, blood staining his dirty blonde hair, the same blood which had slightly splattered onto her face which merely seemed to further paralyse her.

“Get rid of her. Last thing I need is another loose thread.” John took a handkerchief from his pocket, cleaning whatever blood had splattered onto him as if it were merely water and not the substance which had kept the man who now lied dead on the ground alive.

“She might be valuable.” he still held his gun in hand, seemingly unbothered by what had just happened. What kind of monster does that? “She might know people”

“What do you do?” John turned to her, talking down as if she were a child. She looked around, not entirely sure if she could even manage to make any words come out of her mouth. Her gaze once against settled on the familiar man who mouthed something to her. Lie.

"L-lyric soprano.” she wasn’t lying per say but she knew no chorus girl was valuable and if she wasn’t valuable, her faith was laying on the ground. If she survives, maybe someone can find her, maybe she can run away.

"It’s the New York Opera. The police are gonna be insane running after her and we can use her as a get out of jail free card. Almost like an expensive painting”

John looked her up and down, biting the inside of his cheek and pondering his options but Y/N couldn’t stare or even look at him. Her eyes were instead focused on the gun still being held by the unnamed man, the same gun which had any time could go off and while her hopeful side was willing to survive and get out, the other part of her wondered if it would be a kinder faith.

"Fucking clean this up, Billy.” John sighed before leaving the the room.

She curled up, body shivering as she could wear the body being pulled up the stairs before the door was closed, leaving her alone in the room. Time went by slowly or at least it felt slow to her yet she couldn’t do anything, all she could do is be trapped in her own panic as what once felt like a start became a dead end. Even once she could get up to try and find any creaks and cracks, anything which would translate into an escape option, a sudden wave of disappointment, betrayal and hopelessness would bring her back down and almost pin her to the now blood stained ground. All she could do was look at the ceiling, silent tears rushing down her face and she was back to being paralysed on the ground, the beads of her costume pinching and bruising her skin.

The door opened a few times in a time space which she couldn’t really pinpoint yet she didn’t look at the door, she merely looked at the ceiling trying to imagine that she was somewhere else. Trying she imagine she was anywhere else, anywhere but else in the dark, by her self with dried tears in the corner of her eyes and cheeks, mixing with the dried blood on her cheeks she didn’t have the strength to wipe away while it was fresh. The paralysis soon enough was replaced by numbness as her body shut down, preferring to be asleep than awake as if she was going to wake up in her flat.

Bucky closed the door for what felt like the fifth time, eyeing the untouched sandwich and glass of water which had been laying there for the past 7 hours just a few meters away from where she was laying. He thought about telling her to eat, ordering her even but he guessed she had seen enough and been through enough. Wiping his hand off the dust from the basement, he climbed up the stairs to the main floor. He knew that path like the back of his hand, he’d been there enough times to know how to get there blindfolded. After all, they didn’t call that the burner room for no reason.

“Damn cops won’t get off my back.” John complained as he saw him. “This is what happens when we leave loose ends. Should’ve killed him when I had the fucking chance.”

“They don’t have any evidence.”

“I’m sure when they come into my fucking house and see I have Jenny Lind locked in my basement they’ll love it” he scoffed. “You need to take her out of here before they come snooping.”

“It’s not my mess to clean.” Bucky leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Ain’t Billy the one with that house in the Hamptons? Ask him, it’s his mess.”

“You think I’m going to trust Billy with my get outta jail card? Fucking idiot can’t even distinguish between a 40 year old and a 20 year old.” he snickered. “You keep her. You gotta flat in Brooklyn, don’t cha? No one’s gonna be looking at you.”

“And wait am I supposed to do with her hm? Handcuff her to my couch and hope she doesn’t scream until whenever?”

“Weren’t you the one who wanted to spare her? I thought you’d learned your lesson from the last time you questioned me.” Bucky looked down at the floor, jaw locked, forehead muscles tense. “Thought so.”

Y/N woke up in a different place and while it was as dark as the basement, she knew it was somewhere else. She could feel herself moving but she herself wasn’t moving. She looked around, trying to look around for any indicators of her she was until she moved her hands up which came into contact with some sort of metal covered by a weird velvet like fabric. Was she in the trunk of a car? Her hand tried to look for the sign light to punch it out just like she had heard in school assemblies so, so many times yet as she finally found it, the car came to a very harsh stop. She held her breathe in, her ears registering footsteps which became louder and louder until the trunk of the car was pulled open. The harsh light hurt her eyes which she squeezed shut only to open them again. The same man from the dressing room stood over the trunk. She curled up against herself but he grabbed her bicep, easily lifting her from the trunk and onto the floor yet maintaining the grip on her bicep.

She was in what looked like a garage, with green blueish lighting and while she could see a big closed door at the end, his grip on her bicep was a silent reminder for her not to try anything. Not only did he tower over her but she was almost sure he probably had a gun with him and she thought not to try. He led her to a lift, making sure she entered before he did. As the doors closed, that feeling of dread in her stomach mixed with the other one she had felt the very first time she saw him yet she daren’t look him in the eye. In all honesty, everything was blurry to her even as she walked into a small flat, the sound of the door behind closed and locked behind her being the only thing she really registered.

The man walked up to his kitchen which was open concept with the living room and grabbed a bottle with amber liquid from the counter, pouring himself what she guessed was whiskey yet she wasn’t the most alcohol knowledgeable person, most of the times she couldn’t even drink milk, much less alcohol.

“You hungry?” he asked in an nonchalant tone as if she were merely a guest in this flat. Y/N looked behind her back to the door. “I would follow you if you tried it.”

“I ... I am not gonna tell anyone.”

“It’s not my choice to make. You try to run and you’re successful and someone will just kill you. Your best choice is to stay put. They don’t like loose ends.” he downed whatever liquid was in the glass, putting it back on the counter. She remained there, not moving from the space between the door and the place where the kitchen began. The man sighed, grabbing a peach from a glass bowl on the counter and placing it just at the end, where it was closest to her. “Eat something, will you?”

“I don’t want to. Thank you.”

“There’s food in the fridge. Suit yourself.”

He left the room to enter one of the other rooms, leaving Y/N all alone in the middle of that room. Escape! Her mind yelled at her and she immediately moved back to the door, trying to push at the handle so it would open but the latched was locked shut. She turned around, looking for anything to jab the lock until she noticed the windows. Her most careful side would have told her not to do it but she had to. She had to escape, she couldn’t stay put. She had been working her whole life for that opportunity, working low paid jobs to pay for tuition at Julliard, not drinking, not dating, not having any lactose so her voice would be good enough, she couldn’t ... she just couldn’t lose that opportunity after putting her whole teenage years at stake just so she could have this opportunity.

Y/N made her way to the window which led to a fire escape but was also locked. She looked over her shoulder to check if he had left the room before she pulled her arm back and to the front, her fist hitting the glass which cracked. She continued punching the glass with all the force she could manage despite the glass burying and cutting her skin until she had broken the window enough too climb out into the fire escape. As she prepared to put her leg over the cracked hole, two arms wrapped around her waist, pushing her back. She whimpered and moved around in the embrace, trying to get free. If only she could get free for a moment she could climb out, she could run away, she could go back to the opera house.

“Stop.” he flushed her tighter to his chest, walking away from the window, away from her possibility of escaping.

It didn’t take long for him to notice she was hurt, her blood falling onto his jacket as he pulled her further and further away. He brought her to the front of the sink, gloved hand lifting the tap up, making a constant stream of cold water come up. Through her constant fighting to get free he managed to get her hand under the water, shards of glass coming out onto the red stained water which whirled onto the drain.

“Let me go.” he elbowed him in the chest but he continuously held her against the side of the sink, fingers rubbing against the top of her palm to unlodge the shards of glass of her skin. “I have to go, please let me go.”

“Calm down.”

“Stop.” she tried to wriggle her wrist off his hold. “I have to go.”

“I promise you that you will go. You stay put, you don’t try to run and in no time you’ll be back doing petty chores for divas.”

“Why should I trust you?” she looked at the sink filled with little shards of glass.

“It’s either that or you’ll end up dead. What other choice do you have?” he stopped forcing her against the sink, leaning against the opposite corner. “Last thing I want is to lock you in a room. So what’s it gonna be?”

“You promise you’ll let me go?”

“You have my word.”

TAGLIST: @lookiamtrying @buckyswillows @blossomslibrary @juliesland @iloveshawnieboi @unmagically @red-head011

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ncssian · 4 years ago

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A Favor: Part Twelve

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: this took so long bc ive been reading chain of iron and in general agonizing over things i cant control instead of being productive 🥴 that being said, absolutely none of the events in this chapter were planned in my outline, but here we are with something new!

***

December brings more snow and bone chilling weather, to the point where Cassian has to drag Nesta out of bed, either physically or by phone call, to get her to therapy appointments on time.

She’s in the waiting room one freezing morning when, in her utter boredom, she musters up the nerve to turn to the girl sitting next to her. “What are you in here for?”

The girl blinks her large blue eyes, taking notice of Nesta for the first time. Nesta uses the opportunity to take in her freckle-painted face, a little wan but beautiful. Reddish brown hair hangs around her face and shoulders, creating a thick curtain from the rest of the world, and Nesta’s curiosity piques like she’s just found a shiny new toy.

It probably isn’t right to compare people to toys, but then the girl says, “This isn’t prison, you know.” Her voice is deep, almost sultry— completely at odds from her huddled-in posture and sickened expression. “I didn’t commit a crime to have to be here.”

Is she insulted by Nesta’s question, or is she poking a joke? Nesta decides to play it safe by murmuring, “Sorry, never mind.”

She starts to turn away when the girl says, “We’re trying a new type of trauma therapy today. I had to get here half an hour early because I couldn’t swallow my nerves.”

Nesta might lack many social skills, but she isn’t stupid enough to ask what kind of trauma the girl is being treated for. Instead, she nods casually as if she understands the struggle. “I’ve been coming here for weeks now and I’ve barely discussed shit. That’s mostly on me, but you know…” She actually doesn’t know where she’s going with her train of thought. “It sounds brave to do whatever you're doing,” she states finally. “I don’t think I’ll be able to open up that much about myself, ever.”

The girl gives Nesta a weird look that she immediately recognizes. Nesta uses it every time she doesn’t know how to respond to someone who takes her by surprise.

The door to Lana’s office clicks open, and the woman herself pokes her head out with a plain smile. “Ready, Nesta?”

Nesta bites down on her frown. She has a feeling today won’t be as easy as her past sessions.

She’s about to leave without another glance at the girl beside her when that low voice speaks up. “I’m Gwyn.”

Nesta looks back at her as she gets up from her chair, and says the first reply that comes to mind: “Good to know.”

***

Nesta is contemplative hours after she gets back from her therapy session, bundled up in her bed with a coloring book. The repetitive motion of filling in the mandala drawing lets her mind wander, picking up and dropping different thoughts like she’s inspecting stones.

She keeps her wrist light as she colors in with red. She finally said Tomas’s name in therapy today, though the action left a slimy feeling in Nesta’s stomach that lingers even now. She also spoke about her sisters, which somehow ended up leading to a discussion of her uterus.

“How have you been dealing with the endometriosis news?”

Nesta shrugged. “I’m getting treated, and my last period was more bearable than usual—”

“I mean mentally, how are you doing? With how your condition could affect your future?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Affect me how?”

“Have you never considered the impact it could have on your ability to bear children?”

“Not everything in life is about bearing children, you know.”

“We’re humans. It’s definitely something to consider.”

“Not for me. I’ve never wanted kids.” A mistruth at best. “I don’t care what endo does or doesn’t do to me on those grounds.”

In a way, Nesta told herself, the health risks were actually for the best. If she ever did, by some stupid loss of sanity, try to have children, then her body would act as a safety net from her decisions.

Lana only said, “You’ll never know how much you care or don’t care until you talk out your feelings.”

“Then I guess we’ll never know.”

Nesta lets the memory of that conversation drop like a stone on a shore. That’s not something she has to face for a good long while. No, right now she has to face her past.

Her sisters, and her ex, and even her father—

I wonder if I came off too strong with Gwyn today.

Her hand stops drawing, and she switches out her red marker for an orange one. This thought she doesn’t mind inspecting for a little longer: she and Gwyn ended up leaving their sessions at the same time, which meant they were forced into stilted conversation on the way down to the parking lot.

Not forced, Nesta self-corrects. She willingly initiated a conversation, and it didn’t go terribly. She wonders if making friends in therapy waiting rooms is a real thing.

Her phone vibrates beside her, breaking her hours-long mental bubble. Blinking dazedly, she answers the phone call.

“How are you?” is the first thing Cassian says to her. He makes sure to ask her that at least twice a day, like a gauging of her temperature. It makes Nesta wonder what she’s ever done in her life to call for such… attention to her well-being.

“I’m good,” she answers honestly. “My head’s a little loud right now, but I don’t mind it.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, I’d rather hear you talk.” She slumps back against her pillows, coloring book forgotten. “What’s up?”

“Ah...” Cassian sounds hesitant for the first time since their relationship started. “It’s just that I haven’t gotten my Christmas decorations up yet, and I was going to ask if you wanted to help.”

Nesta takes a moment to absorb his words. “It’s December fifth,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“You just seem like somebody who does their decorations the day after Thanksgiving.”

“Well, this year is a little different, with you moving out and being busy with school…” He pauses. “I was waiting to do it with you.”

When she doesn’t reply, Cassian adds, “I don’t even know if you care about Christmas. I know you and your family sort of ignored holidays. It’s fine if you don’t want to—”

“I’ll be over right now,” Nesta blurts.

Half an hour later, Cassian swings open his door with a smug grin on his face; a vast difference from the stammering hesitance he displayed over the phone earlier. Nesta’s own lips want to pull up into a smile just at the sight of him, but she holds back and narrows her eyes instead. “What’s got you so worked up?” she questions as she steps into the warmth of the cabin and out of the freezing cold.

“The way you ran over here as soon as I asked.” He looks her up and down, still amused. “You didn’t even bother to change, did you?”

It’s true: she’s in the same sweatpants and long sleeved tee she wore around home, and her socked feet are shoved into slippers.

“Get that smirk off your face.” Nesta flicks his nose before tossing her coat off. “If this is a competition about who’s got a bigger puppy-crush for whom, you already won when you delayed putting up your Christmas decorations for me.”

“Fair enough,” he grins. The words send an unexpected pang through Nesta, because it’s partly true, isn’t it? He cares more openly for her than she does for him.

She looks away in guilt, not knowing how to fix the imbalance. Her eyes land on the living room coffee table, where their half-finished jigsaw puzzle sits. It’s been stored under the couch for the past few weeks, forgotten by Nesta and Cassian alike as they moved on with their lives, but now it’s sitting out again.

“Have you been working on the puzzle without me?” She raises an inquisitive brow, about to feel— hurt.

“Never,” Cassian promises, saving her from that irrational hurt. “I just brought it out because I figured we should get to finishing it one day.”

She pads over to the table, picking up a puzzle piece and turning it over in her hand. “I don’t know if you remember, but we had a terrible time working on this,” she scoffs lightly.

“Oh, I remember,” he says, coming up behind her and stealing the piece from her grasp. “I think it’s safe to say those evenings were the worst fights we’ll ever have together.”

Nesta leans back against Cassian’s chest and hums. “It made us a stronger couple, don’t you think?” She turns her head up and back to meet Cassian’s eyes, finding that he’s already looking down at her.

Hypnotized, she leans into his warmth. She only manages to land the smallest kiss against his lips when his hand squeezes her ass cheek. “You’re here for a job, remember?” He taps her butt before pulling away, gesturing to the Christmas tree in the corner of the living area with his chin. It stands bare. “You do tinsel, I’ll do lights.”

Tinsel is harder to work with than Nesta remembers. She only manages to get half the tree done before plopping onto the Persian rug, exhausted and covered in silvery material. She doesn’t mind laying there while Cassian continues working; it’s her revenge for when he napped on her bed while she moved in.

“You know the stair railings still need to be wreathed, Archeron.”

Nesta declines to respond, tilting her head on the carpet for a better view of her boyfriend’s ass instead. “All this decorating,” she starts. “Is it just for you?”

Cassian turns to her, surprised. “Well…”

She pushes up onto her elbows, catching her mistake. “Are we doing Christmas together? Or are your friends coming over?” She hasn’t bothered to celebrate Christmas in years now, and she doesn’t care much what Cassian’s plans are either way.

“I was hoping for both?” He sounds hesitant. “Christmas Eve is all the way over in Velaris, but I was thinking we could go together, open some presents, and come back and spend Christmas here.”

Nesta purses her lips. She doesn’t actually hate that plan. Both Feyre and Elain have been pestering her with the annual texts asking her to visit for Christmas, and for once, she feels like responding to them. The invitation is more of a formality than an actual request at this point; she doubts her sisters want her there after years of rejections, but… what’s the harm?

“Is that a yes?” Cassian asks at her unreadable face.

“Yes,” she states unflinchingly. She refuses to overthink the possible consequences of this choice and chooses to focus on the broad grin overtaking Cassian’s face. “Really?” he says.

“But there has to be rules.” Nesta sits up fully now. “No one can know we’re together, no matter how much you trust or love them.”

“We already agreed to that, baby.”

Yes, but Nesta knows the secret weighs on him heavier than he shows— even if he agrees with her that it's for the best. “It’ll be different when we’re together in the same room as everyone else,” she says. Cassian wears his beating heart on his sleeve, and she doesn’t think he’s ever had to hide it before.

“You’ll also be different,” she adds. “It’s a huge change of pace.”

Cassian drops the remaining strand of lights and smiles confusedly down at her. “What do you mean, I’ll be different?” He sits across from her, before the blazing fire.

“You know how you get around your friends.” Nesta shrugs without a thought. “Like your personality readjusts to mirror the people around you. I used to find it a mix of sad and adorable, like a neglected puppy desperate for love, but now I— okay, I still feel the same way.” She waves a hand in a dismissive gesture.

By the look on Cassian’s face, he does not find her words so easily dismissed.

Coldness curdles in the pit of Nesta’s stomach, the realization that she’s said something wrong. She can’t fix it until she knows where she fucked up, though.

“Is that what you think of me?” Cassian finally says lowly. His usually expressive mouth is drawn tight and narrow.

“Um… What would you rather I think of you?”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “Seriously, Nesta?”

Nesta’s back stiffens, refusing to cower. “I only described what I’ve observed in the past.”

“And what you observed was a desperate puppy?” His voice is cold in a way she’s never heard before.

Okay, she’s starting to see how that might be offensive. She forges onward, “Tell me what you think about yourself in the presence of your family, then.” It’s a private victory that she says family instead of clown circus. But she’s not trying to turn this into a fight.

Cassian is silent, but his stare continues to rage at her.

“Tell me,” Nesta repeats.

His hands curl into fists on the rug. “I think I’m empathetic, easy to talk to, and easier to be around. Is it a problem if I’m likable?” Unlike you are the unsaid words.

Nesta inspects the space between them like it’s a chessboard. “And what part of yourself are you giving up to be so likable, Cassian?” she says quietly.

“Nothing.”

Nesta disagrees, if only because she’s been watching him out of the corner of her eye for years. “I think you base your personality off of those you love, and you lose a little bit of your true self every time you put others’ needs before your own.”

She shuts her mouth, not having expected such honesty to come out of it. Cassian is taken aback, too, she can tell.

“And I guess it’s natural that you’d see all of that as a bad thing, considering your history of being closed off and self-serving to a fault,” he fires back with the flatness Nesta utilizes so often.

One for one. Fair enough. “We’re both right then,” Nesta says. “You work for your best friend because you have no ambition beyond serving your family, and I have no such family because I can’t bring myself to care about those things. Are we even now?”

Cassian furrows his brows, those defensive walls melting away as he realizes she’s completely serious. “What? No, Nes—” He shakes his head. “Okay, so maybe you’re right about me. Maybe I agree with you a little bit, but… If we see flaws in each other, then we should be working to overcome them instead of weaponizing them.”

Now Nesta’s the one shaking her head, quickly lifting a hand to stop him. “Relax there, sweetheart. I have no expectations from you or myself to go on some self-improvement journey now that we’re together. Talking about my feelings with a professional every week is hard enough.” Yes, agreeing to go to Feyre’s Christmas party is improvement. Slow, barely there improvement, but enough to wear her out for the rest of the month. For Nesta to fully let people into her life, to treat them as lovingly as she treats Cassian— that’s a long way away. She can’t envision it, doesn’t even know if she wants it.

Cassian must understand some of what she’s thinking, because he nods and backs off. He gets back up and returns to stringing lights, tossing a handful of tinsel at Nesta as if to say Get back to work.

She stands and obeys, thinking their not-argument is officially over when Cassian says, “You’re wrong about one thing.”

She looks up from where she threads tinsel through fir leaves. He doesn’t take his eyes off his work as he says, “You do have a family. And deep, deep down, you care about them as much as I care about mine.”

***

Nesta catches Emerie’s eye as the dark-haired beauty walks into the pub. Raising a hand and waving, she gestures Emerie over to the booth she’s sitting in.

“Look what I found,” Nesta says with a hint of pride, pointing to the redhead sitting beside her. “A third girl for girl’s night!”

“I was kidnapped,” Gwyn speaks up. “Jumped on the way to my car.” She’s out of her usual hoodie and in a tight-fitting blouse, looking stunning even while seeming out of place in the dim bar.

“She came here consensually,” Nesta retorts. “Emerie, this is Gwyn. We met at therapy.”

Gwyn offers Emerie an awkward smile.

Emerie slides into the booth across from them with raised brows. She looks between Nesta and the new girl and back again. “You invited her here? All by yourself?” she asks.

Nesta nods firmly.

Emerie breaks into a wide grin and reaches over the table to grab Nesta’s hand. “I’m so proud of you!” If Emerie were anyone else, she’d be squealing in excitement, but Emerie does not squeal.

Nesta waves off her friend’s praise, though a part of her wants to beam at it, too.

Gwyn glances between the two of them with slight amusement. “I mean, it’s not that impressive,” she says. “She came on a bit too strong, probably a five out of ten on the asking-someone-out scale.”

“‘A bit too strong’ is all you’re gonna get with Nesta,” Emerie says, lifting her hand to order drinks. “She’s all-or-nothing, and most people would pray she doesn’t give them her nothing.”

Nesta doesn’t know if that’s a compliment, but she supposes there are worse things that could be said about her.

“So, Gwyn, what do you do?” Emerie leans forward. “All our friends are law students and it’s starting to get boring.”

Gwyn goes off about her librarian job as Nesta orders their drinks, and Emerie rests her chin in her hand and listens eagerly. Christmas music plays softly in the background and snow flurries gently outside. Nesta thinks she can’t be doing that bad in life, if she’s managed to carve out this little slice of happiness for herself.

***

a/n: i promise shit actually happens next chapter! we're getting christmas with nessian and the ic in the same room for the first time

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic

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confused-stars · 4 years ago

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you know what i want to see? i want to see class 1a shenanigans with an ouija board accidentally picking up ghostboro. They chat with him via ouija board for like a week before Aizawa gets wind of what they're doing and everything goes into chaos

It happens to Tokoyami and Shinsou first, because of course it does. Who else would be sitting in a dark, candle-lit room in the dead of night with a ouija board set up between them?

Who else would even own a ouija board but Tokoyami? It's a fancy one, too. Heavy wood and English letters burned into it, grooves painted gold. Tokoyami claimed that it was a failure the few times he's tried, but Shinsou insists that doing it with more than one person would be more likely to have results. Besides, they're both tired but can't sleep, and Dark Shadow is hyping them up.

So they end up sitting cross-legged on the carpet in Tokoyami's room, lights flickering, and they place their hands on the planchette.

"Uh... hi?" Hitoshi tries, feeling a bit dumb speaking into the air like that.

There's no response.

Tokoyami gives him an encouraging nod.

"Hey, if there's anyone here, we'd love to... have a chat?" Hitoshi feels dumber with every word. He shifts.

They sit in silence for a few moments. Tokoyami sighs, and Dark Shadow looks dejected.

Then, their hands are jerked so violently across the board that Hitoshi loses grip with one hand. He stares at the letters the ghost (?) chooses with wide eyes.

'N-I-C-E H-O-O-D-I-E'

Hitoshi is pretty sure he's dreaming or something. This is absurd.

Tokoyami's only wearing a t-shirt, so it's obvious who the ghost addressed.

"I... thanks?" Hitoshi tugs at his hoodie. It's purple and has a cat poking out of the front pocket. Cat ears adorn the hood - Midoriya and Ashido both delight in pulling it over Hitoshi's head just to coo at how adorable it is.

"Do you like cats?" Wow. He's talking to a dead person and this is what he asks. Nice going, Hitoshi.

The planchette all but flies to the 'YES' option, moving away and then coming back to it a couple times in what seems to be a sign of strong agreement or enthusiasm. Hitoshi stifles a laugh.

The ghost’s name is ‘Kumo’ and he uses he/him pronouns, and he is - was? - seventeen years old. He tells them that he used to be a student here, and that he’s been haunting the school for a few years now. Both boys agree that it would be a bad idea to ask him about the circumstances of his death, because that seems insensitive.

They end up just... chatting a little. About cats and heroes, and Kumo tries to give them some well-meaning fighting tips, but it’s hard for him to say anything lengthy with having to spell it all out. Tokoyami offers that he’ll look into easier means of communicating with ghosts, and Kumo seems immensely grateful.

It has to be lonely, on the other side, Hitoshi thinks. There can’t be that many ghosts haunting UA, after all.

The next one they involve is Midoriya, because he approaches Hitoshi about how glad he is he’s making friends in the class, and asks him about what hanging out with Tokoyami is like. Before he can stop himself, Hitoshi has already pulled him into this mess. And it’s good he did, because Midoriya is incredibly clever, and they spend hours in Tokoyami’s room - the darkness of it still seems the most appropriate for this - with a whole stack of fresh notebooks, and their resident ghost patiently answering any question they ask him. Well, most of them anyway. When Midoriya does bring up how he died, he just gives them a ‘NO’ and nothing else. Hitoshi glares at Midoriya, who mumbles an apology and moves on to another question.

Since the last time the class thought the dorms were haunted went less than ideal, apparently, they decide to take telling others about Kumo slow. Hitoshi isn’t sure how he feels about not telling Aizawa-sensei yet, but... well, Kumo is harmless. He’s just so happy to be finally able to talk to someone. What if the teachers decide to somehow get rid of him? Will he be all alone, then? Can ghosts even be chased away? With... an exorcism or something? When Hitoshi carefully asks, Tokoyami snorts and says something it ‘depending on the spirit in question.’ That obviously creates more questions than answers, but Hitoshi has learned to accept that. They tell Shoji, who demands proof, but is on board surprisingly quickly once they give it to him. Midoriya pulls Todoroki into this, and somehow gets Hitoshi to make another friend in the process - they’re both content sitting quietly aside while they let the others whirl around and talk a mile a minute. Well, mostly Midoriya. Uraraka, too, when she learns their secret. And then a very skeptical Iida. And then Kaminari, who is terrified at first, but who actually gets along swimmingly with Kumo. Really, before Hitoshi can blink, the entire class knows, and they’re now in possession of four separate ouija boards so that people don’t have to keep bothering Tokoyami to use his. There’s also a large poster made of several pieces of paper taped together that they’ve been writing different kanji and whole common words on so that Kumo might be able to communicate quicker.

That’s what the majority of the ‘Bakusquad’ are doing when Aizawa-sensei comes in, about a week after they made first contact.

“... do I want to know?” he asks, looking to Hitoshi who is perched on one of the couches with a fresh mug of coffee and has totally not been trying to give the others advice on how to structure the whole thing.

Hitoshi opens his mouth, then closes it again. Guilt makes his throat tighten a bit, and apparently that’s obvious enough that Aizawa-sensei squints at him. “Alright. What are you doing?”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Kaminari pipes up from where he’s kneeling in the middle of the poster. “We wanted to see if people that Shinsou controls can still put together words if he tells them to! You know, since they can’t write properly and stuff.” That’s... not terrible, as far as lies go.

But this is Eraserhead, and it’s not working. Their teacher walks over to inspect the poster, brows drawn together. Hitoshi holds out his coffee, and Aizawa-sensei takes the mug without looking. “Not a bad attempt, but if you lie to me again, you’re getting detention,” he says, voice still mild enough that he doesn’t sound completely terrifying. Kaminari still looks like a deer in the headlights.

“... there’s a ghost,” Hitoshi says, earning him a disappointed look from Ashido, but a relieved one from Kirishima. Bakugou, who refused to participate but still hung around for some reason, scoffs.

“There’s... a ghost,” Aizawa-sensei repeats flatly. Hitoshi meets his eyes with a helpless shrug.

“It’s not like last time!” Ashido says quickly, “Really! We have proof. He’s been talking to us.”

Now their teacher looks a little alarmed. “... some invisible stranger’s been talking to you? And you didn’t think to tell me?”

Ah, that’s what Hitoshi was worried about.

“But if he was just invisible, the cameras would’ve picked it up, right?” Kirishima asks, “They pick up on Hagakure. If Kumo was a living person, he would’ve been noticed.”

Aizawa-sensei blinks. His face betrays nothing, but Hitoshi knows him well enough to know something Kirishima said threw him off by a mile. “... what’s his name?”

Oh. If there was a dead student, he would know about that, wouldn’t he? Maybe Kumo was one of his? Hitoshi starts to speak, but then the lights flicker. They look to Kaminari instinctively, but he’s nowhere near any power outlet, and he’s not sparking, either. Then, the big, red marker Kirishima had been holding drops from his hand to the paper. They all watch, enraptured, as the marker slowly starts to move upright and glide across the paper.

‘Hi, Shouta,’ Kumo writes, ‘Don’t be mad at them, they were going to tell you eventually soon.’

Aizawa-sensei brings a hand up to clutch at his capture weapon. His eyes are a little too wide. “Prove it,” he says, and he’s clearly trying to keep his voice even, “Prove you’re the person you say you are.”

They all look from their teacher to the writing and back. Kumo’s never been able to hold onto any random object for this long. It must be taking a lot of effort. Or... a lot of emotion? Isn’t that how it works, for ghosts? ‘In front of the kids?’ Kumo asks, and something about it sounds a little cheeky, enough that Hitoshi nearly snorts.

Aizawa-sensei doesn’t find it funny. “Shirakumo.”

‘Fine.’ The marker pauses for a long moment. ‘We had our first kiss outside the arcade. We’d forced you to eat too much candy and you were nauseous, and I felt terrible about it so I kissed you to make you feel better. You still threw up afterwards.’

Oh. Oh, well. That’s... Hitoshi suddenly wants to look anywhere but at his mentor.

Aizawa-sensei makes an odd choking sort of noise, and when Hitoshi looks back up, he’s already halfway out the door. “Nobody move,” he instructs them without looking back, “I’m getting Mic.”

#ghostboro au #this was fun!!!#i like ghost stuff

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