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i-am-beckyu · 5 months

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One Small Gift

HELLO! I TOLD YOU I'D POST ONE MORE FIC THIS YEAR! And I am very proud of myself for making it a Christmas centered fic! I can't believe it's actually been a year since I last posted a Christmas fic. Like where did the time go and how did this thing spawn?

I'm gonna ramble a bit more at the bottom of this fic about me and the community but lets not hold you up any longer so I give you: The Christmas Fic- One Small Gift :3

cw: fear, death mention (but no actual death), lying, panic and anxiety, fluff- Like, ALOT of Fluff, hidden identity and of course happy endings. You know, the usual angst/fluffy Beckyu fic :3 word count: 8351

Disclaimer! This story is based on the characters of the Dream SMP and not the real life content creators. Anything that occurs in this story is purely fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you.

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Cold

Why did the walls always have to be so damn cold?

Tommy’s mind couldn’t help but linger on the thought, as the Borrower shivered making his way through the maze that was the inside the house walls.

Human Beans invented heaters AGES ago for the insides of their houses to keep warm, so how was it that the inside of the walls were still always so flippen freezing?

Would it kill them to think of the little guy freezing their butt off just once?

Well no, maybe not. But it certainly would Tommy.

As much as the young blonde would love to cuss at the home owner for not giving him a proper source of heat, the Borrowers code quite literally FORBID them from ever telling a Human of their existence. Not to forget the fact that it would mean doom for a borrower if they ever did. All the horror stories of Borrowers being squished or experimented on from the elders to go off being proof enough.

Death by Human Beans?

HA! Absolutely NOT!

That’s exactly the reason why he is trying to get supplies for the Winter to warm himself up, before it gets even colder!

Tommy grumbled to himself as he ducked and weaved past forgotten cobwebs about how it was such a pain to be in this position in the first place. He’d had a perfectly fine home in a tree nook in the forest that had always remained nice and cosy warm during the colder months.

Even if that meant he’d been living on his own, Tommy had been happy living as an Outie borrower for as long as he could remember. Well at least he had, before some tall, pretentious brunette freak decided his home would be the perfect tree to cut down and drag all the way back to his stupid freezing cold house.

But it gets better, because even though the main part of his home was actually still intact under the now stump, the Bean still took the top half of the tree-

With Tommy still inside it!

They flippen took HIS house and wrapped it in a net; effectively trapping the poor borrower and then strapped it to the top of their car and drove hours and hours to a Human Town with him hanging on for dear life.

And that’s not even the worst part because not only did the flippen Bean steal part of his house, but then they had the audacity to cover the tree's dying corpse in fancy decorations and shining lights.

Like seriously WTF?!

A Bean kidnaps him from the only place he’s ever really known and covers his once thriving residence all merrily in ornaments, while he’s forced to flee his only real known place of safety with nothing but the clothes on his back, and the few supplies he did have stored in the upper levels of his now dying home. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but it was the only choice he really had.

Stay in the tree and get caught, or try and survive in the Beans' walls until Winter passes.

He chose the latter of course- (It’s not like staying would have helped him anyways)

Getting down from the top of the tree had been, well- less than a fun time for the Borrower. The big purple bruises across his back were a throbbing reminder from his impact on the floor at times, but he managed.

Instead, Tommy had started to navigate his temporary ‘soon to be home’ in the walls getting an idea of the layout and where the best places were to borrow from. He just had to make it through the Winter and then he could go home. Trying to get back to his nook now would be impossible with all the snow cover on the ground, but he’d get back to the forest even if it killed him.

Which might be the case soon if he doesn’t get some new clothes and heat source quick.

That was the main issue with being kidnapped after all. You only have what’s on your back and well, Tommy hadn’t exactly been expecting to get yoinked away in his scrappy T-Shirt and shorts. He had proudly made them himself with the few scraps of fabric he’d managed to find from some Beans that had been passing through years ago on a camping trip, but the fabric was light, and not made to be worn in such cold conditions.

He’d only meant to go up and check what the heck the loud thumping outside his tree was like any normal person. He was expecting a deer or maybe a bear using it as a scratching post, not a Bean cutting their house down and taking him along with it. You don’t exactly have time to think about putting on proper clothing when your everything is at stake.

So that was step one: Find some material and make some clothes- a jacket the top priority.

Tommy is very thankful that he had his borrowing bag on him, that he still has his self made needle and some old thread so he at least didn’t have to start from nothing. Finding the material hadn’t been too difficult to locate either. When he first scouted the place, he discovered pretty quickly that the Bean had a habit of leaving stuff all over the place, so borrowing supplies hadn’t been difficult to do without being noticed. It’s how he found the most perfect fluffy woollen red sock to make a coat and blanket from. He would already have it now though if the Bean hadn’t come back before he could swipe it.

The Borrower had tried to come back for it later, but the Bean had decided it was time to clean their room up because he had some guests coming for this thing called ‘Chris-mass’- whatever that was- and the sock was gone.

So instead he grabbed what he could and made his way back to the walls with just enough fabric to make a new pair of pants and some crackers for dinner.

But it still didn’t fix the whole freezing situation.

What Tommy really needed was a candle.

To a Human Bean it may seem to be an insignificant source of light, but to a Borrower it could literally be the difference between a warm nights sleep and becoming a Borrower popsicle! But that was easier said then done because all the usual spots Beans would normally keep candles, were replaced with flippen electric ones!!!!

What’s wrong with fire on candles!? Why would you want a fake candle that just flickers and produces less light than a real one?

That or something for a bed. At least that way he’d have a comfortable place to sleep and trap his own body heat.

He really wishes he could have taken those socks…

As if this Bean wasn’t bad enough, not only did they lack the materials Tommy so desperately needed, but they wouldn’t shut up talking into the black box (a fone he thinks it’s called from memory) to other Beans with how excited they were about them coming to stay for the Hole-lid-days and spend time huddled together by the fire or something dumb.

“Come on Dad! Let me host. If you let me host, I’ve got the coolest surprise planned for you and Techno I swear!! Plus don’t you want to come and see me?”

Lucky prick. Got a Dad and a brother…

Now don’t get him wrong, Tommy is a big man, if not the biggest man to ever exist and he doesn’t need anyone. But he also couldn’t help but long for someone to share the cold season with like the Beans did. It had been so long since he’d seen another Borrower like himself and though he’d never admit it, living alone did get a little bit lonely sometimes. It would be nice if just once he could share a night cuddled up close to a loved one, and just bask in each other’s company.

But Tommy didn’t have time to be sentimental about things he’d likely never have.

He needed to find a way to stay warm and get warm now.

But the universe decidedly hated Tommy because, tonight was apparently December 24th-

Chrisymiss Eve.

Tommy had been here about a week or so and in his short stay still wasn’t 100% sure what this whole Khrislermas was, but it appeared to be a BIG deal to the Beans.

Apparently, all the Beans get together whether it’s family or friends to spend time together and exchange gifts. It’s about being thankful for what you have or whatever and something about showing how much you love someone by giving and receiving presents.

Tommy thought it was actually quite a nice thing the Beans did and wished that Borrowers had something similar themselves in their culture. However, there was one thing he still didn’t quite understand about this whole holiday thing.

Who the heck is Santa Claus?

He’d been taking some more crackers the Bean had left out from the kitchen while this ‘tv show’ played on the Bean's big Black box that was talking about this Santa guy. Apparently, he was some elusive, big fat man, dressed all in red with a big white bushy beard, who climbed down the Beans chimneys, and left gifts for all the little boys and girls of the world. He had this list too that knew if you’d been naughty or nice and would leave the good children gifts and the bad children coal in their stockings.

Children could write letters to Santa or he’d visit and children could sit on his knee and ask him for a gift they would like and he would deliver the toys to children all over the world on Christmas eve when everyone was sleeping, only to have disappeared by daybreak.

Tommy hadn’t thought much of this Santa at first- not when it was just another Bean to avoid. That was until he learned two very important details.

1- Santa delivered presents to ALL children of the world.

And 2- Santa wasn’t meant to be seen by Humans either.

So not only did this Santa guy literally just give out free gifts, but Tommy literally had a way to get exactly what he needed for the winter!

All he needed to do was talk to Santa and he’d be saved!

Now you might be thinking: But Tommy, you said it yourself. Santa isn’t meant to be seen by anyone so what makes you the exception?

Simple.

Borrowers aren’t meant to be seen by Beans and neither is Santa.

Which means just like Borrowers, Santa must not want to be caught (which if he thinks too hard about it makes sense since he literally breaks into houses but anyways) and unlike with Beans, there is no rule that says Borrowers can’t see Santa!

All he has to do is wait for Santa to visit Crystamas eve, and then he can ask for his gift! Santa probably even knows what he wants, being made of magic and all! He just never knew Santa existed so he’s never asked for his gift before!

If he were a more greedy Borrower, he could ask for so much more to make up for all the years he never got a gift, but that would probably put him on Santa’s naughty list. And while coal would be good, Tommy doesn’t exactly want to burn the house down with him inside it. So this was his best shot to get exactly what he needed.

The hard bit though, was waiting for Santa to arrive. That meant not only having to be out in the living room where the fireplace was, but also meant he had to wait for the Bean to fall asleep. Which really meant that it would be AGES before Santa would come because the Bean of the house was terrible at sleeping at night.

The man literally had no sleep schedule and would stay up till terrible times in the morning before drifting off. Normally that wasn’t much of an issue for the Borrower having observed this early on, but right now it was very much a hindrance because it could be hours before they went to bed.

It also seemed that they wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, because the amount of energy and excitement the Bean had displayed the whole day about his family coming home was overwhelming. He’d come home at one stage with this big bag of stuff talking on the black box about how his super cool surprise was coming along and how it would be awesome since they let him host Chrimpmas- whatever that meant.

Tommy had hoped with the excitement of the holiday they’d have been ready to pass out by now, but he couldn’t be more wrong with the amount of commotion he could hear from down the hall- and that’s through the walls.

At least he could observe everything going on from his place on the bookshelf. It was right next to a small crack in the wall he could just squeeze through, but it gave him a good view of the living room but also enough cover from prying eyes unless he made his presence known. However, being out of the walls had one difference the blonde hadn’t accounted for.

Heat.

The fire had been lit and was keeping the whole room nice and toasty warm compared to the harsh bite the walls somehow managed to keep. The whole atmosphere made him almost want to curl up and fall asleep. It had been so long since he’d been able to just enjoy the warmth in the air and not be shivering to keep alive.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if he had a nap before Santa arrived.

Just a quick one….

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Tommy was awoken to a rather loud THUNK as the Borrower shot up from where he had fallen asleep atop the shelf.

It took the blonde a moment to realise where he was and not panic about being out in the open before his eyes settled upon a figure.

Sprawled out across the floor in a heap of red and white was the jolly big man himself.

Santa Claus.

The one and only.

“Santa!” Tommy yelled excitedly as he hurriedly manoeuvred to stand. “Santa you came!”

Santa’s head snapped up from the floor alarmed, as they pushed themselves to stand and take a defensive stance.

“Who said that?!” they shouted, looking around wildly panicked. “Show yourself!”

Tommy giggled to himself. Santa was so silly.

“Up here Santa! I’ve been waiting for you.” The blonde waved as the man's head turned and their eyes fell onto his small form.

Tommy grinned at the magical man taking him all in.

Just like the figure on the big black box, Santa wore a big red coat with white fluff lining the ends of his sleeves. A big black belt was strapped around their waist, fastened with a fancy golden buckle and sturdy black boots on their feet to keep out the snow. Their head was adorned with an oversized big red hat, with a giant white fluffy pom pom on the end, and they had a long white beard that travelled down their chest. And last but not least was a pair of gold rimmed glasses perched on the tip of their rosy red nose which accentuated their big brown eyes that were staring at him in wonder.

Huh.

He could have sworn that Santa's eyes were blue.

“I can’t believe you came! I wasn’t sure if you would since I never sent a letter but you must have known anyway cause here you are!” The little borrower stated excitedly as Santa removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

“I’m so glad you’re here! I really need my Crimpmess present.”

“I’m sorry you’re what?” the man’s eyes furrowed in confusion as they processed what the younger had said.

“My present!.” Tommy rolled his eyes. “You know, the whole reason why you’re here.”

Santa didn’t exactly seem like he knew what was going on. Right now all he was doing was staring and Tommy was getting a bit annoyed.

Was that not why Santa was here? To deliver his present like the show had said?

Tommy huffed annoyed he had to explain all this. Wasn’t this like his job? He should know!

“I’m sorry,” Santa began slowly as if trying to process. “I didn’t actually know you were here.”

“Why else would you have come then?” Tommy crossed his arms unimpressed. “I’m the only kid here, but don’t tell anyone else I said that. I’m a big man! The biggest ever!”

This finally seemed to warrant a different reaction from the older, as they looked the boy up and down unimpressed by this so-called ‘fact’.

“A big man huh? You look more like a child. What are you- 12?”

Tommy feigned a gasp, grasping his chest offendedly. “I’ll have you know I’m 14 and the biggest man alive! I’m only a child for the purpose of getting my gift tonight and tonight only!”

Santa couldn’t stifle a laugh as he watched as the small child stomped his foot in a mini tantrum at being called 12. It was endearing in a way but he still wasn’t sure how to proceed with a tiny child standing on their bookshelf.

“Well whatever you say I guess, but I still I didn’t know you were here.”

The blonde shrugged before moving closer to the shelfs edge. “Ah well it doesn’t matter. You’re here now so I’d like my gift please! You have it right?”

“If I didn’t know you were here, then how would I have your present with me?” Santa asked.

Well he did make a good point. It’s not like he sent Santa a letter and he hadn't met him to tell him like other human bean children had until now.

“Oh right. Guess I better come sit on your knee and tell you what I’d like than.” Tommy stated matter of factly, as the small Borrower moved to the edge of the shelf and stabbed his hook into the wood, quickly jumping off to descend on his rope to the ground.

“Wait, DON’T DO THAT!”

The blonde yelped in surprise, moving instinctually to protect his ears at the sheer volume the man shouted, in turn losing his grip on his rope, quickly plummeting down to the ground below. Santa lunged forward with an outstretched hand as the boy slipped down the rope at a rapid speed, catching him before any real harm could be done. He semi slammed into the wall, clutching his hand to his chest as they did so before quickly unfurling their hand.

“Oh my prime! Kid- kid are you alright?” Santa said frantically checking over the boy he now held in his palm.

Tommy shook his head, dizzy from the sudden force that had rammed into him only moments ago. He tried to steady himself grabbing, onto the nearest thing his hand could find as he begun to regain his bearings.

Oh he was going to ache tomorrow…

“As soon as the world stops spinning, yeah.”

Santa sighed in relief as Tommy allowed himself to regain focus. It was then that he really took note of where he was.

Normally, if a Borrower was sitting in the hand of someone almost 100x his size, he would be kicking and screeching to get away. But this was Santa Claus’s hand and Tommy felt only wonder.

It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. The thing he had grabbed onto was apparently Santa’s thumb and it was almost as big as his head! Even if it was a bit weird sitting on the leathery texture of their skin, the warmth radiating beneath him was heavenly, and the way the man’s fingers curled slightly over him protectively felt nothing but comforting.

Santa hadn’t moved since he caught Tommy mid air, and was staring at Tommy as if they would disappear. They seemed stuck on what to do next, but also amazed he was sitting there at all.

“You alright there big man?” Tommy raised a brow confused at why the man would act this way. Santa was literally made of magic and had flying reindeer for goodness sake! A borrower existing surely was no cause for such amazement? There were surely way more interesting magical things to see than a lowly Borrower like him.

(But then again, he was a pretty poggers Borrower if he did so say that himself, so staring could be justified for that reason)

This finally snapped the old man out of their wondrous stupor, as they squinted their eyes open and shut with a quick shake of their head.

“Uh yep. All good um. Let's- go sit down. Yeah- yeah, let's do that.” Santa said, confirming more to themself than Tommy.

Santa brought the boy protectively to their chest to brace them before they moved away from the book shelf, smoothly walking over to the couch where the old man sat down ever so slowly to not jostle their small passenger. The second they were bending down to sit though, Tommy was launching himself off Santa’s palm for his knee as the bearded man frantically tried to stop them in their escapade.

“Kid, would you stop doing that? You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Pfft please. This is nothing compared to how I got down from that tree over there.” The boy grinned as they pointed to the far corner of the living room.

The man's head followed to where the boy was pointing, the Christmas tree displayed proudly in a large pot tied with a red bow, small lights flickering on and off in changing patterns.

“Tree? You mean the Christmas tree?”

“Yep!” Tommy stood proudly popping the p. “I had to get down somehow and my hook would have gotten stuck in amongst the branches if I had tried to abseil down. So I did what any logical Borrower would do and jumped.”

“You jumped?!” Santa’s eyes widened, as he looked back and forth between the boy and the top of the brightly decorated tree. He grimaced, imagining the boy throwing themselves from the upper branches like they had done only moments before onto his knee.

What was with this kid and being so reckless?!

“You jumped from the top of the Christmas tree!? Why were you even there in the first place?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, crossing their arms in front of their chest.

“It’s all that stupid Beans fault.”He huffed annoyed. “He just came waltzing into MY forest, decided to be very rude and put their grubby hands all over MY house wrapping it up in some ugly net, only to cut it down with me still in it!”

Tommy didn’t notice the way Santa’s brows furrowed and their expression changed to one of horror as he continued to ramble on.

“They literally kidnapped me, Santa! They’re so lucky that the main part of my house is under the tree’s trunk and not the higher branches because I swear I would have murdered that Bean in their sleep by now if they had!”

Tommy was very pleased to have finally gotten to vent some of his frustrations to someone other than his internal self, but now he was finished he had a good chance to register the other’s reaction.

Santa looked horrified.

His eyes seemed glossed over as if he was holding back tears, and one hand slapped over their mouth, the other gripping their wrist tightly in an attempt to ground themselves.

Uh shit. He hadn’t meant for that to happen…

“Uh but don’t worry Santa!” Tommy was quick to add. “ I wouldn’t actually do that. That would be a bad thing to do and put me on the Naughty list! I promise I won’t actually murder anyone!”

Phew, that was a close one. He couldn’t jeopardise his only hope with a silly joke!

Santas’ face had yet to change and Tommy subconsciously started to fidget feeling nervous to how the older was reacting. Maybe he had blown it and now he was on the naughty list. Another glance at the old man's face seemed to confirm those fears.

He’d blown it.

His one shot at survival and he practically threw it all away with a vent. No wonder he ended up all alone.

“Please don’t put me on the Naughty list Santa. I need my gift.” Tommy spoke timidly. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I- no. No you’re not on the Naughty list.” Santa dragged his hands over his eyes a few times strained. “I'm just trying to process. It’s more of the whole kidnapping thing. ”

If Tommy had been paying better attention, he may have noticed the few stray brown curls poking out from under the man's hat, but he was more thrown by their following question as the magical man continued on.

“If you were in the tree, why didn’t you say anything?”

Tommy drew a deep breath, before sighing as the boy shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Because Santa, Beans aren’t supposed to know that Borrowers like me even exist.”

“Beans?”

“Human Beans Santa. You know, big people like you, but not magical and stuff.” The Borrower explained. “There’s no way I could tell the dumb Bean he was cutting my house down! Do you know what Beans do to Borrowers like me?”

“Um no?” Santa fiddled with his hands as he looked away, eyes downcast to avoid the youngers gaze as they continued.

“They get rid of us. To them we’re just pests or things to be used.”

Tommy hugged himself tightly, anxiety pooling in his chest for the first time that night. He wished it wasn’t true, but Beans just held far too much power for their own good. Their greed often outweighing their need to do good without reward.

“I’d rather risk jumping out of a tree than ever fall into the clutches of a Bean.”

“But how do you know that?” Santa suddenly said, muscles tensing as they clenched their hand into fists.

Tommy flinched at the sight of hands so close. Closed so tightly that he couldn’t help let slip the thought of himself in the mercy of their grasp, begging to be freed like all the stories had said of the Borrowers trapped in agonising pain. The man noticed his discomfort, and immediately loosened their fists, moving their hands away and under their thighs so as to not startle the boy any further than they already had.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Santa said with a sense of guilt. “But I just- How do you know that though? Who says that they would have hurt you if you had just made your presence known? You wouldn’t have had to jump or gotten hurt.”

Santa turned away sheepishly, whispering sadly. “They could have helped you.”

Tommy swallowed hard, his shoulders sagging as he observed the sad look Santa had as they stared at the Christmas tree. It was obvious they were blaming themself for what had happened. He was far too kind for that.

“Santa, it’s not your fault.” the boy sighed, “Every borrower is taught this from birth. It’s a known fact that Beans are all cruel, power hungry beings. They always want more and just take, take, take.”

“But what if this ‘Bean’ didn’t know.” Santa shot back, causing the Borrower to falter. “What if you had said something? They would have stopped and left you and your house alone? How do you know they wouldn’t have helped you?”

“Because Santa,” Tommy turned and faced the man head on. “That’s just how Beans are. To them, we're just another thing to take and control.”

Tommy wanted to believe Santa, he really did, but it was hard to just ignore years of being brought up to beware Human Beans and their cruelty. He’d seen it even from when Beans had once come into the forest with their fire sticks, and took down a friendly deer. It was unnecessarily cruel and was all the convincing Tommy needed to deem all Humans bad.

Santa nodded sadly in some kind of understanding, but Tommy couldn’t understand why Santa looked so hurt. It wasn’t his fault the Bean took him and his home, but he seemed so convinced that hiding and not asking for help had been the wrong thing to do.

He thought they were the same, that if Beans caught him on Christmas Eve, then something bad would happen to him like it would for Borrowers. That’s why they had to stay a secret. Why no one could know they were here.

But Santa wasn’t a Borrower who lived in hiding unknown. The Beans knew about the jolly, present giving man that only appeared in December.

He could live among the Beans and it would be fine if he asked for help. Everyone liked Santa. He didn’t take things just to survive. He gave toys and gifts so he would have no worries about the repercussions of taking a paperclip just to get around. He wouldn’t have to worry about Beans hurting him if something went wrong. He would just use his magic and be fine.

It was Santa’s choice to stay hidden as an extra precaution to protect that same magic.

“But you’re different from the Beans Santa.” The boy perked up instantly remembering why he was doing this in the first place. “You only come out of hiding at Christmas and everyone knows who you are! You only hide to keep your magic safe from Beans so they can’t have that too!”��

The man gave a small smile as the boy continued to ramble, pacing back and forth on his thigh as he did so.

“But I don’t understand why you give children presents when they already have so much!” Tommy stopped, his lips pursed together as his voice dropped to a whisper.

“Unlike me.” He confessed quietly, lifting his head to meet Santa’s sympathetic gaze.

Santa was staring at the young boy again, leaned forward in concern listening as the blonde continued to share his story.

“It's why I need my gift Santa.” Tommy wringed his hands together with a nervous glance to see Santa’s reaction who nodded in approval, gesturing for him to continue.

Tommy steadied himself.

Now or never.

“I was brought here with basically nothing. Forced to move into the Beans walls or risk being seen. I’ve barely been able to get anything for basic survival and the walls are freezing!”

Tommy shivered remembering the way the air had nipped at his nose as he struggled to keep warm. Clutching himself tightly in a poor attempt to retain any kind of body heat. The one time he went up stairs without his coat and of course he gets kidnapped.

He needed this.

More than anything.

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Wilbur had just wanted to have the perfect Christmas.

It was his first time hosting and had decided he HAD to go all out.

More decorations than his little house needed both inside and out, homemade hot chocolate from scratch and had promised his Father and brother a very special Christmas surprise if they let him host.

Their first ever living Christmas tree and a surprise visit from the Big man himself- Santa Claus.

He’d done a bunch or research into the best spots to go where he could get a tree and quickly had been recommended from several sites about the fir trees in Logstedshire, and quickly made the trip out to find a tree.

What the websites failed to mention, was that said fir trees might be inhabited and the home of tiny people that are terrified of Human Beings.

So if you asked: No, Wilbur was not having a good night realising he had kidnapped a child that was deathly afraid of him and only okay right now because he thought he was the real Santa Claus.

In a way, it was a good thing the kid hadn’t realised yet, because if Wilbur had never dressed up in this silly costume, he probably would have never known about the child freezing to death in his walls.

The child was so cold despite their lively spirit when he’d caught them after they launched themself off the top of the shelf. The fact it wasn’t the first time they’d thrown themself from such a height made Wilbur sick knowing had they not been lucky, could very well not have made the long fall. But the fact the kid had been struggling, terrified and afraid in his walls when he could have helped had the guilt eating him away as the boy rambled on.

They were so sure of themselves with the cruelty of humanity too that they had him so on edge. If the blonde knew he was really the guy that had cut his tree down, he very much doubted they would be this enthusiastic. He was talking about how much he needed his gift- the gift he still had no clue what it was, but just hearing the little blondes tale, and seeing how thin his clothes were had Wilbur making a very long list of things he needed to get to help the kid out.

A kid which he still doesn’t know the name of.

The boy's eyes had brightened, as he bounded up and down on the balls of his feet eagerly, talking about what this gift would mean for him. He was actually quite endearing despite their seemingly dire situation.

“If I tell you my gift, then you can give it to me now and I’ll actually have a chance to survive the Winter!” He explained excitedly, grining.

Wilbur pushed down his anxiousness for the boys well-being. They had already suffered enough from his mistakes. He didn’t want them to suffer any longer than they had by them accidentally discovering the truth.

“What’s your name kid?” Wilbur mentally slapped himself that he hadn’t asked sooner.

The tiny boy chuckled to himself as they crossed their arms. “Oh come on Santa, you know my name don’t you? You have a list with every child's name on it.”

Ah- right. Santa did have that Naughty and Nice list didn’t he? Curse Santa for having to live up to magical standards.

“Uh- I came here in such a rush, I um- ah must have left my list back at the North Pole.”

“So?” The boy argued, raising a brow. “You’re magic. Don’t you just know?”

Did he say endearing earlier? How about difficult for making him use his brain at 9pm at night. (Shut up. Don’t judge him for it)

“Well you know there’s like 2 Billion kids in this world and I see them all in one night. You don’t expect me to remember every name without my list do you?”

The kid hadn’t seemed to account for this, and thought it over before shrugging in agreement.

Oh thank goodness for kids being young and naive.

“I guess that’s fair. But you’ve got a s*** memory in that case Big Man. Getting old.”

Actually, make that an annoying gremlin.

“I think if someone wants their present, they should be more careful about insulting their elders.” Wilbur teased with a chuckle. The boy rolled his eyes with a groan.

Okay, an endearing gremlin then.

“Fiiiiiiiiine.” they drawled letting their arms drop to their sides before extending their hand up in greeting. “The name’s Tommy.”

Wilbur carefully lifted his arm up and slowly extended his pinky finger out for the boy to take in an oversized handshake.

“Nice to meet you Tommy.” His finger dwarfed the boy entirely, his pinky finger only slightly shorter than the boy's total height, but nevertheless, Tommy took the tip and shook it lightly.

“Now, why don’t you sit down and tell me what it is you’d like for Christmas?”

Wilbur couldn’t help but smile at the little boy excitedly sharing in exact detail what he wanted. What the Borrower wanted wasn’t even that difficult to get, and he knew exactly where to find it. Tommy continued to ramble on for a bit longer about what he had been doing since coming here and Wilbur made mental notes of the few places where Tommy talked about entrances in out of the walls for future reference.

He was going to have to look out for Tommy from now on and if he wanted a shred of hope in getting him to trust him as Wilbur, he was going to need a plan.

“So could I have my gift now? I would really love it now and you still have a lot of other houses to visit tonight right?” Tommy asked innocently.

Wilbur really didn’t want to stop talking to Tommy. Tommy trusted the magical Santa Claus; not regular Human Being Wilbur Soot. He knew that if he let Tommy go now, it was unlikely he would see the kid again, but if he didn’t leave as Santa now, they would most likely get suspicious, realising he was a fake and panic.

Wilbur sighed as he brushed a stray hair of fake beard from under his cheek.

“I- yeah I guess so. Best get you to bed then too.”

“Awwww but I’m not sleepy yet!” The blonde pouted. “This is normally when I’m awake so it would be a crime to make me sleep now.”

“Well good little girls and boys go to bed when they’re told if they want to stay on the nice list.”

“You’re not the boss of me!” Tommy stuck his tongue out in defiance and Wilbur had to bite his to stop himself from bursting out loud laughing.

This kid was going to be the death of him he swears.

Wilbur extended his hand to the Borrower, keeping it steady as he waited for Tommy to climb on. He’s still a little huffy at first realising there was no room for argument, but climbs on anyway, sitting down in the middle of Wilbur’s palm bracing themself before he moves.

The brunette curls his fingers over the boy slightly, bringing his hand to his chest protectively. He tries not to linger too long at how it felt to hold an entire person in one hand for the second time tonight before moving to stand.

Steadily, Wilbur makes his way over to the book shelf and cautiously raises his hand up for Tommy to climb off of. He sets his hand down on the wooden surface and Tommy takes no time in hoping off to stand, waiting expectantly for his promised present.

“Okay I need you to close your eyes just for a second.” Wilbur asks the boy who quickly covers his eyes with his hands, only to peak out from behind his fingers seconds later.

“I mean it Tommy. Keep them closed.”

“Ugggghhhhh Fineee!” the boy said huffing, but relented nevertheless.

Wilbur quickly whirled around and crouched down beneath the Christmas tree, snagging a gift from the floor and hastily tearing the gift tag labelled- Technoblade; from the gift before setting it next to the small borrower child.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

Tommy removed his hands and squealed in delight, quickly reaching down to hug the gift.

“Oh thank you Santa! You really are the most poggers man ever!!!” Tommy spoke rapidly, smiling so much his cheeks hurt. “Well after me of course, but only by a little bit!”

Wilbur chuckled as he gazed affectionately at the blonde hunched over the brightly wrapped gift. “You’re welcome Tommy. I’m glad you like it.”

The boy quickly stood, and started hauling the gift to the crack in the wall, as they tried to shove the gift through. Unfortunately while the crack had been enough for Tommy to squeeze through, it wasn’t quite wide enough to let the present go in without getting a tad scrunched up and paper torn.

“Um, Tommy? Is there perhaps a bigger entrance I could take this too?” Wilbur suggested, cringing slightly as the boy gave another hard shove on the gift, intent on getting it through no matter what.

“It’ll fit. Just gotta keep pushing it in.”

After a few more attempts, the boy did in fact give up and relented their efforts allowing Wilbur to pull the now crumpled present back out from the crack, instructing him to take it to the kitchen and place it behind the toaster, assuring him he would get it before the Bean woke up explaining how the electrical socket actually came off as a secret entrance.

He offered to take Tommy over to it too, but the stubborn boy refused, insisting that he had done enough and needed to hurry up and deliver presents to the other children before the night was over.

Taking one more long look at the boy, Wilbur watched as Tommy disappeared through the crack into the walls, the sound of tiny footsteps pitter pattering away before Wilbur himself quietly crept back to his room before he removed the Santa costume and flopped down onto his bed.

He’d just met a tiny child.

A tiny child trying to survive in his walls.

That was deathly afraid of him.

Quickly Wilbur shot up from his bed snatching his phone from the night stand; a plan forming in his mind. The screen read 9:31 pm before he hastily unlocked it and dove into his contacts, quickly stopping on a profile of a girl with light pink hair, dialling their number shortly after.

The phone rang twice before a woman answered on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Niki? Hey! How’s the holidays going?” Wilbur asked as he grabbed his coat and gloves from the wardrobe.

“So I need a favour…”

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡*∞*⍋⋆*❅｡.

Tommy awoke warm for the first time that week.

He opened his eyes blearily, almost willing himself to fall back into dream land before his eyes snapped fully open. Tommy rubbed his eyes a few times, eyes going wide trying to comprehend that this was real and not just a dream as the thoughts of the previous night played through his head.

He was in his Christmas present: A brand new pair of bright red, fluffy woollen socks- the most perfect bed ever and exactly what Tommy had asked for. He had basically run to get his gift as fast as possible, before hauling it back through the walls to a space close by the bookshelf; the space seemingly much more homely after last night's introductions.

He hugged the woollen fabric tightly, smiling as he remembered the soft smile Santa had as he watched him go and how kind and gentle he had been with him the entire time.

The Borrower was so pleased and grateful that he had been able to meet the Santa Claus, and would cherish the magical night forever.

He stayed snuggled in his new bed for a little while longer before his stomach grumbled in protest that he should go and have something to eat. Albeit a little grumbly, his hunger eventually won out and Tommy made his way through the walls back to the kitchen so he could gather some food before the Bean woke up.

Stealthily, he removed the electrical socket, expecting to make it a quick supply run; stepping out into the open before freezing in surprise.

Laid out in a neat pile behind the toaster was a small stack of brightly wrapped gifts all wrapped in different coloured and patterned paper, and right in the middle, an envelope with his name written in gold cursive. Tommy smiled brightly, as he eagerly ran forward to the awaiting stack of gifts, quickly grabbing a gift reading the label.

To: Tommy From: Santa

Tommy denies that he cried that day.

That he took each gift home and opened each one oh so delicately, afraid if he didn’t they might just disappear, happy tears trailing down his cheek as he opened a gift revealing a beautiful, blue knitted sweater- and in just his size.

His tears didn’t cease as he opened the other gifts revealing several new pairs of warm winter clothes, new rope and hooks for climbing, some tea candles with a tiny piece of flint and steel to light them, and the tiniest iced cookies he had ever seen. He could actually hold this in one hand like humans did and he had a whole bag of them!!! His prayers had been answered and he couldn’t be more thankful.

Soon, the only thing that remained was the envelope.

He dried his face as best he could, doing his best to not smear any tears or snot onto the pristine surface as he opened the envelope, revealing a card with a picture of glitter candy canes decorating the front.

Settled back into his new bed, Tommy opened the card and read the message inside.

Dear Tommy, It was lovely meeting you and getting to know your story. I figured you might like some extra gifts as well to help you be more comfortable in Wilbur’s walls. I think you should try talking to him. You might be surprised. Sincerely, Santa Claus

P.S- He’s not as scary as you think.

Tommy’s smile became puzzled as he reread the last few lines.

Who the heck was Wilbur?

Was that the name of the Bean that lived here?

Oh come on, that's not fair! How come Santa knew Wilbur’s name but not his!

He grumbled a little bit at the thought, but his mind kept drawing back to the last line of the card.

‘He’s not as scary as you think.’

“Hmpf, you keep saying that.” Tommy grumbled.

What was with Santa’s insistence on this?

As much as he wanted to be annoyed at Santa for putting forward such a ridiculous idea, Tommy decided to drag himself out of bed and to the book shelf crack. The Bean had gotten up not long after Tommy had made it back to his new home, but he’d been a tad too distracted to really care about how slow and heavy they had been trudging about this morning unlike their usually poised self.

Currently, said Bean was sitting on the couch, the exact same spot he and Santa had been last night, absentmindedly staring at his hand.

How could Santa think this guy was any good? They had kidnapped him unknowingly, almost let him die from hypothermia unknowingly, destroyed the top of his home unknowingly and Santa still thinks they won’t hurt him?

Okay so maybe it wasn’t their fault all those things happened just because they didn’t know he was there, but that doesn’t mean they’re not still very capable of hurting him for having to do all those things. But then again, Santa knew who was naughty or nice. And he wouldn’t ask him to do something that would endanger his safety if this ‘Wilbur’ guy wasn’t a good person right?

Tommy observed the Bean a little longer, as they ran their thumb over their palm. Their normally neat curly hair was all over the place and he could have sworn there were black bags under their eyes from lack of sleep. They suddenly turned their head and were staring straight at his crack by the book shelf. The Borrower was certain they couldn’t see him from the couch, but ducked back just slightly in case.

The Bean simply sighed as a small smile graced their features. Tommy was right about the black bags. Bean did not look like they had slept at all.

He thought back to what Santa had said.

I think you should try talking to him.

They certainly didn’t seem dangerous. Maybe they really weren’t bad like the Jolly man said?

But was it really worth taking the risk and talking to this guy?

Before he could dwell on it for much longer, the door bell sounded and Wilbur snapped his head to the sound before standing and stretching; their limbs popping and cracking slightly from their limited use. Before he left the living room, the man stopped and stared at his crack once more. Tommy didn’t dare breathe as they simply smiled and shook their head, before exiting and headed towards the front door.

Tommy allowed himself to exhale as the sound of footsteps got further away.

“Weirdo.” Tommy muttered to himself as he pushed himself back from the crack and began to head back to his bed for a well deserved rest.

He’d think about what Santa said, and just maybe he’d talk to this- Wilbur. If not, he hoped he'd meet Santa again so he could thank them in person.

Once he was back in his bed, Tommy quickly slipped in snuggling down, allowing himself to drift off to the chatter of beings much larger than himself from beyond the walls.

“Wil! So good to see you! It’s been ages!”

“Hi Dad, thanks for letting me host. I’m so glad you and Techno could make it!

“So are we, but you look like shit mate. Up late again? Wouldn't be related to that surprise you were telling us about?”

“You could say that…”

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡*∞*⍋⋆*❅｡.

Tommy never did meet Santa Claus again.

The card proudly on display in his new home, a secret hope he would one day and a constant reminder of what Santa had asked him to try.

And maybe one day, Tommy would finally take up the old man's advice and go and speak to Wilbur, and discover perhaps they may have been right.

Maybe then he’d finally have a friend to keep him warm during the holiday seasons and to rely on like he had wished.

One that seemed to always know just what he needed despite never telling them, and was very insistent about never wearing Santa costumes.

No matter how many times a little boy begged….

˗ ˏ ˋ ★ˎˊ ˗ ༺𝓜𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂༻༺𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼༻ ˗ ˏ ˋ ★ˎˊ ˗

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That was a lot of words....

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING TO THE END! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it and it means a lot you read all the way through <3

Tag List: @local-squishmallow @brick-a-doodle-do @justarandomsloth @veryfunkycheesecake @munchkin1156 @kayla-crazy-stuffs @da3dm @eiscreme135 @orchid-harmony @the-tiny-lurker @colossal-red @nobodywritingao3 @nata2343 @bad-author777 @crazyfoxgirl10

And cue rant: Honestly you guys have no idea just how much you all mean to me an in this community and the impact you've had on me in the last year alone. I could not be more thankful for being apart of this and getting to know you guys. Getting so back into writing has been really good for me and rekindled something I love so I can't thank you enough.

And even though I know I've been a little quieter online, I'm still here lurking about and working on projects. A lot has happened in the last few months alone and I'm quite happy that I'm limiting myself to be a bit more healthier with my online habits.

Anyways thanks so much if you read this far!

Thanks to my Beta readers @a-xyz-s squishy and munchkin for reading this for me, and I wish you all a very safe and wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year!

-Beckyu ❤️

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delphiealmond · 1 month

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A Fallen Apple From The Apple Tree

⋆☾⋆𓅮❦⛧⋆☾⋆

Pairing ➸ Lucifer Morningstar x Alastor

Synopsis ➸ Lucifer Morningstar believed that Heaven was a sanctuary, the best place for a soul to be in. Growing up with his brothers was the easy part, until God summoned him and his older brother Michael to guard over the portal between realms. Slowly, Lucifer begins to see how frightful Heaven really was. Sought out to defend the sinners of Hell, tragedy strikes among the Archangels. But a familiar face makes Lucifer think that maybe defending his opinion wasn't the worst idea he could've had. Does this familiar face bring him peace? Or does Lucifer end up getting stuck in another twisting cycle of lies and betrayals?

Warnings ➸ None for this chapter

⋆☾⋆𓅮❦⛧⋆☾⋆

MASTERLIST : Previous | Next

Chapter Seven (2.9k)

The Furtherance Day ceremony was what everyone dreamed it would be. Once Emily was welcomed into this new stage of her life, buffets, drinks and parties were opened up all throughout Heaven. No stores were open as everyone celebrated such a momentous day.

Emily had her hands full, thanking the Elder Angels, talking with the winners of Heaven. She seemed happy to be in such a place. She seemed proud of herself, glad to finally play into the role she was made for. And it was beautiful, even as the day grew darker.

Tables were set up outside of the courthouse halls, pointing off to the beauty of the Heaven’s clouds. The dimming blue sky coloured in pinks and yellows as the suns set for the day. The clouds mimicked the colours of the angelic sky.

The light show was beautiful. Fireworks of magic that Emily recognized immediately. Purples, blues, whites. Gold and pink danced against the night sky. The booms echoed throughout Heaven, a feeling that shook Emily through her core, yet she smiled brightly as the show continued.

She never expected to be so amazed. This day was more important than the day she was brought into this existence, and to watch a light show made by the one and only Lucifer Morningstar, nearly brought her to tears. A friendship she never expected to mean so much to her.

Yet as the day went on, Lucifer didn’t get the chance to speak with her again. She was always swept up by someone else and chatted with, by the time he and the brothers were leaving, he didn’t get a chance to congratulate her. Though, he knew that the duck he gave her meant a lot to her. Even then, it brought a smile to his face.

Stretching out on the couch, the brothers put on a movie, for their weekly movie night. Each of them dressed in their pajamas, cuddling stuffed animals or even just the blankets, Lucifer sat proudly in his duck pajamas with Duckie to his side.

“Boys,” God spoke, pulling their attention away from the TV screen, and over to their father. Michael didn’t waste a second to pause the movie. “I am very proud of you today.” He smiled.

Uriel sat up more, a bright smile on his face as he listened.

“Each one of you respected the angels. I do admit, it could be boring, but I’m very glad you behaved.”

“Thank you father,” Raphael hummed, burying his face into the fuzzy blanket he was wrapped in.

“Michael, Lucifer.” He turned his attention to his eldest sons. “You did a wonderful job on the light show. I’m very proud of you. Your magic has come so far, and I can’t wait to see what you do with it in your futures, as they gleam ever so brightly.”

Lucifer glanced at Michael, who sat up properly. He smiled at Lucifer before looking back at their father.

“Thank you… It was a lot of fun,”

“And practice.” Lucifer commented, only to smile at his father. “I hope we can do something like that again soon.”

“Well,” God crossed his arms over his chest. “Perhaps that day might come sooner than you think.” He looked among his sons. He felt a gust of love and proudness cloud over him, thinking of how behaved they were today. A soft, caring smile appeared on his face.

“Enjoy your movie, but then get to bed. You’ve all got a long day tomorrow.” He said.

“Yes father!!” Joel shouted, before trying to take the remote from Michael. Michael held up his arm, stopping the younger from grabbing it.

“Good night, father.” Lucifer smiled, getting himself comfortable on the couch.

“Good night, my sons.”

~~~~

The red sky, decorated in orange and blood red clouds hung with an uncomfortable feeling in the air. Screams of souls lost in the world echoed through the streets of the damned. Uneasiness lingered in the hearts of souls who felt better off hidden than seen.

Souls avoided the darkened streets, watching as powerful overlords ran sections of cities, places untouched by holy hands. The rings, pulsed with power, yet screamed with mediocre sinners.

Dreams crushed in the hands of the rulers of Hell. Hope dwindled like a candle burning out. Such things didn’t bother to exist in a world of chaos and pain. A world, some had grown accustomed to. A world fit for demons and hellborns, sinners and Goetias.

Standing outside his father’s office, his fingers played with frills at the ends of his sleeves, awaiting to be beckoned into the room. His ears twitched with the sound of a soul’s final scream before being blown to shreds outside of the building.

Eventually, a Hellhound pushed open the door, welcoming him into the room that was shrouded in red and orange flame. The flicker of the fireplace illuminated the room, his father not at his desk, yet sat by the fire, whisky in his hand.

“Alastor,” he smiled, standing from his chair. He placed the glass on the side table as the doors closed behind his son. “Up to no good recently?” He asked.

Alastor’s tail whipped at the comment as he smiled at his father.

“You know, spending my time with dear Rosie and watching sinners fight for nothing.” He said, his ears twitching.

“Excellent.” Satan gestured for Alastor to sit as he stood by the fireplace. A room so familiar to him, yet in the moment it felt foreign. It felt strange to be called upon by his father, but he knew something was up.

“What’s with the formalities?” Alastor pondered, tilting his head to the side.

“Well,” Satan looked at the fire. “I think it’s time. You’ve done your research, you’ve shown me that you could be an excellent leader-”

“Overlord was a title easy to earn, father.” Alastor smiled, crossing his leg over his knee. “A task so simple that it was almost shameful.”

“I know,” Satan chuckled. “But it’s growing closer to a time where you just might be one of the most important people in a room.” Alastor’s ears twitched to the comment.

“Sounds intriguing.”

“Doesn’t it, though?” Satan headed over to the other chair, sitting beside Alastor. “You’re old enough now to take my responsibilities. And I know you're fully capable of doing so.” Alastor raised an eyebrow.

“Take your responsibilities?”

“Yes, well… Outside of the Wrath Ring that is. If you want to earn your spot in my chair, I need you to do my outside biddings. And as your son, I know it’ll be an easy task for you.”

“You want me to travel between the rings on your behalf?” Alastor asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “To what..?”

“Show them your power.” Satan smiled. “One day, I might not be here, Al.” Satan took a drink of the whisky. “And I need you to be able to take my place if that ever occurs. I’ve got a bullet pointed straight at my back and I’m wondering when it will hit me.”

Alastor listened, his ears twitching in their conversation.

“I know Imps and hellhounds can do quite a bit. But I need you,” Satan looked at Alastor. “To be able to show me that you can take my place.”

“Are you implying that you’re going to die?” Alastor asked. “What again?” He laughed. “You’re such a good entertainment father.”

“Alastor,” Satan chuckled. “Being in power is not about having power. It’s about controlling it, and demanding it. And with that, comes the possibility of being someone’s enemy.” Alastor raised an eyebrow.

“Enemies are everywhere.” He hummed.

“Yes, and if you build up enough enemies, you will never know who will get the chance to shoot you first.”

Alastor looked at the fire. The flames danced in the fireplace, warming the room as if Hell wasn’t already warm enough.

“I’m giving you a very important role, here Al. I trust you with it. Don’t take it and think you’re superior now, because you’re not. You are still my son, and as of now, I’m still alive.”

“I won’t backstab my own father,” Alastor waved his hand in dismissal. “I’m not that horrible of a son.” Satan looked at him, for a good long while before he spoke again.

“Promise me, Alastor.”

“To do what?” Alastor turned his attention back to his father, only for the seriousness of the conversation to dwindle his cheery attitude. The expression on his fathers face was something he had only seen twice in his entire life.

“I promise…” He muttered.

“Good.” Satan messed up Alastor’s hair. “That’s my boy.” Alastor frowned, trying to fix his hair yet his tail wagged and thumped against the chair.

~~~~

Days had passed since the ceremony, and winners hadn’t been happier. To greet a winner on the street who smiled so happily made Lucifer’s heart burn bright. Emily was already making a contribution to Heaven and it was already showing. Souls were singing their songs, sharing tea with breakfast and it was as if joy was floating through the air.

Heaven was beautiful, bright and so joyful, even now. Though for the archangels, their jobs were just beginning. Of course, Lucifer helped Joel and Raphael at any chance he got.

Teaching his brothers the greatness of interacting with Earth souls, showing them his own magic, in hopes to encourage them to keep practicing their own. Yet, he walked along the streets with his brothers, only to see the angel army soldiers walking through the streets. Angelic weapons in their hands as they barely even greeted souls who walked past them.

It was like a darkness lingered around them that Lucifer didn’t quite understand. A darkness that he’s noticed before, but couldn’t quite place.

“Luci, can we go visit some of the shops on the Promenade?” Joel asked, his expression full of nothing but boredom. Though the comment should’ve hindered his own spirit, he remembers being with Michael and going through this with Sera. It was boring at times.

“Fine, but only a few shops.” He said, raising a hand.

“Wait, really?” Raphael asked, his expression perking up as he looked at his older brother with excitement.

“Yes, only for a few hours though. Then we gotta get back to your training.”

“Training schmaining.” Joel complained, turning down a road that would lead to the Promenade. Lucifer frowned, following after his youngest brother as he tried to understand what he just said.

“Don’t tell me I’m getting old…” he complained. Raphael laughed.

“You? Old? Nah, that’s Mike.” He said, throwing his hands in his pockets. He caught up to Joel, walking alongside him as they began to talk about how boring their training was. How useless it was.

Lucifer walked behind them, a small frown lingering on his face. Neither of them were getting old, Michael was only two years older than him. But then again, they were the oldest siblings of the bunch so he could understand where they were coming from.

“Hey, Luci,” Raphael paused, looking back at the blonde. “Do you know why the military are wandering around?” Lucifer shook his head, spotting not two, not three, but five angel army soldiers on the promenade.

“Just ignore them for now. They have to greet us, we don’t greet them.”

“That sounds harsh.” Joel muttered.

“I know..”

The three of them walked past the group of soldiers and all they did was bow to the three of them. Didn’t bat an eye, didn’t say a word, but just bowed to them.

“What do you think they see?” Joel whispered to Raphael.

“I don’t know, but don’t go asking that question. It could be impolite.” He whispered back.

Lucifer watched the group of soldiers as they laughed with each other as they headed down the promenade, drinks in their hands. He watched them closely, watching as they made fun of what seemed to be the hierarchy. And with that, Lucifer stared at one of the cups in their hands.

It exploded not a few seconds later, all over two of the soldiers. Immediately, Lucifer rushed Joel and Raphael into a nearby candy shop. He paused for a moment as the two brothers looked at him, confused expressions on their faces.

“What happened?”

“Lucifer..?”

“Nothing,” Lucifer smiled at the two of them. “I just didn't like what I saw. Anyways,” He put his hands in his pockets as he looked around the store. “How about you guys pick out… Four bags of candy, fill it ‘till your heart's content and I’ll pay for it?”

“Wait really???” Joel cheered.

“Really, go on.” He gestured, and the two boys headed off into the store, chatting with each other and stopping every now and then to look at the candy. Taking a deep breath, Lucifer crossed his arms over his chest as he peered out the store windows. He didn’t see any of the soldiers around, which made him sigh with relief.

Ever since it all began, Lucifer never liked the idea of the angel army. His childhood, often mistaken in a blur, rang to him whenever he saw an exorcist. Of course, regular winners couldn’t tell the difference between exorcists and angels, but Lucifer could. He had a few foggy memories in his head that he could mistake for dreams, but he felt an uncertainty in his stomach whenever he saw one. Even now, he couldn’t entirely place why. Yes, it was maybe rude to do such a thing, but he felt it fit right for some odd reason.

~~~~

Discussing the day's plan was what Michael and Lucifer did almost every night. To the two of them, it was important to include what each brother needed to work on. Better yet, it was important to give them moments of clarity, a break between all of their work.

The four of them weren’t being pushed as much as Michael or Lucifer were. Sera was a lot harder on them when they were growing up, that they promised each other that they wouldn’t be as harsh with their brothers.

Talking about Joel’s magic practice and Gabriel’s flight tests made the night brush past them, and before they knew it, the rest of the brothers had gone off to bed for the night, while Lucifer and Michael stayed up talking.

“And what about you?” Michael looked at him, resting his chin against the back of his hand. “What do you plan to do tomorrow? Who are you gonna take under your wing?”

“I had Raphael and Joel today…” Lucifer said, leaning back as his magic glittered in his hands. “I personally think I should stay home tomorrow, if I’m honest. Something happened today and I don’t really want to go out.”

“Oh?” Michael sat up. “What happened…?”

Lucifer glanced at Michael. At times, Michael seemed younger than Lucifer, but in other situations, Michael was able to take Lucifer’s hand and guide him. Perhaps that’s why he was so important in the family line.

“Well…” Lucifer’s magic disappeared as he leaned forward. “Today we saw a few exorcists. They reacted fairly to us, but when they were walking away I could sense that they were making a fool out of the Hierarchy.” Michael nodded, listening to what Lucifer had to say.

“So… I may or may not have exploded a drink in one of their hands…” He muttered. “It got all over two of the soldiers but I didn’t see what else happened because I pushed Joel and Raph into a shop before they could see it was me.”

“Why… were you afraid of them?” Michael asked, a frown on his face. Lucifer shrugged, slumping against the table.

“Why did you do it…?”

“I got mad. Or irritated?” Lucifer sighed. “I don’t like the exorcists, and seeing them make fun of the one thing we’re born for?” Lucifer looked at Michael. “It didn’t sit right with me.” Michael took a long deep breath.

“Luci, remember that they are there to protect us. Without them, maybe our powers wouldn’t mean anything.”

“I doubt that.” Lucifer sat up. “We’re much stronger than them. If we could, I’m sure you and I alone could defeat half the army in one attempt.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Michael warned, a frown on his face. “We respect the army as much as they respect us.” Lucifer paused. He watched Michael’s face, watched his expressions. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say. He sighed, shaking his head as he ran his hands through his hair, messing it up entirely.

“I’m sorry, I'll take it back.”

Michael sighed, giving a firm nod as he looked at the schedule.

“I’ll take Joel and Raphael for the day, and you can spend the morning at home, and the rest of the day with Uriel and Gabriel-,”

“There’s no need,” God’s voice startled both Lucifer and Michael. Their father, standing tall and arms crossed over his chest, had been standing there, watching the two of them talk with each other for who knows how long.

“Tomorrow, Sera and Emily will entertain your brothers.” He said, heading over to the table. Lucifer and Michael exchanged looks.

“Father? What about us?” Michael asked.

“The two of you will be meeting me in my office at noon. I’m inviting you to a meeting, a very important meeting that you need to be involved in. it’s about time I show you your first step into the hierarchy.”

#hazbin hotel #radioapple #radioapple au #alastor #lucifer #del's creativity

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foxesfantasys · 5 months

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Hello I am still alive and writing! I apologise that this chapter took a while longer than the other two, I’ve been quite busy these last few weeks. Happy holidays everyone and I hope you enjoy!

Double Trouble AU: Separation Together

Chapter 3/3: The Halfa

Several weeks had passed before he was allowed to return to Casper High. His friends had visited whenever they could, bringing stacks of work and notes with them each time. They didn’t ever stay for long, and he isn’t sure if it’s because they feel guilty for what happened.

They seem to stay for longer when the ghost is out of sight, hidden or just keeping his distance, still not for very long but more than usual. It makes him… Angry? Or, is he sad? Both. Danny thinks it makes him sad and angry at once when his friends avoid the ghost.

He isn’t sure which half of him is feeling each.

Danny did his best to complete as many assignments as possible while recovering, that way he won’t have fallen too far behind once he returned. In the end, he’s pretty sure they didn’t do very well on any of it, he’s never been very smart in the academic sense.

The more he recovered the less they settled, there was less need to be close. He is aware that Danny isn’t really a one anymore, that he is only a one when the ghost and the human need to be close. But that is not to say Danny only exists when they settle, just this version of Danny.

His memories are strange now, coherent but strange. The clearest are when he is a one but he can remember what the ghost and the human have seen as well, so long as they’re willing to share. It’s an interesting experience to have two sets of memories for the same moment.

This does, however, mean he knows exactly how they ended up in their current situation.

The ghost couldn’t return to Casper High like the human could, but they knew leaving him alone in the Fenton household was out of the question. So although he couldn’t return in the same way, he still followed beside his human invisibly.

It wasn’t a perfect solution obviously, there’s only so long a ghost can remain invisible without a break, especially a young and inexperienced one like himself. With all the practice the ghost had done he could comfortably remain invisible for just over an hour. 1 hour 3 minutes and 47 seconds to be exact. Yes, they had timed it.

So whenever they could, his two halves had ducked into a cleaning closet or bathroom stall to give the ghost a short break. They'd been lucky so far, but knew eventually they’d need an alternative in case there was no chance for a break.

When lunch hour finally arrived and the human was greeted with a green abomination of a meal, suffice to say the ghost was no longer concerned with his lack of appetite. Danny can still taste the awful stuff burning through his taste buds.

Sam had seemed so proud of convincing the school to try this new menu, meanwhile Tucker was understandably upset by this new meatless diet. Personally Danny had no preference when it came to school lunch, the food was never good whether it contained meat or not.

Both his halves had been glad to see his friends again, even if they were bickering it was nice to get back a semblance of normalcy.

He hadn’t decided if he should interfere or not before it turned out he didn’t need to.

Because then came the screaming.

Someone in the kitchens it turned out. An accident with some hot oil, it had burned half their arm. Fenton hadn’t got to see it himself, didn’t think he’d have really wanted to even if he got the chance, but word travels fast in a school full of bored teenagers. Supposedly it had been a grotesque sight, bubbling and blistered everywhere, seared all the way up the forearm.

The human had never seen the wound himself, but Danny could still remember the imagined recreation that his human halfs mind made from the chatter of his schoolmates.

Of course the person in question was rushed away and taken good care of, but he remembers the chill the human had felt the whole time. It had been unnatural, like a looming cloud, an omen that this wouldn’t be the end. He had ignored it at the time, shrugged it off as a draft, or just shock.

And then the next day there was another accident. A fire this time, in the kitchens just like before. Not a big one, it stayed contained to the kitchens, something the human had thought very lucky at the time.

That same foreboding chill filled the air despite the flames, enough that the human was sure he could see his breath mixing with the smoke.

Somehow nobody was hurt too badly, only some minor smoke inhalation. School ended early that day. And it stayed closed for a few days to fix any damage. Apparently although the food is awful, even the school faculty wouldn’t leave the kids without lunch. Who knew.

None of the students had been allowed to go home on their own, parental supervision had been deemed necessary before leaving the grounds. “For safety,” they had said. “In case you get any side effects from the smoke.”

Now, they had understood why the faculty would want their parents to escort them all home. They really did. But when your parents are the infamously ghost obsessed Fentons, they couldn’t help but dread their arrival. Danny is still somewhat surprised that the Casper High faculty handled the whole situation so professionally.

Later he asked his friends, his family, nobody else had noticed a chill that day, even the ghost. But Phantom is naturally cold now, so he supposes it would make sense that he didn’t notice any difference.

The human had decided he was just imagining things, decided to start wearing more layers since he’s apparently more sensitive to the cold now.

And he had thought that was the end of it, a few unfortunate accidents at school and him needing to wear a few extra layers to keep away the cold. The following few days had been completely normal, good even. Fenton had thought once Casper High opened up again everything would continue to be normal.

Then that day, today, came around the corner like the universe's personal spite filled slap in the face to Danny, both of them.

Once again lunch hour rolled around, but this time when the human felt that foreboding chill he happened to look towards the kitchens. Danny remembers it felt like his eyes had been pulled to a very specific spot, something just wasn’t right and he knew, but it wasn’t clear what it was or how he knew it was wrong.

He had watched that spot for several moments, the ghost's green glowing eyes joining his stare while hidden away with invisibility.

Danny watched.

They waited.

They saw.

Danny saw the pointy green ears and red piercing eyes, the burns and blisters and singes. It looked as if the entire right side of the face and neck had been burned till it melted. In some places it was worse than others, the least burned areas were near the top and bottom where it looked like only clothes had been singed, while the worst was the central area where the mouth should have been. Whatever accident had befallen this person left sharp pointed teeth and dark green gums visible behind the melted strings of flesh that had once been a mouth, surrounded by bubbling blisters and dark burn scars.

He couldn’t help but cringe at what he saw. And what he saw was the ghost of a lunch lady.

What came next is a messy blur of ghost instinct and human panic. Even now that they have settled there is a constant hum of Intruder Intruder Intruder Protect Get Her Out Get Away Mine Protect-

It’s loud and confusing and he wants to follow. Wants to hiss and challenge because this is my home and these are my friends, but he knows that’s only coming from his ghost half. He also knows that his ghost half is just as overwhelmed by these feelings he can’t control.

“It’s dangerous, we should warn everyone and get away quickly before it starts attacking,” his human half declared aloud. But Danny didn’t move yet.

“But it could still hurt people,” his ghost half argued. “Even if everyone gets out of the cafeteria today it will still be here tomorrow and the day after! Or worse, it could end up somewhere else with even more people.”

Dread welled up at the thought of the amount of people who could get hurt, completely oblivious to the ghostly presence, because why would they worry about something that isn’t real. Then he remembers the fire and the oil and guilt adds to the ocean of emotions built up in Danny’s chest.

If only he had realized what was happening sooner, maybe he could have stopped that poor person from getting burnt or prevented the fire that left so many people out of school and work for days.

“What do we do?” His human half asks, lacing worry into their shared voice when the Lunch Lady’s red eyes lock with Danny’s blue-green. Sure they know the ghost is there now but what difference does that make? He isn’t a ghost expert like his parents, not to mention he hadn’t brought any ecto-weapons for Phantoms peace of mind. Not that he would have either way, it’s not like ghost attacks are a regular thing that could happen everyday.

Danny is half ghost now, he has powers, can’t he do something with those? But he’s only practiced with invisibility! He can’t fight it! Well he has to do something!

His two halves don’t get long to argue before the lunch lady’s echoing shouts find their way down the hallways and snap him back to focus. He had ended up almost right outside the entrance to the kitchens along with his friends who had apparently followed him because he was acting weird. He’s not sure when he left the cafeteria, nor does he remember his friends calling out to him. Well, note to selves: try not to get so distracted arguing that we forget to pay attention to our surroundings.

The lunch lady must find something while staring down at Danny and his friends. He’s not sure what it is she found in them, but judging by the furious screech that followed… Clearly she had not liked it.

A scared cry and Sam’s panicked yell of “Duck!” brought his attention away from the ghost that was towering over them, and towards the- is that meat? Is she really just throwing meat at them?

And he really shouldn’t think like that, because that’s when the meat grows eyes and mouths. Mouths that open and reveal lots of needle sharp teeth and eyes that watch them with hunger.

“Actually, I think that's goose.” He only vaguely hears Tucker comment from behind him, only to be followed by an unhappy grunt from Sam.

Now, as he ducks and dives to avoid the living meat being thrown at him and his friends it’s clear Danny doesn’t have the choice to back down anymore, not just to save himself but his friends as well. “Fight it is then,” he declared.

It was long, difficult, and insanely scary, but when the battle was over, Danny was the victor. He had a lot more bruises and jagged little cuts from claws and needly meat teeth than he had that morning. But considering they had both thought they would die a second time during the whole battle, well, Danny thinks he did pretty well in comparison.

The hand lasers were a surprise. He’s pretty sure they’ll be having a talk about that later, and Danny is glad he probably won’t be around for it.

He knows his two halves will figure things out in the end, but he’d rather not have to listen to the process if he doesn’t have to. It gets hard to stay in balance when the ghost and the human aren’t in agreement, luckily they almost always are.

When one half wavers the other supports, be it emotional, physical, or otherwise.

Yeah. Danny thinks he’s going to be ok. Every part of him.

#Double Trouble AU #dp #danny phantom au #phanfiction #danny phantom #danny fenton #there was actually more planned for this chapter #unfortunately I had to cut some of it #I’ll revisit those parts in another fic maybe #I just really wanted to get this last chapter out

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vulture-writes-stuff · 1 year

Note

🦅

w🥚w egg landed!

hello again amazing writer <3 it is i, the silly 🥚 again <3 do not mind my unneeded entry i just thought it was funny.

anyway! lately, people have been shoving obey me in my face and i started to miss them again. my boys. my lovely lovely boys.

so i came in at lightning speed to humbly request from you some obey me content. >:)

do you think, that mayhaps you could do some.. headcanons? or just short drabbles of diavolo, beel, satan and mammon with a male!reader s/o who is mayhaps shorter than them— ahem face in chest height ahem aaaaand their favourite things to do with you? just like anything, in their free time, dates, whatever comes to mind!

sfw or nsfw is fine, as long as my bois are there. hihi. thank you <3

Finally someone who reads my fandom list!!!! A breath of fresh air. I haven't written for OM in a long time - I think my last fanfic for it was on Wattpad, before I purged my account because I was sick and tired of being picked on by 13 y/o kids lmao.

You have good taste my yolky friend. Diavolo and Satan were among my top favorites!! Man, typing that has made me realize just how fucking strange OM is. I'm sure my ancestors would be proud of me.

Enough existential dread for now. The egg is here and it's time to fry him. But like, positively. Am I funny yet?

Various X Short Male Reader

Favorite thing to do with you headcanons - SFW

Diavolo

⋄ This man is just a big puppy. A big, demonic puppy who also happens to be royalty.

⋄ He honestly adores doing just about anything with you, but has a particular fondness for trips to the human world with you. Diavolo lived a very sheltered childhood, so just about anything excites him.

⋄ Since he's the heir to the throne of the Devildom, he's aware that he's technically not supposed to be involved in a relationship with anyone. Particularly not some human guy.

⋄ But Diavolo doesn't care!

⋄ His favorite thing to do with you is to go to the human world. You tell him about all sorts of things as you walk along, occasionally dragging him to places you enjoy.

⋄ He loves seeing you get excited about anything, even if it's as simple as a flock of ducks chilling in the park.

⋄ He's tall as fuck, and definitely enjoys picking you up to just carry you places.

⋄ You point out things you think he'd like, and he always likes them.

⋄ His personal favorite is when you bring him to any sort of outdoor market. There's always so many things to look at, and it's never the same twice in a row. He still has a cute little figurine of a bird you got him once.

⋄ It sits on his desk, and he considers it his royal advisor. It holds his pens.

Beelzebub

⋄ Most people anticipate that I would put something related to eating here. And they're half right to be honest!

⋄ Whenever you have a lot of free time on your hands, you go out and get the stuff you need to cook. Just anything, really. You've taken to cooking typical foods in the Devildom and adding your own little spin to them.

⋄ And guess who's there with you, giving you expert culinary advice?

⋄ That is absolutely right, it's Beel himself. He knows just about any meal in existence, and how to make it. He's been around for a very long time, what else is he gonna do?

⋄ The shopping trip usually starts with both of you walking together, and ends with you sitting in the shopping cart directing Beel on what to buy. While keeping him from bankrupting you by buying too many snacks.

⋄ When you get back to the House, you spend however long cooking whatever you decided on... And goofing around a little in the process.

⋄ Beel may love food, but he loves you more.

⋄ He just really likes those moments with you, because you always get so keenly focused on what you're doing. If only you put that much attention into studying.

⋄ Beel also likes the part where he gets to eat whatever you made together. Sometimes it's amazing, sometimes it isn't.

⋄ Whatever the result, you had fun. That's all that matters in the end, really! And the cleanup, of course, otherwise Lucifer would have a field day punishing you. That's no fun.

Satan

⋄ He's a very simple guy. His favorite moments are the quiet ones.

⋄ Satan simply adores when you just kind of... Hang out. Existing in the same room is enough for him, because your presence is very comforting.

⋄ He loves when you just kind of... Show up. And lay down on him.

⋄ Sometimes you talk, and it's usually about whatever you'd been reading recently or some silly little story about your day. He's eager to listen.

⋄ Satan wants to hold you in his arms, just share a comfortable silence with you. On days when either of you are feeling down, you'll often just lay in bed together. Sometimes you don't say anything.

⋄ Other times you ask him to talk, about anything. Just to get your mind off everything the world is doing to you. He'll happily ramble until you're feeling better, even if it's a story he's told you a thousand times before.

⋄ On one occasion, you take him to your favorite human world cat cafe for a coffee date. He's absolutely thrilled to be with you, while also being surrounded by cats.

⋄ Really, just being with him is enough for him. He's a simple man.

⋄ He also enjoys studying with you! Sure, nobody really likes studying, but studying with someone else is a lot more fun.

⋄ Satan is incredibly happy he gets to call you his boyfriend, and his favorite times are... Well, the peaceful times.

Mammon

⋄ Bona fide criminal.

⋄ Mammon was your first!! He was the demon who took care of you when you first showed up in the Devildom, and he's very proud of that fact.

⋄ His favorite times are the times where you acknowledge how amazing he is. We all know this man is in desperate need of praise and approval, and you just shower him in it.

⋄ You call him out when he's being a fucking moron, but you also defend him from his brothers when they're being particularly nasty. You, a tiny human man, against six all-powerful demons.

⋄ Seeing you stubbornly argue with Lucifer is his favorite thing. Because it just reminds him that he's very lucky you happened to get picked for the exchange program.

⋄ Another favorite is when you two conveniently skip class together and get up to fun shenanigans. Of course, you keep him from doing anything too idiotic, but you're willing to do some stupid shit together.

⋄ Whilst also keeping him from blowing all his money on a stupid bet he'd never win.

⋄ While a little rule-breaking is high on his list of amazing things about you, his big big favorite is when you kiss him. You're short compared to him, and he loves to scoop you up and kiss you whenever you ask.

⋄ Sometimes you pull him down instead, and it always catches him off guard.

⋄ He just really likes having a point of contact. He'll compare the size of your hands, keep an arm around your waist, ruffle your hair... It's just reassuring to be near you. But kisses are his favorite.

Me resisting the urge to post a picture of my cat because I wrote about cats. But I don't have any good pictures of them and I wrote these headcanons sitting in my car waiting for my shift to start.

Anyways enjoy egg!!!

#fanfic #x reader #writers on tumblr #x male reader #obey me #obey me shall we date #diavolo x reader #satan x reader #beelzebub x reader #mammon x reader #fluff #headcanons #obey me headcanons #writing requests #request #egg anon #obey me x reader #obey me x male reader

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phantoms-lair · 2 years

Text

A little thing Post RotTMNT movie that popped in my head

"You are up late child," Splinter said, sitting down besides Casey.

"My apologies, Master Splinter." Casey ducked his head. "I was just thinking about something."

"None of that." Splinter gently angled his head back up. "Can you tell me what it is that troubles you?"

"I was just...thinking about humanity, and what it means to be human." Casey admitted. Splinter settled down. "A topic I'll admit to giving much thought to over the years. Have you come to any conclusions?" "I...I don't think I'm human," Casey blurted out, before ducking his head down again.

Splinter took a moment to digest that. "Did something happen in the future? Did the Krang-"

"Not like that." Casey was quick to assure him. "It's more...in the future divisions between humans, mutants, or yokai had no meaning. It was just Krang and not-Krang. The rest of us were one people up until we fell. Here, the distinct very real. Humans like Mom and Comman-April. Mutants like you and your sons. Yokai like Baron Draxum and Big Mama. It's a very different life for all of you." He waved his hand. "The New York City of now? It's a human place. And I'm part of the reason it's like that and I'm proud of it but I...I don't belong in human places. It feels like...like being a giant target for the Krang. I know the Masters would have wanted me to have a 'normal' human life. To got to school, go partying. Enjoy this new timeline. But I can't. This world doesn't feel like it's for me."

"And the world of the yokai isn't any different. I mean it's hidden beneath so many layers of secrecy, but in the end, it's feel like a human city with more mysticism. Mutants on the other hand, living in shadow, hidden in plain sight, engaging in the others world's briefly and in subterfuge? That? That feels like home. I know I'm not a mutant, but I feel like I should be one?" Splinter sighed. "I will preface this by admitting I never fully came to my own conclusions on the subject of humanity and being human. But I think there are some things you are not taking into consideration. The first is that you are traumatized. You have been through so much for all your life. You have a very understandable case of demophobia and likely PTSD. You were also raised, at least in part, by mutants. It would be impossible for some of that not to stick. And lastly, do not forget this is all very new. I too have been forced from everything I'd known, and into a completely new reality. It's hard. And all you want to do is feel the comfort of anything familiar, but nothing is there."

Splinter stared at his pawed hands. "I am human, Casey Jones. No matter what shape my body is, that is my truth. For years I felt like a failure for this truth, for being unable to accept what I had become. But lying about how one feels in not the same as acceptance. Perhaps once you've had time for your spirit to heal, you will feel closer to being a human. And if not, there is no shame in it. What my sons in future wanted was not for you to be 'normal'. It was for you to be happy. And if you find that happiness in the human city, the Hidden City, underground, or at Todd's Puppy Rescue, it matters not."

"That still exists?" Casey said, eyes widening. "I'd only heard stories. A peaceful place hidden away form notice, where Pathfinder General Todd would tend to orphaned animals."

"Perhaps some fresh air would do us all some good." Splinter smiled. He was sure Todd would be willing to house them for a few days. Especially if he mentioned there would be a young man with them who had likely never tasted lemonade or pet a puppy.

#RotTMNT #RotTMNT Movie Spoilers #Splinter #Casey Jones Jr.#Mostly inspired by the thought that Casey wouldn't know how to function in normal society #And Splinter would be able to understand some of what he was feeling #Ghost Writing

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waltwhitmansbeard · 1 year

Text

go on, claim my heart: chapter eleven

see my masterpost for what came before this. inspired by @romeoandjulietyouwish's medieval au.

Vex is still swearing under her breath as Percy drags her down the hall, Grog just behind to prevent her from charging back into Syldor's study to give him a piece of her mind. They pass a pair of doors that are just a bit ajar, and Percy takes the opportunity to duck inside, away from the rest of the house. It's some kind of parlor, one with the type of furniture created for viewing rather than sitting, but he'll take whatever he can get at this point. He pushes Vex down onto an ornate dark wood settee and says, "Is it all out of your system yet, or is there more abuse you'd like to hurl at the world?"

"Fuck him," Vex snarls, but then she crosses her arms and sinks back into the settee.

"Wonderful." Percy perches on the edge of a tea table and buries his face in his hands. All things considered, asking the twins' father for help could have gone worse, but not by much. He detests being in the position of sitting and waiting, of hoping that Keyleth and Vax can convince the arrogant fool to change his mind. If anything, he and Vax should switch places; he could use his political skill to cajole Syldor into changing his mind, while Vax prowled the house to steal whatever his nimble fingers could take.

Instead, he looks up at Vex, who is still seething. He sets a hand on her knee. "You may find it little comfort, but you ought to be very proud of what you have made of yourself when that is what you come from."

Despite her anger, the edge of her mouth curls up into the smallest smile. "Well, when you're motivated by little else but spite, it's not too difficult to succeed at disappointing your father."

Pike comes over to sit beside Vex on the settee. "Do you think there's any chance he might change his mind? Would he really be so heartless as to refuse his own infant granddaughter the help that could save her life?"

"I have learned never to doubt the depths of that man's condescension. I am sure he believes that Vax deserves what has happened to Vilya, that Vax was a negligent father for letting her be taken." She snorts. "As if he has any right to be accusing any other father of negligence."

"Uh, hi."

Percy turns at Grog's words, and he blinks in surprise when he sees a pair of large hazel eyes staring at him from the small opening between the doors to the parlor, only a few feet off the ground. When whomever the eyes belong to sees each face in the room turn toward the doors, they disappear with a small gasp.

"Who was that?" Pike asks, but before anyone can answer, the eyes appear again, this time followed by a nose and mouth, and a little girl is peering into the room.

Her head cranes up to gawk at Grog. "You're very tall."

Grog shrugs. "You're not."

She laughs, and then, checking up and down the hall to see if she's being watched, the little girl darts into the room. She stares at Vex, with whom, Percy quickly realizes, she shares a number of physical attributes—the nose, the long, dark hair, the hint of mischief in the eyes.

"Well, hello there," Scanlan says, sitting atop a sideboard just inside the room. "What's your name?"

"Velora." The girl grabs two fistfuls of her bright yellow dress and dips into something resembling a curtsy, wobbling as it is. She straightens up and, still staring at Vex, says, "You came to see my daddy."

Percy looks to Vex, who is wide-eyed and speechless, staring at this little girl. Under his breath, he asks, "Did you know?" She shakes her head, and now her eyes are shining.

He can see by the long, sweeping points of her ears that Velora is a full-blooded elf. He guesses by her size that she is around seven years of age, which would put her birth mere months after the twins' flight from Syngorn. Percy wonders if they would have left at all had they known about their half-sister's existence, wonders what all of their lives would look like if they had never come to Zephrah.

Velora's eyes bounce between everyone in the room, lingering the most on Grog and Vex, to whom she finally runs up and stands before. She peers up into Vex's face, like she's an accomplished artist surveying her finished creation. "You look like us. Kind of. The ears are different. And your eyes are darker." She pauses. "I know who you are, you know. Daddy thinks I don't, but I do." She smiles conspiratorially and drops her voice to what she must imagine to be a whisper. "I know a lot of things I'm not supposed to."

"Is that so?" Vex's voice is strangled, as if it is taking every ounce of her strength to keep herself together. "What sort of things do you know that you ought not to?"

Velora shakes her head vigorously. "Oh, I'm not telling. But I know that you're my sister." The grin becomes impossibly wide. "I always wanted a sister."

Percy watches Vex's face, the dynamic display of emotions that never seem to last longer than a second or two. Vex's relationship with her brother is the most important thing in the world to her, he is well aware, and this, a second sibling, a young child who clearly already idolizes her, is something so foreign, so unexpected, Percy cannot believe she's still sitting upright.

Finally, Vex breathes, "Oh. Well. Yes, I am your sister, and...you are mine."

Without waiting for an invitation, Velora scrambles up onto the settee to sit half in Vex's lap, tugging on her braid and asking a thousand questions a minute. "Can you do my hair like that? Did you come here on a horse? Can I see it? Why did you leave anyway? Is Va-Va-Vax'ildan here too? Can I meet him? What did you have to talk to my daddy about? Why is that man so tall?"

Vex looks at Percy, eyes wide as saucers, as Velora makes herself comfortable nestled into her side. Percy can't fight the grin on his face, nor the ache in his chest; curled up into Vex, Velora reminds him so much of Cassandra, who loved nothing more than to cuddle up with Vesper for a story before bedtime. As dreadful as it is for Vex to be here, Percy hopes that in this darkest storm cloud of a situation, a bright silver lining has just been discovered.

Vax and Keyleth sit on one little sofa in a corner of Syldor's study, his father on one just opposite. Everyone's posture is stiff, uncomfortable; of course, no one wants this conversation to be happening for a myriad of reasons, but here they are anyway. Keyleth's knees bounces nervously next to his, and he rests a hand on it to still the motion. "So." He looks his father dead in the eye. "What do you want?"

Syldor's eyes narrow. Gods, he hates looking at his face. "What do you mean?"

"You and I both know this is a matter of power. Congratulations. You have it. We don't. Make whatever demands you wish, and we will honor them in exchange for your aid and information."

"You always were arrogant, Vax'ildan." In the corner of his eye, Vax can see Keyleth's jaw drop. "You presume to have something I want? You presume that I can be bribed to give aid to a foreign nation without the approval of my government?"

"You would be giving aid to your son," Keyleth gasps, fists clenching in her lap. "We are not asking you to betray your nation, we are asking you to help us save our daughter, your granddaughter, from those who would do her harm!"

"Your husband—" He spits the word scornfully. "—ceased to be my son when he and his bastard sister fled like thieves in the night from this house. You abandoned us first, Vax'ildan, and these are the consequences of your actions."

The ground beneath their feet begins to shudder, and Vax side-eyes Keyleth in alarm. She is glaring daggers at Syldor, who is clearly bewildered by the sudden earthquake. "You could be so spiteful, so hateful as to let your own blood be harmed in order to prove a point?"

Vax murmurs her name low in warning, but Syldor speaks right over him. "I see now how well-suited the two of you are for each other. Arrogant, the both of you. I respect your office, Your Highness, but I do not care to be spoken to in such a manner. You are not to be my sovereign some day, lest you forget to whom you speak. Our nations are allies, yes, but I am very much not your subject."

Vax can feel his wife's temperature rising beside him, can feel it in the dangerous shake beneath his boots, but he finds that the more his father speaks, the less angry he becomes. This man, this...frightened dog of man, who is so accustomed to his bark doing the trick—he cannot bite like Vax can, does not understand the rending of flesh the way that Vax does. He is nothing, no one, just a fool who has fashioned himself a king in this big, empty house. Vax spent years afraid of him, furious with him, antagonistic of him, doing everything in his power to attract his father's wrath so that his sister might be spared it—and for what? He cannot hurt them, never really could, not when he was far more afraid of what they could do to him and his life and his career than they ever were of him. He and his sister, they have had the power the whole time, and it is not until this very day that he could see it.

Vax leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, and he slides a dagger from the back of his boot, twisting it casually between his fingers. He enjoys the way Syldor's eyes flash, the beads of sweat that appear at his hairline. "Do you want to know why you'll help us, Father?" Syldor says nothing, just watches the way the blade reflects the light from the windows beside them. "You'll help us because you, all evidence to the contrary, are not an idiot. You are aware that having the Ashari Nation, a powerful and resourceful country, as an ally is good for Syngorn. You are aware that making an enemy of the woman who will someday command an army nearly three times the size of Syngorn's is most unwise indeed. You are aware that someday, your own blood will sit upon a nation's throne, and that elevates your status quite a great deal. You are aware that both of your bastard children ended up with far more power than you had ever anticipated, and they have a long list of reasons to want to wield that power against you, specifically. You have only ever been motivated by self-interest, Syldor, and you know full well that it is in your best interests to help us defeat our enemies and save our daughter's life. I do not come to you for mercy, I do not come to you for pity, I do not come to you for charity. I come to you because you have something I want, and because I know that you are smart enough to give it to me."

Syldor is sitting ramrod straight, a seething hatred in his eyes. The tremors from below have quieted some as Keyleth waits for him to respond. The silence stretches on, and for the first time Vax feels the prickle of anxiety, a desperation for him to hurry up and get on with it. Finally, Syldor spits out, "You will have supplies and what information I can gather on Whitestone and these Briarwoods. You and your...friends may stay the night, and then you are to leave at first light. And Vax'ildan: you are never to darken my doorstep again, do you understand?"

"Nothing would make me happier, Father."

With that, Syldor shoves himself up from his seat and stalks away, disappearing into some other section of the study. Keyleth sags back, the quaking slowing until it stops, and she breathes, "Thank you."

Vax stows the dagger away and pulls her into an embrace. "I know terrified men, and that man fears more than most."

"I do not care for the way he spoke to you," she grumbles in his ear. "I should like to tear his tongue from his mouth."

Vax laughs low. "That is because you are the most fiercely loyal person I have ever met. It is one of the many reasons I adore you." Vax pulls back to take her face in his hands. "We are going to get her back. I need you to believe that."

Keyleth nods. "I know we will. We'll get her together."

And though he knows she ought to be back in Zephrah, where she is safe, where there are walls and guards to keep the world at bay, he cannot but feel grateful that she is here beside him, on this most vital journey with him. He kisses her, and for the first time in days, allows himself to feel the tiniest burst of hope deep in his chest.

#critical role #critical role fic #cr fic #vaxleth #vaxleth fic #vaxleth au #vox machina #vox machina fic #vox machina au #tlovm #tlovm fic #my fair lady #go on claim my heart #my fic

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lagt-duck · 1 year

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I wanna do something silly and like

Explain the plushies in my room

So bed.

We got Kermit and Hamtaro: both were in the show business, nowadays they are kinda just retired and enjoy chilling

Then u have uuuh Christmas Donald, who is still in the show business, he is overworked and would just like some days to go out and fish with his nephews please

Then u have the children tm

Cupcake Pompompurin and my panda unicorn squishmallows : pompompurin also works but he isn't as overworked as like Donald

Then you have twitch streamer girl and her little brother squishmallows (the beluga is called Jaiden) and at the end you have the old father who looks very gruff but is actually a Sweetheart

His name is Fat shark, he costed me more then kermit

That is I bought him for 3€ while Kermit costed me only 1€

Hamtaro costed me 6€ because the guy who sold me wanted to get rid of it and his wife wasn't near

Then you have the shelves

As you can see at the bottom we have Boris and Sylvester the marmot who are probably having gay uncle conversations (they aren't married with each other)

Going up we have rat omens, and rat Bruno plush, who exists because i am broke and good at sewing

Made by yarn you can also see the frog and Jeremy the dinosaur who i am very proud of making

We then have the actual merch shelf

Butterfree was made by me, woobat is original.

The Oswald plushie is also original and i got it from Disneyland Paris!

We then have my tiny lion plushie Who i named Garibaldi, because one of his back legs is a lil shorter, and my friends that year kept singing how Garibaldi was wounded to the leg

And at last we have soldier. The duck. Who is a Tru trooper and deserve the world

Special mentions to the giant Eevee stuffed with polyester under my desk. His ears are floppy and he isn't great to hug

But he was won at one of those games in a park so i am happy with it

#lagt yells #my plushies #yes i love plushies #what about it

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whumping-in-the-wings · 1 year

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Fully enjoyed my first week of no-school freedom and got a TON of writing done, so I’m happy to be back with another chapter! This one is mostly just plot- what else is new- but we’re finally getting somewhere in terms of setting the ball rolling on my ultimate plans for the story and getting to the major whumpy bits, so I’m proud of this one! I’ll have another chapter up next Friday, then switch back and forth between this story and Traces.

CW: magic-based slavery, emotional whump, some physical abuse

Taglist: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @honey-is-mesi (as always, let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from the list!)

Perfect Sorrows: Part Nine

Previous | Masterlist |

Sacha stayed there on the end of the street for a long time, unwilling to risk going any closer and having Ondine or Hugo catch sight of him. Not until he had sorted out his racing thoughts and made some sort of sense of whatever had just happened.

The smart thing to do, he knew, would be to forget everything, go back to his life and not give another thought to the smiling stranger or the seventh house on the Rue de Phénix. But something in him refused to let the encounter be brushed aside so easily. Alexandre had been so friendly, so warm and gentle and different from everything else he knew, and his aching heart craved another taste of that kindness as though it was a drug. And Camille had no idea Alexandre existed; this bright spot in his life wasn’t like Mademoiselle’s, wasn’t something Camille could take away. It would be dangerous, at least as far as sneaking out of the house went, but if he could only manage to keep the secret…a respite from the hard, lonely life he led in the townhouse, an escape from it all, if only for a few short minutes every time he had a chance to slip away…

By the time he returned to the townhouse, battling the weight of the full bucket and keeping his head ducked low in case the guilt was written on his face, he had made up his mind. He would give himself time, wait until the next night when Camille sent Laurent out on an assignment. There would still be Hugo’s keen ears to get past, not to mention Camille himself, but Laurent was the biggest risk, and waiting until he was gone would give him the best chance of succeeding. He wouldn’t stay out long, just long enough for everything to be explained, the way Alexandre had promised it would be.

It was fortunate that he hadn’t really been sent out for water; Ondine met him at the door with a sharp slap that sent half the contents of the bucket cascading over the floor. “What do you think you’re doing, going out like that? You know Laurent does that now!”

“I forgot,” he said, cringing at the pathetic excuse and adding another, just to be certain.. “I…I needed some air.”

“You forgot,” she repeated, mockingly. “You do anything like that again and I’ll give you something you’ll remember, understand?” She snatched the bucket from him and stalked away, muttering angrily under her breath. “At least make yourself useful,” she called back over her shoulder, pointing with her chin at a silver tray on a side table. “Take that upstairs to Mademoiselle.”

He froze. One thing had somehow replaced another in his mind; busy with trying to solve the sudden mystery of Alexandre, he had completely forgotten about Mademoiselle Jeanne and the predicament he was already in. He opened his mouth to refuse, to try and give some sort of reason why he couldn’t go up there…and stopped.

What am I supposed to say, that I have to avoid her because her sadistic uncle wants me to hide what a monster he is from her?

No. The truth would never work, and there was no lie that would be good enough. Ondine already had no patience for him. Anything he said would not only make her angry, it would raise her suspicions, and if he was going to take as big a risk as sneaking out at night, someone looking at him with suspicion, watching him more closely than they otherwise would, would be the very last thing he needed.

As if she had heard his thoughts, Ondine turned back around. “Well?” she demanded sharply. And slowly, automatically, he stepped forward and did as she had told him.

There was nothing else, really, that he could have done. As strange and sudden as Alexandre’s entrance into his life had been, he couldn’t bring himself to forget it. The thought of having something that Camille didn’t know about, something that couldn’t be snatched away from him, was just too strong a lure. One way or another, he had to get down to the Rue de Phénix. And the only way to do that, to slip under everyone’s notice, was to go along, at least for now, with Camille’s lie.

He hated the very idea of it, hated himself for giving in. But he had no other choice. He realized, now, that he was as helpless in this house as he was hopeless in it. He could resist, yes, but not in any way that would accomplish anything in the end. Camille could just unmake him with a whisper, swallow down a pinch of ivy and blood and make someone else to befriend his lonely niece, someone who would help to keep her trapped here and maybe not even realize they were doing it.

But if Alexandre really can help me, if he can get me out of here, then I can come back for her. I can rescue her, but someone has to rescue me first.

He kept telling himself the same thing, over and over again, as he tiptoed hesitantly up the stairs, hoping eventually he could bring himself to believe it.

His resolve, feeble thing that it was, nearly shattered all over again when he eased the door open and Jeanne glanced up from the book she had been reading, her soft smile springing to her lips at the sight of him. “You again!” she cried. “I didn’t think…well, I haven’t seen much of you. I thought my uncle might be keeping you too busy.”

Heat rose to Sacha’s face. She remembered, then. How he’d brushed past her on the stairs and gone out of his way to avoid her. She had wondered why. He swallowed hard, suddenly nervous, searching for something to say. “We’re…we’re always busier than usual, at the end of the society season,” he managed. “You’ll see more of me now that it’s over. Your uncle’s glad we’ve made friends.”

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he doubted them. Was that the right thing to say? Was that what he was supposed to say, or was he supposed to pretend Camille hadn’t taken a hand in this and this friendship between them was normal and natural and everything life in this place could never really be?

If it was the wrong thing to say, she didn’t seem to notice, and he doubted she would have cared. She seemed different today, not only happier and stronger but more…substantial, not the ethereal, otherworldly creature she had been on her uncle’s arm, nor the trembling, near-bloodless wraith Sacha had found when their paths first joined, but something real and brimming with life. She crossed the floor without a trace of unsteadiness, taking the weight of the silver tea tray from him- “You can stay a few minutes, can’t you, the others won’t mind?”- and crossing back again, chattering happily, her smile as bright as her shining red curls. He felt like a shadow beside her, as insignificant as the whisper of magic that had made him, as out of place as a nettle in a rosebush.

But he gathered his nerve and sat down, making as valiant an effort as he could to relax. It was a relief, at least, to sink into one of the upholstered chairs next to the roaring fire; he hadn’t realized until now how tired he was, how the ache of this morning’s bruises had settled bone-deep-

The bruises. As quickly as he had settled back, he straightened up again, hastily pulling down his frayed sleeves over his wrists. Was it too late? Had she noticed? If she did, if she mentioned it to Camille, if Sacha had failed to keep up the pretense…what then?

Once again, she didn’t seem to notice anything amiss or strange about the way he was acting, busying herself with pouring out two bowls of tea and pressing one into his hands, telling him what a relief it was to be able to take an afternoon to herself now that the season was over. It almost broke his heart, how naive she was, how she was so used to luxury that the simplest of things made her happy now. “My favorite,” she chirped brightly, when she sipped at her tea and discovered that Ondine had brewed a strawberry tisane…and he didn’t have the heart to tell her that Ondine had no other choice but to know what she liked, to keep her pleased or risk Camille’s wrath. He couldn’t bring himself to hold it against her. There was no malice in it; Jeanne had simply never lived another life beside this one, had no concept of the way things really were.

And I’m helping to keep it that way.

There was no other choice, he told himself, nothing else he could do. But still, sitting there beside her, moving stiffly and slowly in the hopes that the bruises wouldn’t show while she sipped her tea and chatted of nothing at all, it took everything in him not to break out with the whole truth right then and there. It wasn’t as though she’d reject it; she was thoughtful and intelligent and kind, nowhere near the spoiled brat Ondine had made her seem. She would at least listen, even if she didn’t believe it at first. But what Camille would do to him afterwards…

That thought hovered in his mind for the next few minutes, no matter how hard he tried to banish it. It was all he could do to concentrate on what Jeanne was saying and pretend he was perfectly at ease, when every word that left his lips and every move he made brought with it that taunting little whisper of Was that right? What will Camille do if it wasn’t?

As though Sacha’s thoughts had somehow summoned him, they had only been sitting there for a few minutes when footsteps echoed on the floor outside, the door creaked open, and Monsieur Camille poked his head into the room. “Jeanne, que fais-tu…oh.” His eyes went wide at the sight of the two of them, one eyebrow rising.

“Yes, uncle?” Jeanne asked, but he shook his head.

“No, no, never mind, ma chère. You’re having such a lovely time, don’t let me interrupt you.” But he was looking at Sacha, not at her, a cold, slow little smile creeping over his pale face.

Sacha cringed, dropping his eyes. He knew all too well what that look meant; he had seen it a hundred times, when a new spell did what it was meant to or Laurent came back with a bloody knife and the news that some enemy or another was no longer a threat. It was the look Camille got when he felt he had won something.

And Sacha couldn’t blame him. It would certainly look as though he had. Here they were, the two of them together, and Sacha hadn’t even tried to tell Jeanne what her uncle was really like. He was lying to her, just the way Camille had wanted him to. From Camille’s perspective, it would look as though Laurent’s beating had done its work and broken his resistance.

Not yet, he told himself fiercely, even as he fixed his gaze on the floor and refused to meet Camille’s triumphant look. Not yet. You don’t know everything this time.

It gave him a strange, secret little thrill, the thought of being, for once, a few steps ahead of his master’s twisted game. If only he didn’t have to lie to Jeanne to do it, that little jolt of satisfaction might even have turned- as impossible as it sounded- to something like happiness.

But as it was, he sat there, shoulders bowed in pretended submission, not daring to look up until he heard Camille turn and walk away. Camille could read him so easily. One look into his eyes would give away the fact that he was hiding something. Having the secret in the first place was hard enough; keeping it, he was beginning to realize, would be nearly impossible.

But, as with so many things, what other choice did he have?

#whump #whump writing #nonhuman whump #victorian whump

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themculibrary · 2 years

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Marvel Siblings Masterlist

fics in which siblings are the spotlight such as thor+loki, pietro+wanda, etc.

Bucky & Rebecca

Frayed Ties (ao3) - Erica45, snarkymuch G, 2k

Summary: Bucky never went looking for his family, afraid of what he'd find or what they'd think of him. He thought if they were out there, they would be better off without him. It wasn't until a little boy who shared his name ducked into the coffee shop to hide from a fight that his feelings changed.

new york is the ocean (and the ocean is bleedin' salt) (ao3) - defcontwo rebecca/peggy, steve/bucky M, 3k

Summary: It is 1970, and ten minutes and however many blocks ago, Rebecca Barnes looked across the street and out of the corner of her eye, saw a man ascending from the U-Bahn and set off down the street. He had on a dark coat and he walked with a deep, heavy weight to his gait, a swagger with no joy in it, and for all that he walked with his head down, she saw enough to be sure, in that moment so completely dead certain, that he wore her brother's face.

The trouble is, James Buchanan Barnes has been dead for twenty-six years.

Protective Big Brothers (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor rebecca/sam, steve/bucky G, 1k

Summary: Sam is taking Rebecca out on their first date, he has the pleasure of meeting her big brother, Bucky.

Unlike Bucky (ao3) - 107th (FeelsVomit) G, 622

Summary: In 2016, Bucky was not the only Barnes alive. Rebecca Barnes was still living in New York City.

Bucky goes to visit Rebecca, and she recognises him.

Sam & Sarah

'cause with a love like this (ao3) - philthestone G, 3k

Summary: “I am so proud of you, Sam Wilson,” Sarah says, and means it, so very much.

Static in the Dark (ao3) - thefatedthoughtofyou sam/bucky T, 4k

Summary: Prompt from abc-easy-as-123 on tumblr:

So prompt idea, some bad guy follows Bucky to the docks for revenge (over whatever you can decide) and Sarah gets to see how protective Bucky really is over Sam when he gets in the line of fire

summer's end (ao3) - junipermoss sam/bucky n/r, 5k

Summary: When Sam shows up to Sarah's house with an injured Bucky, she expects them to hate each other.

They don't.

the smile that's on my mouth (it's hiding the words that don't come out) (ao3) - the_crown_jules G, 1k

Summary: Six months ago Sam walked back into the Wilson family house for the first time in two years. Except it hadn’t been two years, it had been seven.

Sam tries to find his footing.

Thor & Loki

Castles in the Air (ao3) - cosmic_medusa T, 182k

Summary: Loki’s first act as King is to collect his banished brother to aid his regency, however brief. Thor discovers that the political landscape is far from what it seemed, and that the lies of Odin have resulted in the threat of both his sons’ safety and sanity. Drama, angst, double-crosses, butchering of folklore and history, and the epic bromance of Asgard’s Princes ensues.

Fevered Memories (ao3) - Storyteller_of_the_Forest G, 31k

Summary: Being trapped in one’s own mind is a terrible fate. When the past and the present start blurring together, how does one tell them apart?

With most of the healers out of town, the Odinsons struggle to find an answer to a mysterious illness before it’s too late. The answer may lie in the past. However, the destruction of Asgard meant the destruction of most of their remedies. If the illness is from Asgard, the cure may no longer exist.

The Art of Spinning (ao3) - gaslightgallows (hearts_blood) T, 12k

Summary: Following Malekith’s attack on Asgard, Frigga survives, but the only thing holding her to life is Loki. Desperate to save his wife, Odin alters Loki's sentence, imprisoning him instead in Frigga's sickroom. Alone with his ill and unconscious mother, Loki helps Thor and Jane escape Asgard as best he can, and then must confront both the damage he's caused and the damage his family has inflicted, on himself and on others.

Will to Live (ao3) - Lise T, 60k

Summary: Thanos is dead and the war is over, but the universe hasn't seen fit to give Thor anything back. When he finds out that there might be a way to return at least one person to life...how can he not take the chance?

Unfortunately, everything has a price.

Gamora & Nebula

Bad Habits (ao3) - Sholio T, 3k

Summary: It looks like Nebula might be developing a bad habit of helping Gamora out of trouble. Set post-GotG 2.

Certainty of Tides (ao3) - MyresLight T, 3k

Summary: At every opportunity, Thanos pairs Nebula with Gamora.

Be it for competition, training, or war, the sisters are disciplined and appraised as a matching item.

They are two halves of a whole. A weary, broken machine.

A look at Nebula growing up under Thanos, and her relationship with Gamora.

Circulate (ao3) - interabang T, 2k

Summary: With the exception of Gamora, Nebula couldn’t care less about what happened to the Guardians. Not even a little bit.

Things Never Stay the Way They Were (ao3) - Rekall T, 1k

Summary: It has been a year since Gamora was taken in by Thanos. As she trains to be his assassin, she finds herself drawn towards the new girl who recently arrived.

pietro & wanda

Open Mind, Metal Heart (ao3) - Huntressride13 wanda/vision T, 80k

Summary: For the first time in her life, Wanda Maximoff is alone. Even with the chance of Pietro's return she cannot linger on the past, but must focus on her future as a new member of the Avengers. Somehow she never considered the possibility that the Vision would be such a large part of that future.

pietro and wanda. (ao3) - pyroallerdyce G, 1k

Summary: when they were children, their mother and father had encouraged their closeness.

#themculibrary #mcu #marvel #thor odinson #loki #wanda maximoff #pietro maximoff #bucky barnes #rebecca barnes #sam wilson #sarah wilson #gamora #nebula #masterlists

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fortunefishsalad · 2 years

Text

5/17/19

Choosing To Be Free ||

Something almost enlightening about taking off the chains you remember forging Twisting the key and hearing a click like the sound of juices from the sweetest plum Every time you tripped and fell, every last scar and bruise, dissipates into this moment You actually feel relieved! So happy! Today is yours, and the day after. The week, month, even years! It’s insane to be a bird again! To grab my broom and fly again! To mix and match my clothes and choose! To choose! The ability to choose again, unbound by obligations of the heart and by yearnings of the corrupt mind.

I’ve never wanted to be a dog so bad! To run and never stop until my heart kicks out! To be a lawyer helping all sorts of people. Never before have I seen the love they speak of so highly and realized how much I don’t need it. Love is a luxury, and frankly, not one I can afford right now. Maybe never.

Three died today, Four fell with and five and the rest. The mirror in which I saw them all behind me has shattered. I am in a new reality, one with a ticket out of this bland reflective universe and into beauty and despair of a new tune! Bless the human mind and it’s royalties and gardens. I am imperfect, but no longer because of them. Along with the fade of Two fades away the dream of One. They seem to have never existed. What joy and happiness! Impossible joy now in my heart!

Some people say happiness is beyond the reach of the human hand, well obviously I was wrong. Thank you two for absolutely everything, but it wasn’t you two who deserve the thanks!

Can you hear them too? I can! It’s like bees and the deepest winds soaring through a valley This new bug seems to capture my attention There in all it’s glory it stands, my self, elevated upon the wings of self-admiration. You did the right thing, you did do the right thing. Nothing else would have satisfied this crime, except for what you have done. A sitting duck gets shot, it’s up to you if you’re the one who gets the spoils. And of course, the satisfaction of killing the damn thing already, been keeping you up for nights!

No more manners, no more pleasantries for they do not deserve them. Excellence.

Agnes the Ice Queen ||

She, first born of Solario the Sun God, of snow and frost. Lover of arachnids and spar partner with humanity. A harmony so occult never before recognized. Her flute such a wonderful melody to be heard on the chilly mornings. Bless the Snow Queen and her children of the web!

The Servant Girl to End of Time ||

She bound by her duty to family and family. How immersed she stands in the beautiful parties of which she serves the drinks The drunk air and luxurious floating of the keys upon her ears. Her dress, as beautiful as those of the party, yet a servant’s outfit! She knew she was the prettiest servant, but it was no curse, by no means at all.

Observer ||

There is a butterfly in the web Very beautiful butterfly, struggling, barley moving, but silently screaming for help The web is translucent and clear, beautiful Suffer dirty bug, Remember this web? Of course not, you are blind to even be in it. All of these powers aligning, they don’t realize what I’ve concocted. All these powers aimed directly at him, with his arms trapped there he can’t hold the mirror up. I will not devour you, I just want to watch you struggle. Wonderful Suffering. Important? No. Suffer. Die. Sit there and flutter. Die, Suffer and die.

There are days you cannot look into the mirror, become the devil Staring back at you it is too much to bare. He wants civil things, but he is you, are you proud? I repeat my devil, even though I am him, I make trouble for myself.

The Omega Complex ||

And from here on out you have crossed a terrible border. From a war we have learned to wage I refuse to fight for your friendship any longer. There is no saving a sinking ship. You will drown in this repetition. You will miss out on so much. Because you’re trained to be a wreck. A father like yours must be so disappointed in his son, You are just a little girl Pandora, put down the box. Your infatuation with opening it has caused us enough pain, so I bid you farewell.

untitled ||

It is unmistakable, the smell of a lost child. You radiate it, the strings of your heart quiver I am no longer at you mercy You will bow to me and beg if you want any kind of communication You deserve no answers They are mine before yours. Thank you, for showing me the most scornful and distasteful parts of you Such that I could remember why I lost interest in being a patron to your arts My business will go elsewhere, maybe even open up my own gallery.

untitled ||

Watch! With both your eyes this time! Shhhh! You will scare him off! It runs so vehemently, it will surely be active today. He flies with such rigor, he is beyond God now! Lambs scurry and snakes watch with envy. All animals curious of how the Beast obtained such Primordial Energy. Lock out! Shhh! You’re being too loud! The brooks open wide and the mountains split in two, Amazing! Some told me this creature could kill all happiness. It has learned the secret

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Crush

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 3,349 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Crushes, Fluff and smut, Rough sex, Unprotected sex, Manhandling Summary: Hotch has had a crush on the new member of his team for as long as he can remember. He keeps his distance, but he knows everything about her—her favorite snacks, how she takes her coffee. They share a room on a case, and at first, he's nervous, but being around her is comfortable, and he longs for more. Is it possible she feels the same way about him? *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below!

Aaron has a crush on the newest member of his team. There’s no use denying it, or trying to compartmentalize it and pretend it doesn’t exist; it’s inappropriate, irresponsible, and just plain stupid, but he can’t talk himself out of it no matter how hard he tries. He is completely infatuated with her, whether he likes it or not.

And he does like it, sometimes. Sometimes, she will catch his eye on the jet, or in the office, shoot him a soft smile, and his heart beats fast, his chest feels warm. He thinks, I might never get to be with her, but she does think of me, and that’s something, at least.

Sometimes, he hates it, especially times like these, when they’re all on the jet and Morgan is using every ounce of his charm and charisma, the easy smile he doesn’t think twice about flashing, to try to get her to go out on a date with him. She hasn’t accepted the offer yet, and he’s been trying for about five months, almost the entirety of her career at the BAU, but that doesn’t make Aaron feel any better.

He knows Morgan very well. He’ll convince her eventually, and even if it doesn’t go anywhere, he’ll think about the two of them together all the time and never be able to stop. It will take his (mostly) innocent crush to a darker place, a place of anger and jealousy he’s not proud of, but has no control over.

“I would take you on the most incredible date of your life, mama. Dinner, dancing, a moonlit stroll; we go out for a couple of drinks, maybe I'll try to steal a kiss...”

“Maybe I’ll punch you in the face...” she says with a smirk, but he knows flirting when he hears it, and her threat carries no weight. Morgan shrugs, grins.

“Maybe, but I can take a punch. You need a man, and I am fully prepared to be that man; one little love tap won’t stop me.” She raises her eyebrows, looks over at him with narrowed eyes.

“Okay, first thing’s first: I don't do love taps, I do right hooks, so don't tempt me. Second, I don’t need a man, I want a man, and not just any man will do. When I want something, I want something specific. If I want dessert—”

Cherry cheesecake, Aaron thinks. He’s seen her order it three times, is slightly obsessed with the sound she makes when she takes the first bite.

“—I want cherry cheesecake or nothing. Not chocolate, not strawberry. If I want a glass of wine—”

Pinot Grigio if she wants white, Merlot if she wants red—she almost never wants red.

“—I want Pinot Grigio or nothing. If I have to have red, I’ll order Merlot, but I won’t be happy about it. When we’re on a case and I can’t sleep, and I come out to stare at the vending machine for a midnight snack—”

She either gets peanut butter crackers, or barbeque chips. That’s an easy one. Morgan has to know that.

“—I’ll get barbeque chips, or peanut butter crackers, or nothing. I am uncompromising when it comes to the things I want. So, Derek Morgan,” she says with a smirk, and a bit of attitude; it only makes Morgan smile brighter, and Aaron refrains from rolling his eyes, “when I want a man, I want a specific type of man, and I won’t be worn down no matter how many times you ask me out.”

“And what specific type of man do you want?” he asks, crossing his arms. Everyone is paying attention to their conversation, even Aaron, though he tries to pretend he isn’t.

“Well for starters, a man. You’re acting like a guy right now, and I’m not interested in guys.” JJ says ooh, burn, and everyone laughs. “I want a man who knows who he is, even if who he is isn’t pleasing to everyone. I want a man who isn’t afraid to feel vulnerable, who can be tender, who doesn’t run from a situation just because it makes him emotional. I want a man who pays attention to me when it counts, not just when he wants something. I want a man who will respect my boundaries,” she says, a little pointed, “who will help me grow but not try to change me. Most importantly, I want a man who can handle me, and I don’t think you can handle me.”

Aaron blinks hard at that. He’s pretty certain he could handle her, absolutely wants to.

“Alright, I can’t argue with a woman who knows what she wants, and it’s obvious you know what you want,” Morgan says, palms up in surrender. “Let me know when you find the lucky guy—man—so I can warn him about you.”

“Baby, I am the warning,” she says with a wink, and Aaron shifts in his seat.

It’s going to be a long flight to California. When they get to the hotel, JJ hands out the room assignments as usual, and he’s very surprised when she hands her a key out of the envelope marked 313, and then does the same for him. JJ shrugs.

“They didn’t have any singles, I guess. We’re all doubled up.” The other woman adjusts her bag on her shoulder, looks up at him.

“Is that a problem? I promise I won’t disturb you,” she says with a smile, and he shakes his head and, hopefully, his nervousness.

“No, of course it’s not a problem. Thanks, JJ. Looks like we’re this way,” he says, guiding her down the hall.

Their room is a little cramped, but clean, and he takes the bed closest to the door, sets his bag on it. She walks past him, throws her bag on the other bed and puts her hands on her hips, stares down at the ground. It takes him a moment to understand why.

“We could probably move your nightstand against the wall, share the one in the middle.” She looks up, confused, and he rubs the back of his neck. “You need room to lay down your yoga blanket, right? I know you’ve mentioned before that it helps put you to sleep when we’re traveling.” A brilliant smile curves across her face.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was trying to figure out. Thanks.” He moves to help her, but she lifts the table easily, tucks it in the corner between the desk and the lamp. She rolls out her blanket, pulls an outfit out of her bag. “I’m just going to get changed, and then the bathroom is all yours; I’ll be out of your hair.”

“It’s no trouble,” he says, and he means it; she just nods and smiles again, ducks into the bathroom to change her clothes.

Her outfit is… it’s tight, for lack of a better description, a strappy sports bra and patterned leggings; she does a lot of bending, and stretching, and balancing, her body strong and sleek. He tries to go about his business, but he can’t stop looking.

Once he’s finally able to convince himself to look away, lest she get suspicious of his inactivity, he changes his clothes, takes off his watch and sets it beside his gun, badge, and phone on his side of the nightstand. He pulls out his tablet to get caught up on the news, and it’s actually kind of comforting, the soft hum of her breathing the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

He doesn’t realize she’s finished until she walks around between the beds, grabs her badge off the nightstand and slides her credit card out from behind her photo ID. “Heading to the vending machine; need anything?” she asks, and he shakes his head—he already brushed his teeth—earning one of her soft smiles.

She grabs her key, slips out the door, and returns a few minutes later with a pack of peanut butter crackers and a bag of peanut M&Ms—his guilty pleasure. She tosses them onto the bed beside him, and her lips twitch, and she strolls into the bathroom and turns on the shower.

He eats his M&Ms and does not imagine what she looks like wet.

Ultimately, he’s happy she was so thoughtful to bring him a snack, but that does mean he needs to brush his teeth again. The bathroom door is open, steam wafting out, so he figures it’s safe to enter while she finishes getting ready for bed. She’s standing at one of the double sinks, wrapped up in a fluffy white towel, brushing her teeth, and he steps up beside her and prepares to do the same.

It’s pleasant, companionable, the familiar sounds of scrape-scrub-spit, and then she washes her face with some foamy, herbal scented concoction he couldn’t begin to identify. He washes his with soap and a little hot water, and she cringes; he frowns.

“What is it?” he asks, toweling off. She hesitates a moment, then flicks open a blue bottle, squeezes a bit of cream into her hands, and lifts them toward his face, pausing with a question in her eyes. He swallows, but leans in closer, and she rubs it over his cheeks, his chin, his forehead.

“Soap like that isn’t good for your skin, not even for guys, and I figured you don’t moisturize. This stuff is unisex, and it will keep you looking young and fresh and handsome; you can have this one, I’ve got more.” She pulls back, washes her hands, and he’s left kind of dazed, longs for the feel of her hands on his face again. That was an unexpected, but very welcome, thing. The next morning, he’s up early, so he showers and gets dressed and then heads down to the lobby for some coffee and a paper. He grabs two cups, stacks them in his hand when he goes to unlock the door to their room; she is awake when he returns, freshly dressed, hair pulled back, and she takes the coffees from his hand before he spills them everywhere.

“Thanks. The one on the left is for you; two sugars,” he says offhand, grabbing his cup and setting it down on the nightstand, flipping open the paper. He sits down on the edge of the bed closest to the nightstand, doesn’t notice her smile, but she settles on her bed across from him, sips her coffee, and reaches up to pull the sports section out from between his fingers. He maybe cracks a smile of his own. That evening, they get back to the room a little cranky, another late night full of dead end leads, and she skips yoga and heads straight for the shower. The blissfully hot water feels good against her skin, and she thinks about touching herself, but it wouldn’t be appropriate, not with Hotch just outside the door.

The thought only makes her hotter, but still, she refrains.

When she’s wrapped up in her towel, she pushes open the door like the night before, starts brushing her teeth, and it’s not long before Hotch fills the space beside her, copying her actions. She washes her face, and he washes his with soap again—so, so wrong—but at least he uses the moisturizer she gave him afterward. Baby steps.

He leaves the room, and she follows him out to grab her pajamas, sees a bottle of water and a bag of barbeque chips laying on her bed.

Enough is enough, she thinks. She wasn’t sure, until they shared this room, but now she’s 100% certain that Hotch has a thing for her, and she’s harboring her own thing, which is stupid. If she wants him (she really, really does) and he wants her, why aren’t they naked already?

Thankfully, that’s easily remedied. She drops her towel, and Hotch looks up from his tablet, drops his jaw.

“I’ve been thinking about last night; how shy you were about our sharing a room. It made me wonder if you’re shy about other things, too.” She walks around her bed, stands between them, presses her fingers to his tablet to push it down, out of his hands. “Are you shy, Hotch?”

“No,” he says roughly, making no effort to conceal the way his eyes sweep over her naked body. She’d blush, but she’s not the blushing type.

“No?” She climbs up, settles in his lap—he’s tenting his boxers already and it makes her feel awesome—and his hands fall to her thighs, spread around him, squeezing roughly. She moans, rolls her hips slowly. “Do you think you can handle me, Hotch? I’m kind of a lot.”

He answers with his hands, grabs her face and pulls her down for a long, dirty, messy kiss. Her chest is heaving by the end of it, and she’s definitely leaving a wet patch on his underwear, she’s so fucking horny. He tips her back, so she’s laying against the sheets, tugs off his shirt, and drapes himself on top of her, tilts her head to the side so he can get his mouth on her neck.

“Oh my god, mmm,” she sighs as he sucks on her throat, grinding his clothed dick against her, and she moves her hands down to sweep them over his body, but he grabs them, pins them up by her head instead. “Fuck, Hotch.” It leaves her mouth as a trembling gasp, and he looks up at her, his eyes dark and hard; he growls out a command for her to stay—she’s sure as shit not going for a damn stroll any time soon—and leans up, pushes his boxers down, and flips her body over.

She’s laying a little sideways, kind of lined up with the bottom corner of the bed—it always makes her feel like a complete whore to fuck anywhere but right up against the pillows, so this alone is enough to get her super hot. He gets both broad palms on her ass, squeezes her hard enough to hurt (and damn if that doesn’t make her pussy drip) and then slowly slides his fingers over her slit, making her toss her head back and groan.

“Oh, yeah. So, so good,” she sighs as he rubs her, spreads her wetness between her lips, over her clit and her mound so she’s sticky and soaked and begging for more, and then he plants his hands on either side of her and thrusts in so hard she has to dig her fingers into the sheets or she’ll go skidding off the bed. “Holy fuck,” she gasps, clutching for dear life as he slams inside roughly and deeply, but so slow it’s almost torture.

“So how am I handling you?” he asks, low into her ear, leaning in to press his chest heavily against her back, rolling his hips and grinding where he’s seated deep. He pulls out almost all of the way and then slams back in so quickly her whole body stutters forward, and her head’s empty, no thoughts but my boss is fucking me and my boss is fucking me good.

She just pants in reply, and he repeats that motion over and over, fast, nearly withdrawing just to fill her until his balls slap against her; she feels filthy, and amazing, and a little pissed it took them this long to do this, and she comes screaming his name, yanking so hard at the bedding that she pulls the fitted sheet right off the mattress.

He keeps pumping inside her, and she clenches around him, moans. He grunts, leans in to nibble her ear. “That’s my girl. Can you handle me?”

“My god, yeah.” She wants to, at least; she’s never been fucked this good in her life, so she’s honestly not sure how much she can handle. It’s always the quiet ones, she really should have known.

“Trust me on this,” he whispers, and she does because she does; he puts his hands on her arms, pries them off of the bed and moves her forward, guides her hands to the floor to support her so she’s half off the bed, her ass up. She’s strong, and he knows she’s strong, but she’s not sure she’s strong enough for this because he just fucking destroyed her and her legs are still shaking. “Trust me,” he coos again, and he shifts up, gets one foot on the ground, holds tightly to her hips, and pounds into her fast and hard, short thrusts that have her moaning and groaning and coming a second time before he even comes once.

He does come, though, just after, and she’s glad she’s got an IUD because if not she’d be leaving here fucking pregnant, no doubt about that.

“Hotch,” she gasps, daring to reach an arm back to touch him, and he pulls her up, lays her back, and kisses her, smoothing his hands all over her body. “Jesus. That was incredible.” She cards her fingers through his hair—he’s breathing heavy too, looks as dopey and pleased as she feels, which makes her smile. “I’ve kind of had a crush on you for the last few months. Thought you didn’t notice me much,” she says softly, and he laughs, incredulous.

“Didn’t notice you? All I do is look at you,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers over her cheek. She grins.

“Yeah, no, I got that. I figured that out; sorry it took me so long.” He leans in for a kiss, softer and slower, and she gets a little horny again, isn’t sure how that’s possible. “Why’d you stay away so much, if you liked me?” She’d done what she could to get his attention, smiling at him, brushing up against him when she could make it look innocent enough, but he’s always been the picture of propriety, maybe even a little distant.

“Morgan,” he says, making a face like he realizes how silly that was. “He’s been trying to ask you out and I figured you’d say yes eventually; he’s confident in ways I’m not. He’s a lot of things I’m not.”

“Yeah, that’s true, and I like you both for the ways you’re different, but his pursuing me has always been a game. A joke. He’s like a brother to me and he knows it. All in fun,” she says, and then he looks like he feels really silly. She leans up for a kiss. “All's well that ends well though, right?”

“Has this ended well?” he asks, a question in his eyes, and she runs her hands over his arms, his sides.

“If it’s up to me, I’d say this doesn’t have to end at all.” He puts a hand in her hair, kisses her deeply, passionately, and brings a few fingers to rub against her clit. She inhales sharply, licks her lips, and sinks back against the bed. “Oh my god, Hotch.”

“That’s right, baby. I’m your man,” he breathes into her ear, and she groans. Yes, he fucking is. The next morning, she goes to the lobby to pour their coffee, grab a paper to share. She passes Morgan—not a morning person—who grumbles a greeting and then does a double take.

“Whatcha got on your neck there, sweetheart?” he asks, and she grins privately, then schools her expression and turns to face him.

“What? Oh, that,” she says, poking at the purple hickey from the night before. “I’ll cover it with makeup later; needed my coffee first.” He blinks a couple times like he's missing something, frowns.

“Did you go out last night after we got here?”

“Nope, jumped in the shower and went straight to bed,” she replies, which is actually the truth. It just wasn’t her bed. She didn’t say anything about sleeping.

“Then who…?” It’s then that Hotch brushes by them, reaches out a hand for his cup.

“One sugar, one cream,” she says as she passes it over, and they both smile. Morgan knocks his cup over and spills coffee all over the floor.

Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x reader #hotch x female reader #ask #request #crush #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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fanfic-scribbles · 3 years

Text

Crash Pad

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.

Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood

Words: 7801

A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3

You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–

What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”

You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?

“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.

He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.

You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.

You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”

“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”

He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.

“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”

“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”

You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”

Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?” you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.

“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”

“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”

“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.

Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”

“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.

He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”

“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”

“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”

He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”

“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.

“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”

He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.

“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”

For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.

He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.

You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.

“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”

“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.

It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.

You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.

“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”

He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”

That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”

Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.

You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”

“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.

“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”

You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.

Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”

He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”

You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.

“I have a-!”

And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.

For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.

On your fire escape.

He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”

You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”

Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”

God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”

That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”

You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.

You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”

For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”

“Something you dropped?” you ask him.

“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.

“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.

“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”

“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.

You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”

“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”

He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”

“Sorry,” you finish for him.

“Am I that predictable already?”

You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”

You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”

“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.

You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”

He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”

“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who��d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.

“What did you say to him?”

“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”

“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”

You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”

Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.

“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”

Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”

“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.

You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”

“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”

“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”

You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.

“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.

“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”

No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”

Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”

You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.

He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.

You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–

“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”

That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.

You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”

“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”

“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.

Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”

His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.

He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”

The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.

You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.

And Bucky sulking at your counter.

“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.

You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”

“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”

The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”

“He knows I cover him in fights.”

You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”

Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.

You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.

He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.

Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.

The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.

“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.

“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”

The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”

This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)

It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.

The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”

“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”

It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”

“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”

He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.

“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.

“Stop it.”

The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”

You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”

“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”

That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”

“Don’t start with–”

“I’m just saying–”

“And I’m telling you not to say–”

“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.

“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”

You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”

“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.

Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”

You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”

Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”

You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.

Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.

The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.

“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”

“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”

“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”

He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”

You nod. “Want some tea?”

“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”

You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”

Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–

“Was that a coffee ring?”

You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”

“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”

You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”

You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”

“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”

“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”

“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”

You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”

Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.

You’re in trouble.

Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.

You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.

Isn’t that just your luck.

In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.

“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”

Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”

Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.

“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.

“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”

“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”

“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.

Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”

“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”

“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.

They come back. And they both use the door.

You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.

“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.

“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.

“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?

“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”

You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”

“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.”

Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.

“It isn’t like that,” he says.

You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.

“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.

You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”

“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”

“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”

“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’

“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.

Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.

“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”

They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.

“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”

“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.

You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says.

You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.

You think you can’t wait to get used to it.

#steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #captain america fanfic #reader insert #stucky x reader #mcu reader insert

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whumpzone · 3 years

Text

Linden & Colton - 18

(masterpost)

and so the slow process begins

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, discussions of intelligence

Pet- Colton, Colton didn’t realise he’d been asleep until he woke up. He had dreamt of nothing. How he had slept after the stress of yesterday was beyond him.

He suddenly saw Master in his room, a place he’d never been before, stood in the corner waiting for him to wake up and face his punishment. He cried out, pulling himself up and raising his hands protectively.

But-

He blinked. It was a shadow. The gap between the old wardrobe and the wall. Tall, thin, quiet. Just like Master. But Col was alone and he let out a long breath.

Master had probably heard him yell, though. He’d be here soon. So Col wasted no time and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He turned back to tuck his little teddy bear Chu under the covers, where Colton felt it was safe, and headed out into the corridor. Here, he was fair game. He didn’t know why Master never entered his room, but he had stuck to it vigilantly so far. It only made Col feel more aware of his own vulnerability as soon as he stepped through the door.

Master was downstairs, doing a puzzle in the local newspaper, and he looked up as Colton approached. His face brightened into a smile, the biggest he’d ever seen. Master never smiled like that. Col had to fight against the urge to freeze or drop to his knees.

“Good morning, Col,” he said, showing all of his teeth.

Oh, god. Master wanted him to reply. He wanted words, now. He finally knew that Col had been hiding them all this time, and he wanted to delve in, find out how he could twist them and use them to stroke his own ego and entrench his slave’s subordination.

Or perhaps he just wanted to hear his Pet wish him a good morning for the first time. Stop fucking overthinking.

“Good morning,” he ducked his head in reverence, “Master.”

“Wow. I still can’t believe you can speak. I’m so- I’m so proud of you, Col.”

What? Why? “…Please forgive me for not speaking sooner.”

“It’s my fault,” he sighed, which made Col tense up even more. “I just- wow. Where to start? Well, come, sit, have breakfast with me. Cereal?”

He gestured at the box already on the table. Colton obediently sat and took it in his hand with almost no trouble. Master noticed, and nodded happily. He was certainly pleased. It still made Col very uneasy, but he did seem to be doing something right.

He had never heard Master speak in such an excited tone, before. But he was silent while Pet- Col- ugh- made himself his breakfast. He could feel Master’s eyes on him. He was allowed to take the first bite, and then the interrogation began. It was obvious Master had a lot of questions.

“So- okay, first, what made you speak, yesterday? I never asked.”

Colton chewed and swallowed. It helped his throat feel a little smoother, although it was still very rough from disuse. His voice was small and unsure. “You… I saw- I saw Jaffa. At the bottom of the stairs. But I didn’t mean to- I’m n-not accusing you of anything, I know you wouldn’t hurt her I just, I wasn’t sure if you had… seen her, Master.”

He flicked his eyes up to Master, to gage his response. He had just accused Master of being a bad pet owner. Of being neglectful of Jaffa. Master seemed to parse this information, and then smiled.

“She does blend in, doesn’t she? Too bloody well sometimes. I’m so glad you stopped me. And that was so, so kind of you Col. Well done.”

He just nodded, and turned his face away. He supposed…. Master saw it as him looking out for Jaffa, rather than undermining his intelligence. That was a lucky escape for him. He knew that with his old master, any sign of insubordination would have been swiftly beaten out of him.

“Colton,” Col looked up. Master looked scary. Why was he smiling that like? What was he thinking? Col didn’t feel any closer to understanding him. “I know this is new, and I know you’ve not spoken in months. I won’t make you do loads of it, okay? We can take it slowly.”

“Thank you, Master,” he hazarded, although he didn’t see why Master hadn’t just forced him to speak from day one, if he wanted it this badly.

“God, but it makes me realise, I know so little about you. And now- I can ask. And if you want, you can reply. I’m really happy.”

“There’s nothing to know, Master. I’m just a Pet,” he mumbled. The spoon faltered in his hand. Cutlery was still a challenge.

“I know you’ve got a busy brain in there,” Master pointed a slender finger at his slave’s head, to emphasise his point. “I know you’re bursting with thoughts and ideas.”

This made Col look up, properly. An accusation like that came with dire consequences. “No, n-n-no, I’m not, I promise, I exist to serve o-only, I’m just a dumb Pet. Yours to use as you please.” Spoken exactly as his old master had taught him. Well- he would have been belted for stammering. He was out of practice.

Should he kneel? Well, yes, he should, but was it right, when he knew Master liked him on the furniture? But, god, he had to prove his point, he couldn’t let Master think he was starting to rebel, or forget his place.

Bitterly, he thought about how he knew this would happen. This was why Pets didn’t speak.

“Whoa, okay, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just meant- you’re not stupid, are you? I can tell. And that’s a good thing.”

Col just stared at his hands. He wanted to pause time, step out of his body, and float away. Somewhere without any questions, or expectations, or constant riddles. He was stupid. He knew that much.

Master’s voice brought him back to reality. Glancing at him, Col saw his smile had grown even bigger. His skin prickled.

“I think you’re Welsh.”

“M-Master?”

“You definitely are. You’ve got an accent. You’re Welsh, Col. Wow, now I’m kind of sad. Like, how on earth did you end up here?”

What was he implying? “I’ve… always been a Pet,” Col tried, but it was clear he didn’t believe himself, and from the way Master’s eyebrow slowly raised, he didn’t believe him either.

Colton had always been dimly aware that there was an other him, who had taken up the before-time. He was the one whom his old master had had to train so effectively, he was the one who had all the bad thoughts and urges. Col knew he didn’t start as a Pet. Or else his old master wouldn’t have had to torture him like that for so long.

He was a ghost in Colton’s brain, and Col didn’t know if he was locked away or completely dead. Were parts of him still hiding somewhere, curled up in a place that old master couldn’t ever reach? Or had he been completely laid out and hacked to pieces, until only Col remained. Thinking about it made him want to burst into tears. Some nights, when his mind was loosened by sleep, he felt like he missed him so much.

. . .

Linden didn’t push it. He knew most Pets didn’t retain any memories from before their conditioning. He shouldn’t have asked, really. Just… the realisation that Col had a background, he had lived before becoming the trembling man before him, made Linden ache.

He still wanted to curl up whenever he thought about how long he left it before he realised Col could speak. He hadn’t wanted to push him, there were a myriad of ways he could have been made permanently mute, and he had pretty much fallen into a routine at this point. But the knowledge that all this time, Col was patiently waiting for the chance to talk, probably wondering why Linden wouldn’t let him- oh, christ. He was so embarrassed and ashamed.

He suddenly had so many questions all on the tip of his tongue, that he couldn’t think where to start. He also really didn’t want to bombard the poor boy. But still… just a few, surely, wouldn’t hurt?

“So obviously I’ve named you Colton, but, if you actually do have a name, please tell me. We can use that one instead.”

Colton shook his head. “My name before was- was Pet.”

“Pet?”

“Yes, Master. Or bitch, or, um, mutt. Or toy.”

He hid it well, but Linden could see the shame in Col’s face. At least that meant he realised how fucked up it was.

“Those aren’t fu- those aren’t names,” he growled. “That’s just plain cruel. You don’t deserve that. Do you like being Colton? It’s not too late to choose another name for yourself, love.”

Col waited until he had swallowed down another spoonful of cereal before he spoke. That seemed good, to Linden. He didn’t feel pressured to reply immediately.

“Colton is a nice name, Master. It’s not my place to have likes or dislikes but I, uh, I am happy with it.”

Another quick glance at his face. Linden was getting used to them by now. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jaffa rolling around.

“Likes, dislikes, they’re fine. Don’t worry about that. But if you like the name, then it’s yours until you say otherwise. Oh, and- don’t worry about calling me Master. Honestly.”

Col stopped chewing, his shoulders hunching up suddenly. “I’m sorry, M-, uh, sir, sorry. I didn’t realise I shouldn’t, I’m sorry, I know- know that’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothed. Sir was fine, he decided. From the way Colton had panicked, he didn’t want to push it any further. “You didn’t know.”

“Thank you, I’m- I’m sorry, sir.”

“You’re fine, you’re good. You’re doing great with talking, Col. I’ll put the kettle on.”

He had long learnt to pick his battles. Hearing Colton talk about being a toy to be used made him fucking sick, but he could tell that sentiment was deeply, deeply ingrained. He knew a recital when he heard one. Those weren’t his words. They were a tiny window into whoever had fucked him up like this.

. . .

Master was sir now, when Colton spoke. Col could learn that. But it didn’t change anything, right? Master still wanted him, didn’t he?

as usual, the first half of the taglist:

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread

@vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whump @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate

#linden and colton #pet whump #deconditioning

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iatethepomegranate · 3 years

Text

For now, they had this

So Shadowgast has finally made me write fanfic again. I started this a few hours after the finale, and then woke up to find Twitter confirmation for my reading of their epilogue. So here’s 2k of soft wizards confirming for each other what they already knew, in their quiet way. I’m playing with the timeline ordering of things, so my interpretation is not necessarily the Canon interpretation of how things went between them.

Demisexual Essek is addressed here, without saying it explicitly. I tried. Massive spoilers for the finale, obviously.

____

For now, they had this

As much as Caleb trusted Essek to handle himself, he had to admit he was nervous about leaving him behind in Aeor. But the longer they spent together, the greater the weight of things unsaid, and Caleb had to take care of something first.

He had to go home. Blumenthal.

So he did. Found his parents’ resting place. Buried his letters to them. Grieved.

He didn’t go back to Aeor right away, the weight of the Sending stone Essek had foisted on him heavy in his pocket. Essek didn’t need it; he could Send without expending too much of his reserves. Essek hadn’t said anything, but Caleb was keenly aware this stone was solely for his benefit.

Caleb lingered close to Blumenthal for a time, feeling the finality wash over him. He could sometimes feel the phantom weight of the letters as if they still hung from his book holster. It would take time for him to get used to not carrying them around anymore. Just like he had carried the weight of what he had done for so long. And likely always would. But he was more at peace with that now. He had a mission to prevent this from ever happening again. There were things he had done about it, and things he would continue to do for as long as he lived. Fixing his home would be a lifelong mission, but he was finally ready to handle it.

Essek left him alone for a few days, until he must have grown anxious. Well, more anxious than usual. Essek, Caleb had learned, was an anxious person.

“Caleb,” Essek’s voice appeared in Caleb’s head. Soft, but concerned. “I apologise for the intrusion. Are you all right?” The barest pause. “I am safe up here, but… I am concerned. But no rush. Please.”

“I’m all right,” Caleb replied before the spell could decay, losing the thread of the dome ritual he had begun to cast moments ago. “I will return tomorrow. Stay safe. And thank you.”

Jester would be appalled that he didn’t use all his words, but Caleb was… wrung out. Catharsis was, by its nature, exhausting. His response must have satisfied Essek, who did not Send again.

Caleb began to cast the dome once more, blending the exterior with the greens and browns of the woods, but transparent inside so he could fall asleep under the stars of his childhood one last time.

***

Caleb risked the teleport directly into Aeor the following morning, grasping the paper from the records room firmly in his hand. He mercifully landed exactly where he had intended, breathing the dusty air. His ribs expanded more freely than they had in years.

Essek floated cross-legged just above the floor in the corner, looking up from the pages of a ledger in his hands. He watched silently for a second, as he usually did while waiting for a wild magic surge in this place. When none materialised, he gave Caleb a soft smile.

“Welcome back. Come. I am sure you will find this interesting.”

Essek rarely pushed Caleb to talk when he wasn’t ready; he was grateful, especially now. They sat together on the floor for a time, smudges of salt and soot on their fingers as they dug deeper into the records of Aeor. Stacks of books, long-hidden information, and Essek’s steady, quiet company. Caleb had needed this.

It was only when Caleb threw off his coat to more comfortably crawl among the books, collecting fragments of a damaged volume that had fallen apart at the spine, that Essek said anything unrelated to the work.

“Uh, Caleb?”

“Ja?”

“Your other book…”

Caleb followed Essek’s gaze to the empty side of his holster. “Ah.” He sat back, depositing the rescued fragments on the floor in front of him. “It was… time to let go.”

Essek watched him quietly, but did not press. But, mere weeks earlier, he had listened to Caleb lay out all his plans to save his parents. He had even offered to help him. And had been visibly relieved when Caleb instead destroyed the time travel device and all the notes that could have been used to replicate it. He knew enough to understand.

So Caleb explained. The letters he had written. His plans to give them to his mother and father after he had saved them. But he had to let go.

“So, I…” Caleb had to take a moment, the tears threatening to overtake him.

Essek silently looped an arm over his shoulders and pulled him in, tucking Caleb into the hollow of his throat. Caleb breathed him in, and remained there.

“I teleported the book into the earth between their graves,” he murmured. “It's the closest I can… it’s with them now. Best I can manage.” Talking hurt too much, so he stopped.

“Caleb,” Essek said softly. “I’m proud of you.”

Caleb let himself cry.

***

Essek was always gentle with him, but even more so in the following days. Passing of materials gave rise to held hands, lingering touches, lingering stares. Slowly, Caleb began to feel better. As much as he believed he could, at least for now. It was better than he had felt in a long time. With time, perhaps, the wounds would ache less. Never perfect, but better.

Having disturbed an absorber of an evening, the resulting scuffle left Caleb too tired to summon the tower. He instead set to conjuring the dome while Essek kept watch. They were a little far to retreat to the records room, but they had managed to barricade an entranceway with damaged furniture despite their pitiful strength. Essek, of course, had demonstrated he was more than capable of surprising everyone, including himself, in moments of great duress. Fortunately, Caleb had not gotten himself trapped under a tower this time.

So, Essek hovered close to Caleb during the ritual, keeping an eye on the door they had barricaded. He was tense, but Caleb had to get this dome up before he could address it. There was also a gash on his forearm that would need dressing… but later. Focus.

The dome popped into existence. Caleb put his spellbook away, feeling his shoulder protest. He would need Essek’s help checking the damage.

Essek ducked into the dome, sighing. “Let us not repeat the events of today.”

Caleb produced a set of clean bandages, a cloth and a waterskin. “Agreed.” He grabbed Essek’s arm and dabbed the dampened cloth against the cut. Essek hissed in pain, but didn’t flinch. He hadn’t in a while. Caleb wasn’t sure if that was a sign Essek was getting hurt far too much, or a sign of trust. Both, perhaps. Caleb bandaged the wound, and held Essek’s arm for a moment longer. He was okay. The fight had been tiring, but they had both come out of it. A cut on the arm was nothing in the scheme of things.

Essek extricated his arm from Caleb’s grip, and pushed Caleb’s coat off his shoulders. “Let me see.”

Caleb hadn’t spoken of the pain, but he also hadn’t tried to hide it. Essek carefully loosened the book holsters--a research journal, for the moment, filled the spot once occupied by the letters--and set them aside. He then ran his fingers gently across the front laces of Caleb’s shirt, until Caleb nodded his consent.

Essek gently tugged the shirt loose until he could pull one side off the sore shoulder. He frowned; Caleb couldn’t see the cause. Essek prestidigitated the washcloth clean and wet it, carefully draping it across Caleb’s shoulder. Caleb closed his eyes as the cool sensation took the edge off the pain. He heard a soft mumble, and sensed movement akin to the somatic components of a basic evocation cantrip. The cloth grew colder.

Essek placed his hand over the cloth, squeezing gently. “I think you pulled something. I will continue to ice it tonight.”

“Thank you,” Caleb whispered.

“Rest.” Lips on his forehead. “I will keep watch.”

Caleb opened his eyes. Essek was kneeling at his side, not floating. Too tired, perhaps. But his eyes were sharp, trained on the barricaded doorway.

“Essek.”

“Yes?” Eyes still focused outward.

“Relax a moment. This has been a hard day for both of us.”

Essek let out a long breath, turning his gaze towards Caleb. “I apologise. I… have a hard time seeing you hurt.”

Caleb’s keen mind kindly conjured for him all the times Essek had seen him hurt much worse than this, but he held his tongue. Frequency did not make these things easier. Least of all for Essek, who had been alive for over a century but had only been genuinely close to a small number of people. Caring was hard. Worth it, but hard.

“I know,” Caleb said. “The very nature of caring for someone… witnessing their suffering… it hurts.”

Essek frowned at the floor, but then lifted his gaze to Caleb. “I worried while you were away.”

“I know. And thank you.” Caleb pulled Essek in with his good arm, laying his head on his shoulder. He felt, not for the first time, the urge to talk about this thing between them. But, as he had felt many times before, now was not the time.

Caleb and Essek were not the kind of people to blurt out complicated feelings in a moment of distress or exhaustion. So he closed his eyes and rested against Essek instead. They were what they were to each other, and Caleb was confident this would not disappear overnight. Putting that into words could wait a little longer.

***

The next day was quiet, spent examining record books rescued from the rampage of yesterday’s absorber. Caleb and Essek needed a quieter day, and the slower pace was welcome. They rarely spoke while in the throes of research, always keenly aware of each other, passing paper and writing implements back and forth, smudging soot and salt against each other’s skin as their touches lingered.

It was everything Caleb had ever wanted.

Taking a moment to stretch his back and roll his aching shoulder, his eyes were drawn to Essek’s form in the corner. So engrossed in his reading and note-taking, he had stopped floating about an hour ago. Hunched on the hard, warped floor of this broken city, eyes intense as he scribbled feverishly. He was running low on ink again.

Caleb chuckled softly and crawled closer, gently nudging another inkwell into Essek’s reach. Essek paused in his scribbles, a small smile softening his features. He reached out, eyes retracing the notes he had just written, but instead of taking the ink, he caught Caleb’s fingers and laced them with his own.

Caleb had figured out he was in love with Essek long ago, but in this moment, those feelings swelled until he thought he would burst into tears. He squeezed Essek’s hand. Essek squeezed back.

And the words finally found their way from Caleb’s heart, and out of his mouth. “I love you.”

Essek tore his eyes from the papers, softening as he met Caleb’s gaze. “I love you, too, Caleb.”

Of course, the curse of a mind as keen as Caleb’s was the ability to have too many thoughts at once. He loved Essek. Essek loved him (Caleb had already known that, but it was beautiful to hear out loud). Caleb was human. Essek was an elf. Caleb probably had sixty years left to live, if he was lucky. Essek would likely live another six hundred or more, if he was careful. Essek was on the run from the Dynasty. Caleb had to return home, at least periodically, to root out corruption and make it the place he had once believed it to be. So many factors. So many barriers.

He wanted what time he could have with Essek, but it would be cruel to entangle him when Caleb’s lifespan was barely a speck of dust in the winds of time, when there were so many things they would have to do apart even before Caleb would succumb to his mortality. Caleb had hurt the people he loved too much already.

Essek’s free hand slid up Caleb’s neck and into his hair, cradling the base of his skull. “Your eyes are sad again, my love.”

“This will hurt you,” Caleb said, “in the end.”

“I know.” And it was Essek who pressed their foreheads together this time. “I will cherish the time we have together, and whatever comes after that. It is… rare for me to feel this way about anyone. I will not give you up so easily, even if I know it will end. I am who I am today because of you, and I will carry you with me long after you are gone.”

Caleb had tried to keep people at arm’s-length before, just as Essek had. But he felt emotions deeply, especially love, and it went against his nature to deny the love he felt. And Essek was the love of his life. It would hurt in the end, but they still had time. Decades, if they were lucky.

Essek and Caleb knew a thing or two about pulling luck in their favour.

The moment stretched beyond words. Caleb reached up to kiss Essek’s forehead. They were both reserved people, not given to grand gestures. It was not necessary. Their love bled into everything they did together, in dressing each other’s wounds, in defending each other in battle, and in their quiet moments--the shared silences, the passing of research materials, the touch of soot-stained fingers.

They were what they were to each other, in the time they had together. The joy would one day turn to sorrow, but, for now, they had this.

#cr spoilers #shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role #fanfiction #my fics #i wrote most of this at like midnight so it may be somewhat incoherent but I had a lot of feelings and no idea what to do with them #started making it had a breakdown bon appetit

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