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alastors-antlers · 3 months

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Why Alastor is good aroace rep after all, written by an aroace

Hello all! I just want to start off this post by saying that I'm one person who definitely doesn't speak for all aroaces, but I wanted to make a post on this anyway, and maybe some folk would be interested in hearing out another perspective?

I'm not really caught up on everything that's been said over the course of HH's creation - only more recent interviews, since I'm pretty new to the fandom. Apologies if I've missed anything, but also I do not have the time to keep up with all the out-of-canon-material backstory unfortunately. I'm working with what we've got here.

So here's the thing:

Alastor is cruel, he's narcissistic, he doesn't care about anyone except himself, he's a serial killer and a monster.

(That's the argument I've heard - please tell me if that's not really what people are going for lol, in which case I've totally misunderstood?)

The issue with aroace rep when it paints asexual people with those traits is that it aims to dehumanizes them. Sex and love are essential to the human experience, right? So why wouldn't someone be interested? Because they're self-absorbed, and cold, and detached. They don't have the capacity to love others enough to feel romance.

And sure, Alastor is a killer, and a schemer, and prideful, and a monster by hell's standards. But no matter how above it all and stylish and in control and provocative he wants to be, he's a very human character, and his aroace-ness never serves to add to his alienation. You could even say that it makes him seem even more personable.

That's what I think is the key difference.

why he's human

Alastor's whole persona is about control, and he basically straight-up says this. He's controlling what his enemies know, what his public image is like. His goal is to be the Radio Demon -- overlord of Hell, charismatic, Machiavellian, and undefeatable. He's not. Despite that smile plastered over his face (a powerful tool, huh) he's so expressive for someone who's constantly pretending.

You see his exasperation with the Egg Bois and with Charlie's ranting; his nervousness in front of Zestial; his frustration with Lucifer and the petty lengths he goes to to piss off the ruler of Hell.

You see his desperation, making that deal with Charlie. He's surprised by the idea of being vulnerable in front of an enemy like Adam, and so close to danger. He drops the radio filter and the affect out of fear, and runs on broadcast TV to let out panic and anger and bitterness in his hideout, where no one else can see him.

He has a smile that tells us he's genuinely happy to see someone; it's a little wider than his default. You see it with Mimzy's greeting, you see it with Rosie. Rosie, especially, serves to make Alastor more human to the audience. More on this later, but for now, I'm just saying that you can see that he at least seems to respect her greatly. Whatever bond they have, we know that he trusts her to touch him, to share history with him, and with support that he trusts no one else for.

He pretends, but he can't pretend it all away. Loads of these emotions aren't even advantageous for him to show. It isn't necessarily how the typical asexual psychopath acts; he's not emotionless or only capable of anger or brutality.

He's so full of emotion that it leaks through, despite all that he does to avoid it. He's not inhuman and aloof, not really - he's so, so human, even when he tries not to be because he thinks that'll be what keeps him above all the rest. In control, and free from his chains.

(If anyone wants to see images about all this, I'll make a separate post - just let me know.)

(I also have another post, talking about why Alastor is at least a little attached to the hotel's residents too, shown via conversation with Niffty. In what way? different question.)

how the aroace part contributes to that

Now, to be fair, we don't hear much about his aroaceness in canon. It's just not relevant a lot of the time.

In the pilot, Angel's proposition ruffles his feathers so much that Alastor blanks for a moment. It's a joke, sure, but that ace panic face is a pretty popular Alastor moment in the fandom - Alastor, thrown off-balance by a sex joke of all things, after so many years in Hell that he should probably be used to this.

It's a moment that makes him more approachable; his aroaceness shows him unprepared for something someone else does for one of the only real moments in the whole episode.

And the other part: the ace in the hole statement.

Rosie apparently knows Alastor so well that she read that he's aroace. That tells us about their relationship; namely, that it is long-standing and genuine enough that she gleaned a piece of real information from him. It's a casual fact that she knows about him before he even figured it out himself. It lends legitimacy to their bond - this bond that shows us a more comfortable and warm side of Alastor that we don't often see.

If their relationship is purely business, isn't this something pretty frivolous and personal? It's not like he has anything to gain by telling her about his life, but she learned about it somehow. How close are they? That's where it adds a layer of complexity and personality to his character..

thoughts on representation

Overall, Alastor's an interesting character who has a level of depth and care and personality (outside of cruelty) that asexual psychopath tropes lack. Again, the moments where he's being represented as disinterested in sex or romance don't make him seem detached. Again, they don't say "look how hostile toward relationships his behaviour is - how separate he is from our humanity". That's what bad villain ace rep is. That's not what the show's doing.

Also: I'm not saying that we need to lower our standards or anything, but even if you think it's not the best rep, I feel like we should be supporting HH's efforts here. I know that on Tumblr we have a pretty queer-friendly space going, which is honestly an understatement lol but

Aces are incredibly underrepresented in fiction. There's a whole Wikipedia page about asexual characters in media, and it's short as all hell, and even if you consider what's on there you see quite a number of one-off characters who are never mentioned again.

In terms of real life business - before the DSM updated their definition of hypoactive sexual desire disorder (HSDD) in 2013, identifying as asexual wasn't even a recognized thing. If you talked to a clinician about your lack of sexual desire, you could be diagnosed with a disorder. Only in the 5th edition do we now have a little exclusion footnote about it.

The concept of asexuality hasn't been explored nearly as much as other queer identities in our scientific research. We get crumbs in terms of mainstream representation and understanding. House M.D. has an episode where House "disproves" us because he's just so smart.

Alastor isn't going to be perfect representation. There's no such thing as perfect representation, and from the moment he was conceptualized, you could see how people would take him poorly. Still, I think he's a net positive.

He isn't a side character or a token ace - he's a core part of the show, whose personality and character motivations we can reasonably presume are going to be explored much more deeply in upcoming season(s). He's loved by the fandom. Right now, given what we know, I trust Vivziepop to write the aroace representation he deserves, because with the way I've heard the cast/directing/etc. talk about him, they're trying to do the aroace community justice, so I wish people would let up just a little on the whole "Alastor is bad rep".

Let's give him a chance, all right?

#hazbin hotel #aroace alastor #alastor analysis #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel spoilers #asexual #asexuality #hazbin alastor meta #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin #alastor #hazbin meta #hazbin analysis

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goldsbitch · 3 months

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Could we dance in the past?

part 2 to I gave so many signs

summary: First unrequited love is not the one to ever leave your mind. Y/N looks back at her missed connection with Charles Leclerc from the time they were just teenagers and regrets having him slip away.

song fic (disclaimer: rights belong to the respectable owners)

right where you left me - Taylor Swift Before love came to kill us - Jessie Reyes

warning: Present time, the past....alcohol and typos

Charles did all he could to appear normal and not give away that he was shaking on the inside. He was used to masking his true feelings, can't let other drivers know you're nervous, ever. Years of training and overused trick with digging his nails to his palm paid back. His latest girlfriend didn't seem to notice.

Life's good and I'm gettin' paid, mm But I think about you everyday, oh no (still) When I miss you I medicate (pour up drink, drink)

They went home earlier than planned, but Charles could not spend another minute locked up in the same space as Y/N without acting out or worse - getting up to talk to her. It was surprising that his lame excuse worked and hadn't caused any alarms with his girlfriend. He tried his best to look chill, laughed at the jokes he would have, listened attentively, contributed to the conversation, kissed his so called love on the cheek and took her home, where he made her feel good, as he normally would. Only once she fell asleep, only when he was really sure of that, he allowed his mind to roam free. He had to get up and leave the bed their currently shared. If he had been a smoker, this would be the moment to drag out half of pack. In the end, he opted for a glass of his favorite drink, or at least something that would resemble that. As he sipped his faux Moscow mule, he cursed the day Y/N showed him this drink.

For a moment at least I know You were mine and it was beautiful

"Ok, ok, listen, listen Charles," Y/N insisted, waiving her drunker finger around with a drunken sassy demeanor. "Yes, mon chéri," he replied, so alcohol flowing through his system one could be surprised he was still lucid. "I absolutely hate this...this thing," she pointed to the contents of her glass. "Oh, come on! You can't leave me alone in this celebration!" he moaned like a little baby. It was right after one of his biggest achievements in racing yet, but he was just too young to celebrate publicly, so there they were, two teenagers discovering the limits of alcohol in Y/N's empty apartment. Charles was over the moon when he found out that her parents were out of town, already being high on the post race hormones. Sometimes the starts just align. "I'm not going to leave you alone, you're stuck with me. But! We have to stop pretending like this tastes good," she nearly threw her fancy glass containing her dad's whiskey. "I mean, it is absolutely horrible," Charles admitted and made Y/N laugh. One of his favorite things. He got closer to her, one narrow kitchen counter parting them. "So what will we do?" "Let's get creative," she exclaimed and started to google around and sent Charles over to the fridge for a variety of ingredients that did not go together in any situation. "We need to find our signature drink. I want to walk over somewhere one day and be like...one martini, dry," she played a parody of her older self. "Yeah, you're right. Because the whiskey is definitely not it," he agreed and spit the rest of his out. "That's like few hundred euros you spit there, buddy," she whispered. Charles's eyes went wide and immediately started to apologize and offering to pay back. He was not amused when she laughed at him and brought it up when he went to the toilet, saying that he did not have to pay for the toilet paper. When he came back from the bathroom, he managed to bump right into Y/N, who though that the best thing to do was to jump at him from a corner. This resulted in her spilling her Moscow mule on both of them. Charles found it funny at first and took it as a great opportunity to take his shirt off, with a little hope that it might actually impress her a bit. He had worked out a lot lately. This had totally backfired the minute he noticed that Y/N was also soaking wet. He had already noticed earlier that she was not wearing a bra and tried not to imagine what she would have looked like without her loose t-shirt. His imagination could have gone on vacation now, her nipples were poking through and the t-shirt hugged the shape of her breasts tightly. Once again, as he had been times before with this girl, he was speechless and frozen. The internal battle being that he wanted to be as respectful as one could be, but his dreams were also becoming real right before his teenage eyes. She seemed to be drunk enough not to take care. He peaked several times and cursed himself when he heard the diplomatic words coming out of his mouth, informing Y/N of her situation. She thanked him dearly and covered herself by wearing his hoodie. This image made Charles's situation ten times worse, especially when he saw the little blush on her cheek. For a moment he imagined that she was his and only his. Took him two years before he washed that hoodie again.

But I wanna hold ya Like it's June in the west end Back when you were my best friend Before love came to kill us

It was always hard, seeing Y/N. He thought with time and age it would get easier, but all those talks about talk about time healing wounds did not align with his experience. He somehow got over it, had several girlfriends after her and discovered he really was the relationship type. But she just shined in colors brighter than anyone else. They understood each other. Charles was aware of that when he was young, but underestimated the rarity of that kind of a connection. Years had passed - and it didn't seem to matter.

Trends change, rumors fly through new skies But I'm right where you left me

He loved his girlfriend. He must have. The note was there simply in case she woke up when he was on his fake midnight jog. Occasional midnight run was something he did from time to time, so it was not suspicious. To sell it properly, just in case, he put on his running shoes and a hoodie. Strangely similar one to the one he gave Y/N that one Moscow mule night.

She must have stopped going to their usual café spot. It had been weeks since they talked, Charles took the events that happened at her prom to heart and decided that it was time for him to get over his best friend. He was sure you'd be friends again, sooner rather than later, but he needed some time to process. Or at least he thought, this was all very new to him, nobody to talk to about it and nowhere to get some decent advice. But that was what all the songs he blasted for hours on end seemed to agree on, so he tried that. No contact. He caught himself taking the roads that lead pass the spots he knew you might be, whenever he was back home. His body playing tricks on him. He always peaked into the café window - what if... After sometime, the realization that Y/N had stopped coming there hit him hard. Suddenly, the possibility of you two never talking again started to look a little too realistic. No word from her, which was odd. She would always be the one to bombard Charles no matter how bad it got.

Help, I'm still at the restaurant Still sitting in a corner I haunt Cross-legged in the dim light They say, "What a sad sight"

And with days adding up to their friendship hiatus, he started to literally occupy that café, way more that when the pair hung out there together. There were only two waiters there changing their shifts back and forth. What Charles didn't know was that they put a bet on how long it would take for the girl that used to accompany the young man, whom they'd known by his name at that point, to come back with him one day. Young love, they used to reminisce of their own first heartbreak whenever he left the door.

They expected me to find somewhere Some perspective, but I sat and stared Right where you left me

He imagined this is what it felt like to have an heart attack. She finally sent him a message. And with that one text, he threw away all the work he tried to accomplish by keeping his distance and ended up right back where he started. Madly in love.

It's gettin' late And I should go

He knew he shouldn't have. Was old enough to know better this time. Understood that it was all super toxic for him and that he was in a much better place now. Oh, and then there was the fact that he had a girl back in his apartment. And it wasn't Y/N. But still, he casually jogged right back to the bar they'd left not even two hours ago. Surely, she'd be gone by now. He'd just check it out, have one last Moscow mule of the night and call it a day. That would have worked just fine. Hadn't it been for Y/N, standing alone in front of the bar entrance. Charles saw her getting shocked the moment she noticed him and dropping her cigarette. He slowed down and stared back at her. As if to make clear that him being here was not an accident this time. And also to finally look at her gorgeous, now adult, face without having to hide it.

So under the mask of the moon Could we dance in the past? Before love Before love came to kill us

part 3

#song fic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc x female reader #ferrari f1 #f1 fic #f1 imagine #charles leclerc imagine #chalres leclerc fluff #f1 fluff #charles leclerc x y/n #taylor swift #jessie reyes #right where you left me #before love came to kill us

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shhh-secret-time · 2 months

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hiii! i rlly enjoy your writing and ur one of my fav sp writers so i was wondering if u could possibly write poly style (stan and kyle) fluff with a shy reader! tyyyy <333

Ohhhh ohhhh I'm so soft for this, I'm weak. I love fluff pieces so much and for some reason they're the hardest for me to write! I'm sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy it! It's Mermaid flavored.

Warning: Strong Language, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, these boys being adorable dorks

Pairing: Stan x GN!Reader x Kyle

The feeling of the waves brushing against your ankles as they continue their dance with the moon is the only thing anchoring you to this moment. Wet sand beneath your feet seem to sink slightly, molding to show the world where you stood. Only for the ocean waves to take it away.

Each time you came out to this secluded little cove you would challenge yourself to find something new. Yesterday you found a little crab buried under the soft blanket of sand. Today it was a new rock sticking out of the water. Just on the outskirts of your vision, you had never seen it before. Your eyes take in the outline and the shadows it cast on the dark water. The only light from the large full moon behind it.

Night probably wasn't the best time to come to the water, much less alone, but you liked it that way. It was exhausting having to be around so many people all the time, most of the time you didn't even know what to say or talk about. It's not that you didn't want to contribute to conversations and be invited out to things with your friends, but it was hard. You needed moments like this.

Moments with the moon, the stars, and the ocean to keep you company. Some nights it felt like something straight out of a story book. Watching intently as the ocean beckons you to come closer, how She sings for you.

Her song is beautiful. A language you can't understand but a rhythm you can feel. So, you sing back to Her on nights like this. With the sky clear so the moon can hear your voice. You only hope the moon knows how beautiful She is.

So, you part your lips and suck in a cool breath. For a moment it catches in your throat, years of teaching yourself to keep your mouth shut takes over. But only for a moment. After a single heartbeat the lyrics pour from your mouth, a second breath and you're sharing a tune with the ocean.

Sometimes while you'd sink things would brush against your legs. Shells and seaweed cling to your skin, and sometimes you like to pretend they were gifts from the ocean.

But they weren't. At least not from the ocean Herself.

They were gifts from your two admirers. The night sky and the large body of water were not the only thing you had sung for.

Two men swam in the water, circling each other in a gentle tempo. Hips swaying gently with one another. Scaled tails twined together so gently like silk across skin.

One colored with dark orange and white scales, with vibrant finned out reds. A deep red that matches the curls in his hair and the small blush on his face as his partner leads him in the dance.

His partner with eyes like the waters they tread. His tail is the same deep blue color with a thin line of silver going down it. Sharper fins compared to the red heads veiled ones. His black hair pushes and pulls against the tide.

The tide that carries your voice and tells a story they can't quite understand. Both men feel it in their chest, the urge to understand. And that urge only gets stronger every time you come out to sing.

At first it was just an accident, they swam too far out. There they saw you sitting on a board staring out towards the ocean. Your legs on either side of the brightly colored plank, swinging them back and forth. You opened your mouth and for the first time they heard you sing.

That strange language, the way it rolled off your tongue had them both in some kind of trance. Deep in their hearts they knew coming back was too great of a risk, land walkers weren't supposed to know about their kind. But the way you sang so gently, so earnestly, it was hard to picture you as any kind of threat. So, like storm chasers they returned. Every night the lovers would come back to the cove that was too far from their homes.

Now here they were dancing under the moon, just like every other night. Tonight, was no different, except of course the thoughts bouncing around in raven haired man's mind. He stops only after you pause your song, looking over at the other.

"We should get closer tonight. I don't think the shells are enough of a gift. The land walker isn't picking them up!" His voice drops to a low murmur as he swims closer to the surface.

"I don't know if that's a good idea Stan! What if they freak out?" Stern emerald eyes follow him, watching as Stan's fingers glide across the surface, not quite breaking the tension.

"What if they don't?" Stan asks, "Come on, we'll never know if we don't try Kyle."

"But we can't even communicate with them!" Despite his protests, Kyle swims up next to Stan.

The man always did have a way to pull Kyle into things he wouldn't normally do. But for Stan, he'd follow him to the deepest of trenches. And apparent by the way Stan takes his hand, he knows he would too.

"True, buuuut when was the last time we did something this exciting. I don't think the land walkers are as bad as your mom says they are." Stan wraps his arm around him and pulls him up closer towards his chest.

"Oh stop, you know she just says things like that to keep us safe. I never bought into those scare tactics."

"Uh-huh, that's why your fins are all fanned out." Stan says smirking down at him.

"N-no!" A nervous stutter and Kyle's fins fold back down against his tail. "Let's just do this before I change my mind!" He breaks from Stan's hold with a groan.

You've stopped your song for the night, content in just getting the emotions out. Normally around this time you'd step away from the caress of the water and make your walk back home. But when you caught movement from the corner of your eye, your body froze. The reality of being out in a cove so far away from town with no one knowing your location sits in your stomach like a brick.

"U...um hello?" You call out to the dark, maybe not the smartest idea but your mouth moves before you have time to think about it.

Your blood ran cold when you got no response, watching as the shadowy figure only got closer. Now that it was coming into the moonlight you could make out small shapes. Humanoid figures, two of them, a bit larger than you.

Somewhere along the way your brain finally made the connection that it should be telling your legs to move. Your legs felt like weights were strapped to them with each step you took back.

Just when you think the two figures will give chase, they stop. Curiosity seemed to be winning the little internal battle as you turned back and watch them. Squinting your eyes to get a closer look at what emerged from the water.

Two men, the water covering their lower waists. Little water droplets trail down their exposed chest, tracing every curve as it does. A breath ticks by, then a heartbeat, before the raven-haired man begins to move again. Out of instinct you look away and squeeze your eyes shut.

Silence washes over everything, even the oceans tides have stopped making noise. Until you hear what sounds like someone slapping the water.

Your eyes flicker over before you have time to stop yourself. You have to do a double take when you see how the man's perched up against the sands. Where legs should be is a tail, much longer than your legs. Blue orbs meet yours and for a moment there's a look of excitement when they meet. The depth of his blues is almost deep enough to make you forget about the fact that he's not entirely human. But when his tail slaps the water again, it reminds you of just that.

The red head circles around in the water a few times. His curly hair clings to the front of his face obscuring most of his features. Between the two of them he looks much shyer and more reserved, like he's waiting for you to make a move. Slowly inching closer to the other, he wades in the water with fins flared out.

They're both beautiful. Unlike anything you've ever seen, myths that have swam right out of a story book. Your stomach starts to do flips and your head begins to spin. It's all too much. It has to be a dream. The one with ocean-colored eyes goes to say something. He opens his mouth, but all that comes are sounds and syllables you'd never be able to make if you tried. When you tilt your head in confusion he stops and looks back at the other. The look on his face is clear, you don't need to speak their language to know the look of, "I told you so."

Their eyes fall back on you watching every little movement. The way your breathing slows. You should just grab your shoes and run back home, pretend you never saw this and go on with your life.

But it's hard when you watch the red head grab a shell and dig it into the sand. When he's finished, he looks up at you and gestures for you to look.

From the way the black haired one's face lit up and tail picked up speed you could only assume he was excited. He wraps his arms around the red head and shakes him back and forth, which only earns him a few grunts and a nudge.

Slowly you make your way over to the men. Just close enough to see what they were gesturing down towards. The fear of being dragged down to the depth by these two was still there, but the other part of you still thought this was a weird dream.

For a shell picked up on the beach, the drawing wasn't bad. It looked like a shaky attempt at a human with their mouth open. If you squint and tilt your head just right it looked like you.

When you look down at him, he grins and goes to draw in the sand again. Lines being dug quickly and traced over and over until they stick. When he's finished, he looks up at you again.

This time it looks like two fish swimming around. Chasing one another in some strange trance. The little spots and stripes across their tails made you realize they were supposed to be the two men in front of you.

The smile that spreads across your face makes their hearts leap. You gestured for the shell, a small giggle escaping your lips when the red head did a double take. The first contact with something so bizarre. Your fingertips brush against his skin as you take the shell and he's sure this is what lightning feels like. A jolt of something he feels every time Stan touches him.

You bend down and begin tracing a pattern in the sand next to his drawing. They slowly move up next to you, watching intently at your work. When you’re finished, they tilt their head and grin, turning to one another and speaking in that language that sounds like rain beating against a car window.

This went on all night, trying to figure out a way to communicate that didn't involve speech. While it was annoying at times, having to play a game of charades with creatures from a storybook. But at the same time there was something so freeing about not having to worry about saying the wrong thing. They seemed to be happy with every little thing you did, every little drawing you made in the sand, and every bit of laughter that came from your mouth.

Stan decided that was his favorite sound. The way your eyes lit up and the way your lips curled to that soft smile.

And there you stayed until the sun crept up, peeking over where He and the ocean meet. The radiance and warmth touched your skin reminding you of the passage of time. Something that seemed to slip by so quickly. It wasn't the first time you were disappointed to leave your little spot, but it was the first time you were disappointed to say goodbye.

The two men watched as you picked your shoes up and gave them a gentle little wave. They left you with one last bit of laughter as they waved with their hands and their tails. Before you could turn away, they flung themselves back into the water. Bodies twist and turn in the water as they come in contact with the cool waves.

The walk home felt heavy, but not in a way that was uncomfortable. The weight of something new, whatever it was, felt good.

Since that night your little secluded space has been accompanied by your two friends. Tracing memories into the sand, learning about one another the best you could.

There was only so much one could learn from pictures. That didn't stop you from trying, however. Over time you learned the two men were partners in all ways. Their love for each other ran deep, apparent in the way they smiled at each other. You didn't need a common tongue to see the love there. How beautiful.

You learned that they only come to see you at night. It took a while to piece it together, but eventually it clicked. Even though they were quick to trust you, didn't mean they were quick to come out in broad daylight. It was just safer this way and to be honest, you didn't mind.

Most nights were spent with you singing to your heart’s content. Watching in amazement as they graced your song with their dance. Sharing things from your different lives. They showed you fish that you've never seen before, rocks and plants. Things found only in the deepest parts of the ocean. And in return you showed them fruits and vegetables, foods they wouldn't normally be able to taste without it getting soggy. It was fascinating watching them react in different ways to the taste of things. The raven haired one seemed to like most of the things you brought, there were a few things he preferred over the other.

But the red head seemed to be a bit pickier about what he liked and didn't. Everything you brought was fine until the day you brought them bananas. Showing them how to peel it and eat the inside, not the outside, was the easy part. The hard part was not laughing when the red head immediately spit it out and tossed it so far into the ocean, that it disappeared in the dark. Even harder so when his partner laughed at him, sounding like waves crashing into a ship.

After you finished the small picnic that you packed, you stood up and began your song. Something you were working on in between nights that you couldn't come see the pair. Nights where it stormed or if the weather was too bad.

And like clockwork the two began their dance. It was hard to see in the depths of the ocean, the dark blues masquerading in their movements. But that was never the reason you sang in the first place; it was just a bonus to have an audience.

Your song is cut midway when the red head swam up to you, leaving his partner with the upper half of his head sticking out. You watch as he twists his body and tail, circling you like he's beckoning you to come into the water. Drawing in a breath, his movements feel hypnotic. In a way that doesn't take away your agency, almost comforting.

Each step deeper feels less like treading water and more like walking on air. The water rises to your waist, then to your stomach, then your neck and soon you're no longer walking but floating. Clothes cling to you like second skin, but the consequences be damned now. You damned them long ago when you chose to stay on the beach that night.

Inhaling as deeply as you can, precious oxygen fills your lungs. You dip your head into the cool water and immediately your hair begins to flow around you. The men stare in amazement, quickly circling you. As one circles your back, fingers brushing through your hair. The other is already in front of you staring into your eyes.

It's like seeing you in a new light for them. Their fingers brush over every part of exposed skin. Watching as you kick your legs to tread the waves.

"It must be hard to move without fins. Looks exhausting." The red head speaks making your eyes go wide.

You can understand him.

"I dunno, kinda looks like they're using their hips! I told you they wouldn't hate coming in the water!" His partner responds with a smug smile.

You can understand him!

"Hmm!" Before you could stop yourself, you open your mouth is shock, bubbles of air floating to the top.

"Is the land walker trying to breath in the water, Stan?"

"I don't know? I thought they couldn't do that."

Stan. The black haired one's name is Stan. You could understand them and had no way of communicating. This is what it must feel to be a fish trapped behind glass. The irony is almost funny.

What isn't is the way your lungs begin to burn. It feels like you just stepped into their world and now you have to step away from it. With a quick kick of your legs, you push yourself back up to the surface, taking deep breaths once you break. The men follow you still circling around you, if you didn't know any better think, they were hungry sharks looking for their next meal.

Their eyes train on you. Watching every little movement just like that night. Past the rocking waves you can almost make out their lips moving. Talking to one another and conversing.

Just as you contemplate going back down, you feel a hand on your ankle. Stan looks up towards you and his eyes light up. Either the lack of air or too much salt water is making you go crazy, it almost looks as if he's asking to pull you back down. It makes your heart flutter to know that you're able to understand them even though you've only known them a short time.

You take another breath and nod at him. He wastes no time pulling you back down towards him. His partner’s hands come down to your waste, acting as an anchor. Their bodies pressed against yours in such a way that reminds you that they're still shirtless. You only hope they can't see the blush on your face.

"So, you're sure this will work Kyle?" Stan asks, his eyes flickering from you to the red head behind him.

"Only one way to find out, go ahead. If it does, we can explain ourselves." Kyle speaks so softly, almost as softly as his hands on your hips squeeze.

You want to say something, ask them what they mean. The little muffled noises you make are enough to catch their attention again. Stan takes a deep breath and looks down at you. But his eyes don't land on yours, they travel down to your lips.

His head dips down slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away. He understands the move he makes is bold. But when you don't pull your head back, when you don't struggle against their hold, he places his lips onto yours. They're soft. Gentle. Almost perfect. They feel like the rocking of waves, lulling you into feeling of mental repose.

It isn't until he pulls away that you realize you're not holding your breath. You haven't for a while. The loss of his kiss makes your eyes flutter open slowly. He states down at you and cocks his head to the side.

"I think it worked? They're not freaking out." Stan breaks the silence with a murmur.

Kyle's hands move off your hips just as Stan pulls away from you. They move around you again watching as you float there.

You open your mouth and feel strange, like your tongue doesn't quite fit in your mouth. But it does, the taste of the saltwater brushing against it reminds you that it's there. A few bubbles escape your mouth but nothing like before. You hesitate for a moment before drawing in.

When your lungs don't burn like you expect them to, you do it again. Breathing out and then back in. Each time is different until it feels like breathing. You look down at your hands and then back at the men who are grinning from ear to ear.

"It worked! Oh shit!"

And you laugh. You laugh at the comment. At the situation. At the jubilation in your heart. You're under the water breathing as they would. Each time you breath in so do they. It makes you wonder if their hearts are beating with yours.

"I can't believe this." Your voice is so small, it's hard to make it any louder.

"I can't either." Kyle responds to you with a chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest. "It was my idea and Stan gets to kiss you first."

He responds to you. Talking to you like it's something he's done every day this week. Between the three of you Kyle looks like he's the only one not freaking out, because as you look at Stan, he has the same dorky grin that you're sure is on your face.

"Wait, but how am I able to do this?! Why can I understand you guys?! How did you know to do this?!" The questions spill from your lips faster than either men have time to answer.

"Kyle read it in some book! Apparently, we used to interact with you land walkers a lot in the past." Stan says circling around you again.

"It wasn't some book dude; it was a journal left behind by someone who fell in love with a land walker. They figured out our kisses grant them the ability to breath under water for a short time." Kyle follows Stan in the circle almost like he's compelled to do it.

"But why?"

"Dunno, I didn't really read the rest of it. I was just excited that we could bring you down here with us."

"Should have seen the way he swam into my room~! It was cute!"

"Shut up!"

"No way dude, you're cute. You just have to accept it! The sooner you do the easier it'll be for all of us!"

You smile at their bickering even though you could understand them, it didn't feel different than when you couldn't. Trying your best to keep up with their circling, your body twists, and spins around with them. Their tails get closer to you with each spin, veil like fins brush against your legs. Closer and closer until their hands are back on your body again. Each time you began to float back to the top, their hands would pull you back down. And each time, their touch lingered a little longer.

"But now you're down here with us. We can talk to you and hear you finally!" Kyle smiles down at you, "Just be sure to let us know if you start to struggle to breathe. It'll be my pleasure to give you more time."

The little hum behind his voice makes your face burn, the flirty tone isn't hard to pick up. It made you wonder if the kiss was just an excuse to keep you down here, if they knew that it was making your heart pound against your chest. Did they put their hands on your hips and arms just to keep you from floating away or was there more to the touches? Was this okay to feel this way?

"O-oh um...thank you Kyle and thank you Stan. For um...all of this. This is amazing, I would have never been able to dream of something so beautiful." It takes you a while to find your voice again, so wrapped up in your own head.

"You don't need to thank us for doing something we wanted to do in the first place. We wanted you down here." Stan's mind almost goes blank when he hears your name fall from your lips.

"I-I just feel like it's something to be thankful for. You trust me this much."

"Trust?" Kyle tilts his head and chuckles. "I guess you could see it that way, but honestly it's just selfishness on our part."

Oh, the leap in his chest when you tilt your head at him, that adorable look of curiosity in your eyes. The water makes them sparkle in ways that gems could never. Stan circles behind him and lays his chin on his partner’s shoulder just as he reaches up and brushes some of the stands of hair out of your face.

"As fun as our little games on the sand were, it was frustrating being so close to you and not being able to tell you how we feel."

Stan picks up where Kyle leaves off, "How happy you made us every time you came out to sing. We had no idea what you were saying, it just sounded like humming and chanting! Now we can!"

"My singing means that much to you?"

"Well...yeah. It brought us together, didn't it?" Stan blinks at you

How could he say something so sweet so bluntly. If they continued this little team attack on your heart it was going to make the water around your face boil. Out of habit you go to move your hands to your face to cover them. But it's like they had a read on your movements and their hands come up to take your wrists.

Kyle takes over and pulls you to his body, his arm moves around your waist. You can feel the laughter rumble up through his chest from how close he's holding you. "Before Stan got the idea to come up to the shores, we used to dance by the rocks for hours. Something about the way you sing, it's irresistible."

"At first it was just supposed to be a one-time thing, but then we came back and there you were." As Stan speaks Kyle twirls you around.

Letting his hold on you go, the momentum spins you towards Stan whose hands find your hips. He lifts you up in the water, twisting his body around in a gentle waltz. When you gasp, he only laughs and lets you go just as your body flips back. Arching your spine, you follow the movement into a full flip where your hands find his.

"Singing again. Pulling us into a trance again, and again, and again." Every whisper of the word 'again' and he gets closer to your face.

Your eyes flutter shut getting ready for another kiss from the man in your arms. It never comes, but the feeling of being pulled away makes you open your eyes again. Kyle's arms, the paler skin, finds purchase on your waist and pulls you down out of Stan's hold. You get a quick glimpse of his pout before he goes to circle the both of you.

"I don't know if love at first sight is the right way to describe it, but you made Stan and I feel something we only felt with each other. So, we had to get you down here. Needed to know everything about you, had to hear your voice and tell you how we felt." Kyle confesses as he lets you go and follows his lover in the circular motion.

You're in the middle of their dance now, yet you feel a part of it. You feel a part of them and everything they felt. Kyle was right, maybe love was too strong of a word but there was something akin to it. Something like you felt for the moon when you sang to Her or the ocean, yet this felt grounded. Heavy like how you felt that night you walked home the first time.

The feeling was overwhelming you, starting to boil over that you were sure that tears were spilling from your eyes. You've never cried from happiness like this before, much less cried under water. What could you say to that? Thank them again? You'd be here all night thanking them until you needed air again.

So instead, you opened your mouth and began to sing. Your voice echoes through the deep, letting the undertow take your song to places you know you'll never see. Even now it's impossible to think about just all the places your voice will carry you, but it doesn't matter. Now when it's lead you here. In this beautiful moment surrounded by admiration and a heart’s desire.

Just as the waves push forward, Kyle rides the momentum towards you. Pressing a kiss into your lips. He silences your song for just a moment before continuing his ride.

Just as the waves pull back, Stan lets it carry him towards you. His lips replacing his partners on yours. The song resumes when he's pulled away.

Push and pull. Song and dance. How poetic that you would fall in love with the moon and ocean.

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hollowwrites · 10 months

Text

Putting the RIP in Scriptorium

Part 2

Summary - I didn’t think this would have a part 2 but after a few people asked for it and I had a cheeky think I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So thanks to you guys @skarathewitch and @samfoley!!

In my little slow burn Ominis and Eve are already very touchy feely and comfortable with each other. I wanted to explore the origins of that

Warnings - mentions of Crucio, little bit of Angst, mostly comfort

Word Count - 1676

Evelyn lowered herself onto the long benches flanking the Slytherins’ Feast Table. She ached to her core. Sleeping usually solved all of her problems. Whether it was a common cold or a headache, most of her ills could be resolved with a simple nap.

So why would Crucio be any different?

She was wrong.

Painfully wrong.

Her bones protested against the slightest movement, though she tried not to show it. The scarf she wrapped around her neck hid it’s own secrets, the huge bruise that spread out from the scar left in the curses’ wake.

Imelda and herself spent their morning talking about nothing. At least that’s what Eve heard. Imelda’s musings, unfortunately, just weren’t sinking in. The only thing Eve contributed to the conversation was an unenthusiastic nod and the occasionally hum of faux interest.

Where was Ominis and Sebastian?

She craned her neck painfully to stare at the big double doors hoping to see them. Either of them.

Well preferably not Ominis.

He had told her to rest but she was already so far behind her peers, just one day seemed like too much to ask. She sighed and shovelled more toast into her mouth, her jaw aching as she chewed on it slowly.

Suddenly, a gentle hand rest upon her shoulder. Her body contorted stiffly to avoid putting unneeded pressure on her side.

It was Ominis.

“A word” he said flatly, eyebrows slammed flat over his eyes. The stare of his sightless eyes sent a shiver up her spine.

“Ominis? I-“ she started

“Now” his hand fell from her shoulder and he strode towards the landing overlooking the Great Hall. He disappeared up the stairs and she sighed, defeated.

“I’ll see you later, Imelda” she mumbled before obediently following after Ominis.

He waited, arms crossed and foot tapping, impatiently at the top of the stairs.

“I told you to rest” his eyes somehow bore into her and she found herself shifting under his gaze

“I’m fine, honestly”

“Oh really?” His snippy little attitude was starting to grate on her. She was already in pain, she didn’t want to deal with this as well. “Where did that curse hit you”

“My chest, towards my shoulder sort of-OW!” She yelped as Ominis’ long digits jabbed into the bruise below her scarf

“I thought you were okay?” He asked sarcastically

“Enough, Ominis. I get that your concerned but I can’t afford to just sit around all day because I have a bit of a bruise” she snapped back, ignoring the dull ache from her shoulder as it screamed it’s objection.

“Are you forgetting who you’re talking to? It’s not just a bruise, Evelyn. It’s-“ all of sudden, he could smell the unforgettable scent of fresh blood. She started sniffing waiting for him to continue his tirade, until he randomly reached out and touched her lip. He drew the pool of red onto his finger, using it to punctuate his rant.

“It’s this too” he continued. She gasped rubbing at her face failing to rid the blood from her visage. She tasted the metallic tinge on her tongue as she licked it from her lips.

“Please…” his anger subsided, his true intentions bubbling forth as he held her arms “Come with me to the Undercroft. We can study all day if you’d like just…don’t spend all day in pain, pretending that you’re not”

“Okay” she said meekly, her voice now raspy “Can you help me study for Herbology? I need to write 20 inches on Mandrakes and their uses” he laughed breathily

“Of course”

She heard Ominis before she saw him.

He’d left her, momentarily to gather some supplies for their day in the Undercroft. He promised her that he wouldn’t be long, if she promised not to leave. If he had to sacrifice a day so that she wouldn’t do herself a mischief, then so be it.

The clattering of his arrival rang down the entrance corridor and echoed around the Undercrofts empty walls, followed by a string of mumbled curses.

“Are you okay?” She called to him from the crate she perched on top of. He stumbled though the portcullis, followed by a flock of tomes and books, loyally following behind, flapping like birds.

“I hate this bloody charm” he grumbled, dropping the crate he was carrying to the floor, the telltale jingle of potion vials tinkling against one another. He took out his wand, gesturing to the books. They descended into a neat pile at Eves feet.

“What are these?” She hissed bending to retrieve the book closest to her. They were immaculate textbooks covering each and every topic she was studying at Hogwarts, and a few she hadn’t heard of yet. Each were perfect, albeit a single mark upon the top right corner of each tome. Elegant handwriting marked each with the initials ‘OG’…“Are these yours?”

“Mmmm yes” he hummed “That is every notebook, dossier and textbook from my first year here. I’d have gotten my second, third and fourth years too but…having that many books follow me would’ve drove me mad.”

“Why?” She asked flicking through the pages of ‘Charms: a beginners guide to the basics’

“So you can stop worrying about falling behind. You’re a fast learner and a talented witch…you can use these, anytime, to brush up on things you’re not certain about. Or you can compare your notes to mine and see how exceptionally well you’re doing. You need to remember you’re technically a first year. So stop comparing yourself to fifth years. I’ll leave them here for you.”

“Ominis…” she clutched her chest, touched by his consideration. “That’s very sweet of you, Thank you”

He shrugged, summoning multiple blankets and throw cushions around them. If they were going to study, they were going to study right.

“I thought you couldn’t conjure objects inside of Hogwarts?”

“Ah, something I learnt in my third year. There are always exceptions to the rules, Evelyn”

Ominis was more intelligent than he let on, despite his moaning about Professor Garlicks’ lack of care or Sebastians’ distracting behaviour in Defence Against the Dark Arts. He had a theoretical knowledge of every possible subject making completing her assignments easy. His Wiggenweld may be rubbish, but he knew the potions origins and how to properly chop dittany better than even Garreth.

They made light work of their shared essays and assignments, and after several hours they decided they worked enough for one day, opting to just, for once, relax.

They leant against each other on their plush picnic blanket, shoulder to shoulder.

Well, shoulder to bicep. Ominis was tall and gangly, there was no way she was ever reaching that high.

Eventually, the fatigue of their long day caught up to them and they settled against each other, Eves head finding it’s way to his shoulder and his cheek found the top of her head.

For a while they were quiet, lulled to a calm and relaxed state by the steady stillness of each others breathing.

The soft tinkling of an enchanted harp sang away somewhere in the clutter of the room. It’s heavenly harmony was interrupted, momentarily, by the distant chime of the bells signalling it was dinner time.

Eve sighed, heavily. And she noticed that no pain shot up her side.

“How are you feeling?” Ominis asked shifting slightly as though he could look at her. No doubt a habit he had picked up to put people at ease.

“Actually? Much better. Those Wiggenwelds worked a treat”

“Can I see?” He leant back fully now, prompting her to remove her head from him. She groaned needily at the movement and earned a wonky smile from Ominis. “Here” he rotated himself and positioned himself directly in front of her “Now this will look…unnerving. But…trust me”

He took his wand off the blanket where they had discarded them earlier in the evening. Almost instantaneously the red glowing tip flared up. She squinted away from it as he pressed his wand closer to her.

“Er…Ominis?”

“Could you guide me to the scar?”

“Yes?” It didn’t mean to come out as a question. But, in her experience, being on the receiving end of a wand, usually ended badly. She wrapped her fingers around his hand, gently pulling it towards her collarbone.

From here, he seemed to gather the information he needed, on his own. The blunt tip of his wand dragged across her skin, the smallest amount of pressure being applied. It was soft and warming and she couldn’t help but close her eyes.

Why was this tingly? Magic?

“This is how I see colour. I’m checking to see if you’re lying to me, like how you lied this morning” he smirked

“Sorry” she mumbled sheepishly

“We agreed no more apologies” he smiled “I understand why you did it” he pulled his wand away discarding it as he had before, seemingly happy with the results of his interrogation. “I don’t agree with what you and Sebastian get up to. Running around the school solving everyone problems. Galavanting off into the Forest…” she opened her mouth to speak but he continued “but I understand why you do it. You’re kind and thoughtful. And it’s why you need to take care of yourself. I can’t stop you running off playing the hero…but I can be here for you when you get back.”

She thought for a second. Everything he said was true. And she didn’t know why. She just wanted to study and explore this new world after she’d been torn from her old one.

It was all getting a bit much.

“Do you ever feel like you’re being pulled away?” She said abruptly letting her thoughts spill out into the real world

“From what?”

“Everything” she laughed “My life. My friends…you. I feel like I’m being pulled down a path I don’t necessarily agree with”

He toyed with the edges of his shirt, fighting with himself. He reached over to her, tentatively, and took her hand in his.

“You won’t be pulled from me…I won’t allow it”

Masterlist

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olderthannetfic · 6 months

Note

It's very exhausting seeing people in my fandom get angry that an author deleted his work prior to committing suicide. Everyone's sad they don't get to read the story. I have not seen a single person even pretend to dislike the fact that a person is dead. I have seen two people say, respectively, "he could've at least given us a content drop first, end on a high note" and "content creators who don't at least leave the content up shouldn't post".

And I know, I know, fandom olds: it is parasocial and toxic and bad to expect anyone online to dislike the death of another person, I'm a Gen Z snowflake, I need to grow up, etc. In my defense, I am neurodivergent and probably not seeing this correctly. But as an admittedly fucked up person... I kind of don't like 1. the fact that a human being died 2. no one even saying "oh that's sad" or feigning valuing human life 3. everyone referring to him not as an author but as a content creator and 4. the only thing I've seen people discuss is wanting content.

I don't really vibe with the concept that people in fandom are just content mills that exist to hand us content day in and day out and that's all that matters. This dude had whole conversations with people in the comments, he was really nice and gave people encouragement, commented on his readers' fics, and he never had an unkind word to say about anyone. He answered questions on his tumblr and always had funny, weirdly specific memes for everything. And some of the same super-distinct usernames I remember him interacting with are the ones complaining about content. Not writing, just content, that demeaning internet term that also applies to AI.

He was the one who inspired me to start writing and now I don't know if I want to post. I don't want to be seen as a content mill, a bot who spits out something to be consumed that's seen as more important than a person. I don't want to contribute to this weird culture where fiction matters more than reality.

Again: I know. Snowflake, Gen Z bad, fandom olds unbothered and cool, etc. But I never claimed to be cool. I just claim this is not how fandom should be. We should be hanging out, talking to and supporting each other. You don't have to be friends, but you should aim to not see art in terms of content creation and consumption.

IDK, I don't really think I'm explaining this clearly. I just feel like we should try to not be assholes.

Uh... that's not what parasocial means, you weirdo, and no fandom olds think it's in good taste to whine about somebody who committed suicide not going out on a high note.

Don't be an ageist twit when you're just repeating what anyone older would say.

I assume people are reacting this way because 1. people are jerks, duh and 2. they probably don't pay attention to internet acquaintances' "suicides" after way too many fake ones.

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space-helen · 7 months

Text

Shenanigans

Words: 812

Pairing: Jack Thompson x Reader

A/N: I FORGOT HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS MAN OMG!

Request: Hey! Can I send in a request? Maybe Jack Thompson or Captain Kirk with the prompt "Of course we're best friends. No one else would put up with our shenanigans."? No worries if you're not feeling it! Hope you're doing wonderful! - @captainsophiestark

______________________

“Remind me why we’re here again?” Jack’s voice came from beside you.

“To work?” you replied as you shifted in the car seat.

“This is the most boring stakeout I’ve ever been on.”

“Are you calling me boring?” you joked, turning towards him.

“The company isn’t boring but the stakeout is.” he re-phrased “Happy now?”

“You know me. Of course I am.” you fixed your eyes back on the building in front of you “How about we just go inside?”

“Y/N, no.”

“Why? We’re clearly getting so much information from here.” you said sarcastically.

“And how would we go inside? What would we even do?”

“We could pretend to be looking for directions. Look.” you pulled out a map from the glove compartment “We can just say we’re looking for somewhere random on the map and hope they give us directions.”

“You forget they’ve seen me before.”

“Just shove some sunglasses on and take off your jacket. Perfect disguise.”

The man rolled his eyes “How the hell are we best friends?”

“No one else would put up with our shenanigans so we have each other.”

“Our shenanigans huh? Please as if I contribute-”

“Remember when it was your idea to prank the whole office with the out of date milk-”

“Alright, alright.” he tried to shush you with a smile on his face “but you agreed to help me.” he pointed his finger at you playfully.

“That’s what I mean, our shenanigans. We couldn’t really do it without each other.”

“How did we even end up friends in the first place?” he questioned how it all started but soon remembered. “That’s right, you hated me.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that you hated me. You couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me. Saw me as dirt, the same way you first reacted to Peggy.”

“I’ve never seen you as dirt. It just took me way longer than it should have to realise that women can work just as well, or even better than men in this sort of work.”

“Thanks Jack, you’re a real charmer there.”

“At least I’m admitting I was wrong.” he nudged you slightly “That’s a big one for me.”

“I suppose.” you laughed remembering the early days “then we worked together a bunch and practically became inseparable.”

“I wouldn’t change it for the world. I think you’re probably one of the best colleagues I’ve worked with.”

“Alright, no need to go that far Chief Thompson. That’d be favoritism in the workplace.”

“I think they already know we're friends Y/N.God some of them even think we’re something more.”

You genuinely laughed “I knew it was only a matter of time. Hey why can’t a man and woman be friends without people assuming they’re dating each other? If it were two men or two women they wouldn’t bat an eyelid.”

“I suppose it’s because they can’t see themselves being friends with the opposite sex without anything else happening.”

“Gross.” you huffed.

There was a silence as the two of you watched the building but Jack was the first to break it. “How about we grab dinner?”

“Are you asking me on a date!”

“Y/N, god no. I’m just hungry alright? Would it even be that bad if I did?”

“Did you not just hear our last conversation?”

“I did alright. I like you Y/N but we’re friends.” he was panicking, he did like you slightly more than a friend sometimes but to him your friendship was more important and he’d never want to do anything to jeopardize it.

“Best friends I think you’d find.” you smiled at the man sincerely, you liked the man, of course you how could you not? There had been nights the two of you had been in the office late and you’d fallen asleep and he’d tucked you up. He’d saved your life on multiple occasions and you’d saved his. He’d also been very protective of you when other men had made seedy moves on you. Honestly, you’d love to be in a relationship with him and it was probably the reason none of your relationships had worked out so far.

“We can go for food, or a date or whatever if we get this stakeout over and done with sooner rather than later.” you offered.

His heart bounced out of his chest. What did you just say? “How about we just go inside then? Get this over with?”

“I love the change of heart.” you passed the man his sunglasses and gave him a tap on the shoulder before getting out of the car.

He scrambled out and flung his jacket from his body frantically before popping the glasses on and linking his arm with yours. “Let's go ask for directions darling.”

You laughed, you had to admit you did love undercover work with him “Sure thing.”

Tag List: (open)

Marvel: @coffeeandcrimeshows @spunky-89 @heyitsaloy @captainsophiestark

#jack thompson x reader #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #agent thompson x reader #chief thompson x reader #agent carter x reader

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doctorhoe · 1 year

Text

an aspect of much ado that is rarely ever talked about is the fact that donpedro comes up with his plan to get benedick and beatrice together after having a conversation about the other with each of them. during his conversation with donpedro benedick has is famous freudian slip: "I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam bad left him before he transgressed" - no one has suggested he marry her up to this very moment.

after benedick is done ranting about how terrible beatrice is he storms offstage at seeing the very one and donpedro has a conversation with her aswell during which she hints at her and benedick's history together: "Indeed, my lord, he lent it (his heart) me awhile; and I gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one: marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, therefore your grace may well say I have lost it."

later she turns donpedro down when he offers to marry her despite apparently not being as content single as she formerly pretended to be: "Thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am sunburnt; I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a husband!" Of course, this is beatrice were talking about so we have to get a healthy load of sarcasm out of the way but even so there is I think a kernel of truth to what she is saying here.

so donpedro leaves these two encounters with the impression that a) benedick has once thought of marrying beatrice or ar the very least considered it an option b) beatrice has once had feelings for benedick and perhaps vice versa (and it is very likely that benedick destroyed whatever was there out of sheer stupidity/inability to read his own feelings) and c) beatrice (despite maybe not being as opposed to the concept of marriage as she claims) is definitely not going for anyone who offers himself to her even when she genuinely likes and respects him (like she does donpedro). and it is only after having obtained these three pieces of information that he suddenly comes up with the gulling plan.

while my feelings on donpedro are mixed (to say the least) since he does later contribute to the shaming of Hero I think it's kind of sweet how as soon as he realises the situation between his two friends he tries to find a solution. he also does it for fun, sure. but a lot does suggest that he also does it out of love for both beatrice and benedick.

#shakespeare #much ado about nothing

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redfoxwritesstuff · 4 months

Text

Sunflower: Book 1, Chapter 3

Tom Hiddleston x OFC Series rated: M Chapter warnings: drinking AN: Can you believe it? We're at chapter three! Three consistent weeks of Sunflower! That's like a posting record for the last three years! Look friends, I know a lot of us, me included, are in some pretty crazy weather right now. It's either super cold or super snowy or if you're really unlucky- both. Stay safe, stay warm

Masterlist Chapter 2 Chapter 4 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter 3

They sat in a corner booth of a small private restaurant. It was peaceful and empty. Places like this were frequented by locals primarily while the visitors would sleep in and wait for the brunch buffets, fast food joints and reservations for celebrity chiefs. Even on The Strip, locals had their places.

They were in the weird in between time where Las Vegas was either still sleeping off the night before or had already gone to work, contributing even more to the isolated feeling that hung in the air.

It was places like this that the resident celebrities could slip in and get some eggs and toast without any fuss. Places like this, Elton John or Celine Dion were just another local hiding from the flashing lights. Places like this embodied the vibe of the locals. The walls screamed, ‘Look, we all just live here’.

“Thank you again,” she picked at the airy sleeve around her wrist, “for the clothes.”

“It’s the least I can do for asking you to hear me out.”

“I- I know who you are.” She blurted out and his whole body stiffened. “I called Ashley- My sister- to cancel breakfast and she looked you up.”

“And?” He was cautious now, so different than the carefree charm that seemed to drip from his pores and that worried her. It was like the warmth had been sucked from the air around him in a instant.

“You’re an actor. I- I’ve not seen anything you’ve done. I don’t really see much movies. Why me? Why just a normal girl? Don’t you have an actress girlfriend or something. Won’t insisting on trying to be married ruin your career or life or something?” Her insecurities were all the more raw knowing that not only did she drunk marry a hot man but a famous one at that.

“Maybe that’s why.” The waiter refilled their coffees, interrupting the conversation though Tom was quick to thank him for the refill. “Maybe I need something normal. I’ve done the actress partner thing and it just- it’s too much attention. My ex, my last serious relationship- she got married this weekend.”

“So you drown your loneliness and marry a stranger?” She scoffed at him. “That’s not how anyone should solve their problems.” It was the Vegas way though.

“Perhaps. But perhaps it’ll work out.”

“What about your career?”

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure.” She wasn’t as sure as he was but really, what did she know?

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

His phone rang though he was quick to dismiss the call. “You have every reason to be worried but I can promise you, I’m not going to force you to do anything. One year- give us one year to see if this was a mistake or not.”

“Tom,”

“I know it’s probably not going to work out, most marriages don’t and we don’t even know each other. Let’s take the time to get to know each other though. Let’s see what happens. Let’s take our time. If it doesn't work out and we still don’t want to be together in a year, we split no fault, no questions.”

“So we play pretend?”

“It won’t be pretend. We stay loyal to each other. We put in a honest effort. And if I ever make you feel unsafe or we fight too much, we pull the plug. I know I’m asking a lot-” The ringing of his phone interrupted him again.

“Do you need to take it?”

“No…” His answer was reluctant as the phone lit up once again with another call.

“You sure?”

He sighed. “I Should. Here,” He handed her a few twenties from his wallet. “That should be enough for the bill and tip. If you wouldn’t mind? I’ll try to be quick but…”

“It’s fine.” She wove him away. Was this her first act as his wife? It felt surreal. “Tom?”

He turned to her, phone halfway to his ear. “Yeah?”

“I think this is a dumb idea but, okay.”

His face lit up in a smile. “Okay.”

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

“This is Tom.”

“Do not ‘This is Tom’ me.” Luke was angry.

“What’s got your feathers ruffled?” Playing dumb was always a good move with Luke. It’s far better to admit nothing until he knows exactly why Luke is mad at him this time. Tom had learned the hard way that if he started talking first, he was likely to admit to flirting with a interviewer when Luke was mad about a too high room service bill.

“Have you lost your bloody mind?” That wasn’t a good sign.

“Is the correct answer ‘Yes’?”

“Damn right it is. You have ten seconds to explain to me why there are pictures of you kissing a brunette in a bar the same night Sophia got married. Go.”

“I’m human and allowed to kiss women, Luke.” Tom leaned against the side of the building, standing in the shade.

It was quickly getting hot outside with the sun beating down. He wanted his sunglasses but they were back on the table.

“True. I’d rather you did it discreetly but that’s true. How about why there’s pictures of you with the same woman wearing a wedding gown. Tell me you crashed a wedding.”

“I crashed a wedding.”

“You didn’t get married?”

“I got married.”

“Oh thank god.” There were three heartbeats exactly, Tom had counted, between Luke’s reflexive answer and the realization hitting. “The fuck you did! You’re going to get it annulled, right?”

“No, we’re not.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“That seems to be the question of the day.”

“Do you have any idea what this will do to your career? Your reputation?” Luke sighed. “I feel sick.”

“It’ll be fine, I have faith in you. You can clean nearly anything up.” The door opened and Tom glanced over. She was beautiful even the morning after, with her hair in a lightly contained mess.

“This is a mistake.” Luke said as Tom watched her look around before catching sight of him.

“Hopefully it’s the best mistake I’ve ever made,” Tom smiled as he disconnected Luke’s squawking as he pushed himself up off the wall.

“Here,” She held out the excess cash. He’d given her too much for the bill, even factoring a generous tip. Though he took it from her, he didn’t stop to count it before putting it in his pocket. “What now?”

“Well, if we’re going to give this a chance we should get to know each other. We can walk around, get to know each other? Do you want to stop by your room to get a change of shoes?” The started walking together back toward the hotel. It wasn’t far but her feet would quickly start hurting.

“I don’t have a room. I’m a local.”

“Oh,” the silence was awkward.

Two strangers stood in the bright sun of a waking city. They hardly knew anything about each other and yet they were husband and wife. The biggest adventure -or mistake- of their lives stretched out in the twelve months before them.

For better or worse, they had taken their first steps down this path together, as partners. Their lives would forever be changed and shaped by the decision made this morning. With the path that took them to this point as unknown as the future, let us walk along side them as the Las Vegas sun beats down around us.

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

“So, why were you drinking by yourself?” Tom stood close to her. It was dark yet the Vegas heat radiated up off at the pavement. The shared a smoothie in a large cup. The alcohol was strong but she was having the time of her life.

“I work here. Why are you drinking alone in Las Vegas?” She danced in place to the music playing from the speakers as water spouts shot in the air, lit up in a rainbow of colors to the tune of the music.

“I’m not drinking alone, I’m drinking with a beautiful brunette.” It took two tries to catch her hand, but when he did, he spun her around just to see the smile that lit up her face.

~~~~~~~~~<3

Tag List: @winterisakillerr, @alexakeyloveloki @jennyggggrrr, @dangertoozmanykids101, @tilltheendwilliwrite @tinchentitri @wizardcherryblossom, @buttercupcookies-blog, @violethaze, @kats72

#tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x original female character #Tom hiddleston x oc #Tom hiddleston x original character #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #Tom hiddleston rpf

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ofbreathandflame · 11 months

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Here's my thing: Why join (or continually contribute) a fandom with an author who is known to be racist -- that is racist by your own admission -- and then get mad when other people continually talk about those problems?

I'm not even saying fandoms can't reclaim and participate in fandoms with irksome authors -- I'm saying that when you're in those fandoms and you seem irritable at those critiques then there are some ideological problems there. I like ASOIAF but I live for the scathing anti-criques because they're absolutely right. I scroll through like yep, yep, yep. It never bothers me, not even a little. That's for every fandom I participate in. Because racism is never just an irksome problem, it should never get on your nerves, and I could talk about it all day. Because when you look at the world through the lens of a black woman (and other women of color ofc) you are NEVER not going to see it. I like TVD but there was so much shit one dealt with, that we had to actively ignore for the sake of being able to enjoy the show. I really wish I could ignore it all, but sorry not sorry.

I feel like a lot of people like to make their annual post about SJM's racism, and then don't want to consider two things (1) that the racism isn't actually isolated and permeates throughout all of her works and (2) there are consequences (or at least there should be) to being racist. Even if you have somehow come to terms with the racism in the story, that doesn't mean other people will or have to. The only way we even begin to solve the problem is by continually talking about it. It's just very crazy, IMO, to say that we are allowed to be upset -- but not in a way that disrupts your fandom experiences. That little irritation you feel every time a new post hits the anti-tag is racism. That little irritation you feel every time someone brings up Nehemia and the problems in Throne of Glass -- is also racism. I may be over the character conversation, but I'm not over the ones like these that have real consequences in the world of literature. It's just very frustrating to see people turn criticism of SJM's writing into a misogyny problem when the majority of the people doing the criticism are women of color.

LIKE -- are we supposed to talk about the racism once every blue moon for kudos points and then go back to pretending it doesn't exist? What are we gaining with that approach quickly?

The anti-anti sentiment is tired, and much more representative of people's unwillingness to address the problems than anything else. Like y'all are asking a group of people to....sympathize with someone who doesn't see her black readers as human enough to live on the page/?? Human enough to be represented as actual, complex human beings -- it don't sound wild to y'all? I'm pro anti for any racist author who crawls up the depths into the light of the publishing industry.

We complained about Nehemia and not only were we met with silence -- she did it AGAIN. And then stuck the remaining mixed race women with the man the story thought needed to be redeemed, with the main whose people enslaved her own -- and then the next black women we met come in the form of servents, and then the next black women as jealousy fodder, and then the next black women is brutally murdered, debased -- and I think has her head shaved, and that was FOR HELPING the main character. Then the next black woman is sidelined for the villainous, blonde-haired sister who got all of two words in the first book of CC. Lack of diversity is bad, but not inherently racist -- rather a symptom of white privilege. I wouldn't fret about it. Conscious, negative, and continuous bad representation is another thing entirely.

Anywho may the anti-community continue to thrive for this and any other racist author ❤️

#i hate antis aww well sorry not sorry #anti sjm #am i supposed to feel bad??? well i don't #be nice???#to a r*cist author?#i think NOT #yall dont send me bait posts i am not that strong

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flippyspoon · 8 months

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Chess Vignettes: #1

(Ficlet- STRANGE NEW WORLDS)

Note: Okay, I think I've found my lil tropey thing wherein I'll likely write a million versions of pretty much the same thing lol. Chess flirting! Let's do this. These will all be stand-alone ficlets- no continuing story per se (probably).

Kirk nodded his head to the music playing in the Port Galley. He missed the ambiance the band had provided, but whoever oversaw the entertainment had put on an endless playlist of recordings for the evening. That could sometimes go awry. In an effort to be equitable, often the playlist was a diverse mix of genres from widely varying eras and cultures. It was a nice idea, but the whiplash of transitioning from a twangy Andorian blues song to an atonal Vulcan theramin ballad to a Terran hip-hop dance number could be…disorienting. Tonight, however, was devoted to Terran music of the 1950s and 60s. It was not played too loud, so he could continue the meandering conversation he had going with his favorite chess partner.

“I like this song.” Kirk rested his chin in his hand, elbow propped on the table, while across from him Spock glared at the chessboard as if willing his game to improve without his having to make a move. Kirk hummed along to the song. “What song is this?” He did not expect Spock to know. But the Vulcan had been so quiet and part of the fun of playing chess with him was usually the conversation.

“‘My Baby Just Cares for Me,’” Spock replied. “Nina Simone. Nineteen fifty-seven.”

Kirk perked up. “Now why do you know that? Not that you shouldn’t.”

“They have played it before. It is a favorite of Ensign Uhura’s. She often requests it.”

“Hmm.” Kirk smiled to himself. “I’ll have to ask her for recommendations. I like listening to old Terran music. I have my own favorites. But there’s so much of it. Then I think I should explore other cultures more often. Doubly overwhelming.”

“You would need several lifetimes to catch up on the cultural contributions of every Federation planet,” Spock said. “Several hundred lifetimes.” He finally made his move, snagging Kirk’s rook and coming perilously close to putting him in check, although the path was so obvious, Kirk would have no trouble avoiding it. That was good. He didn’t want the game to be over.

“Do you like music?” Kirk said.

“I play the Vulcan lute,” Spock said.

Kirk widened his eyes, a note of astonishment caught in his throat. It was difficult to imagine Spock playing a lute. Although, once he put it into his head, it was…not an unattractive thing to imagine.

“Uh, what songs do you play?” Kirk cleared his throat.

“Vulcan songs.” Spock met his gaze over the chessboard. Kirk had not made his move yet. He was pretending not to know what to do next. “Most non-Vulcans who are not also ethnomusicologists do not enjoy them. But…I have also learned to play cover versions of some songs at the request of crew members.”

Kirk had noticed that Spock liked to put on a pretense of disinterest sometimes, or at least that was how he read it.

Then he’d go and throw out chum like this and Kirk was only too happy to take a bite like the hungry little tuna he was. At least he was aware of it. He tried not to look too eager, shifting slightly in his seat and covering the giddy smile on his face with his hand.

“What- uh what songs have you played for the crew?”

“Captain Pike is partial to ‘A Boy Named Sue’ by Johnny Cash.”

Kirk had been taking a sip of his drink and started to choke. He knew the song. His grandfather had been a Johnny Cash fan. The thought of Pike singing ‘A Boy Named Sue’...

“Are you well?” Spock asked.

Kirk nodded, slowly wiping a few drops of Scotch from his lip with two fingers while pretending not to notice that Spock followed the motion with heavy lidded eyes.

“Pike sings?” Kirk said. “I mean, Pike sings when an anomaly is not forcing him to?”

The corner of Spock’s mouth turned up just enough that Kirk considered it a victory. “I do not know if what he does could accurately be described as singing.”

Kirk blurted a laugh, the unexpectedness of the joke making him guffaw right from his gut, a tear coming to his eye. Spock looked away, but Kirk could see it. He was pleased with himself. Kirk saw him breathe in, that almost-smile growing just a tick.

Another song started and Kirk sighed, pleasantly warmed by nostalgia. He stroked his chin and thought of his mother playing the song–’I Only Have Eyes for You’ by The Flamingos–as she danced around the kitchen, on furlough in Iowa, making cupcakes for Jim and Sam. Jim had not remembered how sultry and haunting the song was. He leaned a little further to one side in his chair, as the chessboard slightly blocked his view of Spock, but glancing away he noticed that people were leaving their seats in the Port Galley in a rush to look out the windows.

The neutron stars, Kirk realized. Pilo and Aero. The Enterprise had been watching them for weeks.

He looked across the table, anticipating that Spock would want to leave the game and watch a significant celestial event.

Spock was staring at Kirk, fixed to his seat.

..But I can’t see… a thing in the sky…

Ortegas walked by them, and thwacked Kirk on the shoulder. “C’mon, guys! Pile and Aero are merging finally! Don’t you wanna see?”

Kirk kept his eyes on Spock. He had a strange stinging feeling in his wrists and his palms were sweating.

I only have eyes for you…

“I’m good,” Kirk murmured, but Ortegas had already passed them by.

The people at the windows oohed and aahed at the merging stars and the music continued to play as Spock and Kirk stared into each other’s eyes for so long, he could not think of what excuse he could possibly make that would not sound nonsensical.

Do I need one? He wondered.

Spock opened his mouth, and just that slight movement made Kirk inhale, he gripped the arms of his chair.

“Your move,” Spock said.

...Sha bop sha bop..

#spirk #snw spirk #snw #snw kirk

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sisterspooky1013 · 1 year

Text

In This Place, at This Time

Rated T | 4447 words | Read it here on AO3

Written for @cecilysass for the @xfilesfanficexchange Baby Agents exchange.

“Oh my god, Dana. You’ve got it bad.”

Scully looks up from her salad and regards her friend with confusion.

“What are you talking about?” she asks, and Ellen shakes her head.

“Mulder this, Mulder that, all with that little smirk. Sounds like someone has a crush on their partner,” Ellen teases.

Scully looks around the crowded restaurant as she feels heat rise to her cheeks. Every table is occupied, but none of them by anyone she recognizes, thankfully. She sets her fork down and levels Ellen with an irritated glare.

“I do not have a crush on Mulder,” she says sternly. “We work together, and work is a big part of my life, so it’s only natural that his name will come up.”

“Okay, okay,” Ellen says, holding up her hands defensively. “I’m just curious, though. Have you been to his apartment?”

“Of course,” Scully answers with a sigh. “And he’s been to mine. What’s your point?”

Ellen shrugs, and Scully has half a mind to tell her that she has no room to talk about persistent smirking.

“Did he invite you over for pizza and beer to ‘review case notes’,” Ellen says, making air quotes with her fingers.

As a matter of fact, Mulder did recently invite her to his apartment to review case notes over pizza and beer. It was fun and productive, and they did just that—reviewed case notes.

“Ellen, will you just stop, please? I will admit that Mulder is an attractive man, but that’s irrelevant. We work together, so there’s simply no possibility for it to be anything more than that. Case closed.”

Her phone rings and she fishes it out of her purse while Ellen continues right on smirking.

“I bet that’s him,” she says in a stage whisper, and Scully rolls her eyes as she brings the phone to her ear.

“Scully,” she answers.

“Hey, Scully, it’s me.”

“Hey, Mulder,” she says, then glances over at Ellen to see her mouthing I knew it!

“Are you free tonight? I found this wild field report about a colony of human-bat hybrids out in Hawaii. I thought we could grab dinner and look it over.”

“Well, nothing stokes my appetite quite like human-bat hybrids. Count me in,” she says, pivoting her body away from Ellen, who is making little kissy faces like a high schooler.

She says goodbye to Mulder, then continues to eat her salad as though Ellen isn’t staring daggers at her.

“I bet he’s great in bed,” Ellen says, and Scully snaps her head up. “The weird ones always are.”

“You’ll have to seduce him and let me know,” Scully retorts, and Ellen shakes her head again.

In the space of time between her lunch with Ellen and her impending dinner with Mulder, she gives a great deal of thought to what Ellen said. She knows that it’s true, in a sense; she does have a bit of a crush on Mulder. She denied it even to herself for a handful of weeks, but pretending that it wasn’t there did not make it go away. After her relationship with Ethan ended and he cited her preoccupation with her partner as a contributing factor, she was forced to tear down the facade and confront her true feelings, at least with herself.

Physically, she is undeniably attracted to him. The few times she’s caught sight of him partially dressed certainly did not serve to diminish that physical attraction. His impish, understated smiles and those Richard Gere-esque hooded eyes have set off a tumble in her belly on more than one occasion. If it were only that, it would likely wear away over time and no longer serve as a distraction, but unfortunately, his intellect is just as attractive to her as his physical form. The way they can slip so easily into repartee, the space he leaves for her in their conversations, and the fact that he never makes her feel small—either physically or mentally—makes her want to talk to him exclusively above anyone else. She feels seen by him in a way she hasn’t experienced before, like she doesn’t need to pretend to be more or less of any part of herself in order to be accepted. After a lifetime of performing a certain type of femininity to fit in with her female friends, and displaying uncharacteristic levels of stoicism and detachment in order to be taken seriously by her male colleagues, she’s always felt a bit like she’s playing a part. But with Mulder, she’s just herself, and he doesn’t appear to prefer her any other way.

She suspects that these feelings are somewhat mutual. While he is exceedingly respectful, she’s caught him giving her the occasional long glance when he didn’t realize she was looking. They’ve engaged in some mildly flirtatious banter that one or the other changed course on before it veered into the inappropriate. She didn’t miss his disappointment when he learned that she had a date, nor his satisfaction when she told him she didn’t plan to see the man again. Had there been iced tea in the bag, who knows what might have happened. But there wasn’t, and that fact encapsulates their relationship in her mind. In another place, at another time, maybe he would have taken her out. Maybe they would have had a fling or dated, or maybe something more substantial. But they are in this place, at this time, and it’s simply not within the realm of possibility.

Rather than feeling like a disappointment or a constant temptation, it feels like something unique and special. Two people who are drawn to one another, but choose to channel their connection into an incredibly profound friendship and partnership. Two people who know that they could easily fall into bed together, but resist temptation in pursuit of something greater than the brief gratification of release. What could possibly be more meaningful than that? What other man would be so willing to set his primal urges aside in exchange for her partnership and the potential of the work they can accomplish together? It’s just another bit of evidence in a long list of ways that his respect for her is above reproach. Neither is willing to jeopardize what they have for sex, or even a potential relationship. It feels almost poetic.

That night, he picks her up and takes her to a place called Jimini’s that she’s never been to before. They order drinks and appetizers, and she rolls her eyes while he explains how a tribe of human-bat hybrids could have hidden from the public on the small island of Maui for so long. He scoffs when she details the genetic impossibility of such a hybrid, and points out that they’d have to be horrifically inbred at this point if they existed at all, which they don’t. He makes her smile, and laugh, and frustrates her in the very best ways. She enjoys herself, and she can tell that he does as well. When he drops her off, there is just a brief glimmer of tension before she unbuckles her seatbelt and exits the car. It’s a glimmer they both look away from, and again she is reminded of this special thing that they share. This unique thing. She feels protective of it, especially in light of what Ellen said.

Days later, she enters the basement copy room to find their machine out of order. Work orders for the basement are never put on the top of the pile, so she heads for the second floor to make her copies, as well as to try and grease the wheels with the facilities department in hopes that they won’t be without their own machine for weeks again.

As she waits for her copies, another woman enters the room and hovers nearby, a hefty stack of papers in her arms. Scully has seen her before, but they’ve never been introduced. She’s short, even compared to Scully, with mousy brown hair that’s pulled back into a low bun. She’s pretty, but in a classic, less obvious way. She looks like she could be the heroine in a Charlotte Bronte novel.

“Sorry, this shouldn’t take too long,” Scully says with an apologetic smile and a significant look towards the woman’s stack of papers.

“Oh, take your time,” the woman says. “I’m not in any rush to get back to my desk.”

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Scully says after a beat. “I’m Dana Scully. I’d shake your hand, but…”

The women both look at the stack and smile.

“I’m Meredith,” the woman offers. “One of the peons of the secretarial pool.”

“Nice to meet you, Meredith.”

Scully turns back to the machine, noting that it has fifteen copies to go. She feels Meredith’s eyes on her and turns to see the woman staring at her intensely.

“Is something wrong?” Scully asks, and Meredith shifts the load in her arms uncomfortably.

“You work with Fox Mulder, right? You’re his partner?” Meredith asks.

“Yes,” Scully says cautiously.

“This really isn’t any of my business,” Meredith begins, giving a quick look around to confirm that they’re alone, “but you might just want to be careful around him.”

Scully’s eyebrows lift, and she finds that she’s concurrently curious and suspicious.

“Why’s that?” she asks.

She expects to hear about Mulder’s “spooky” reputation and the damage it will do to her career to be associated with him. It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before.

“He and I went out a few times a couple years ago,” Meredith says. “I thought he was interested in me as a person, but it turned out he just wanted sex.”

Scully gives the woman a sympathetic smile.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says. “Mulder and I are partners, nothing more. Thank you for your concern, though.”

She turns away again and collects her copies, then lifts the glass to take the original document.

“First it was his place for pizza and beer, then a nice dinner at Jimini’s. Next thing you know, he’s inviting me over to watch a movie and then telling me that he isn’t looking for anything serious,” Meredith is saying, almost to herself.

That gives Scully pause, and she has an impulse to ask for more information. But this is exactly how rumors enter the mill, and she isn’t interested in being party to that.

“It was nice to meet you, Meredith,” she says, then heads back to the basement.

By the time she reaches the door to his office, she’s talked herself out of reading anything into it. Even if Mulder is doing things with her he might typically do with someone he’s dating, so what? The only thing that matters is that they both understand the nature of their relationship, which is entirely platonic.

“What do you make of this, Scully?” Mulder asks without looking up as she walks through the door. He always knows when it’s her.

She stashes her stack of copies on top of a filing cabinet and walks around his desk to look over his shoulder at the article he’s reading.

Woman With Two Vaginas Delivers Half-Siblings the headline reads.

“There’s a condition called Uterus Didelphys where a woman can have two separate uteri, and it’s also possible for it to exhibit as two vaginal canals. One or the other is uncommon, both even less so. A twin pregnancy would be extremely high risk, but it’s possible it could be carried to term,” she tells him.

“So you’re saying it’s…” he says, swiveling his chair so he’s facing her.

“Not an X-file,” she finishes for him.

“What would I do without you?” he asks with a smile, and she feels that little tumble.

“Probably ask a woman with a rare, but very terrestrial, medical condition a set of extremely invasive questions,” she quips, and Mulder laughs.

“Probably right,” he says, and turns back to his desk.

She feels a warmth in her belly, and knows that Meredith was wrong: she doesn’t need to be careful with Mulder. She’s safer with him than she’s ever been with any man in her life.

When he invites her over to his apartment for dinner a few days later, she doesn’t think anything of it. Pizza, beer, case review. It’s practically becoming tradition at this point. But when he mentions a movie he wants to show her, it does give her the slightest bit of pause. Watching a movie isn’t something they’ve done together yet. But that doesn’t mean that there are nefarious motivations behind the invite, and she’ll be damned if she lets gossip from some random secretary on the second floor sour her friendship with Mulder. She accepts, and intentionally wears something frumpy just to make a point to herself.

Mulder, for his part, answers the door shirtless.

“Hey,” he says brightly, ushering her inside. “I was just about to order dinner. Is Italian okay?”

Pizza is technically Italian, but there’s something less casual about pasta and complex sauces. Italian can be romantic, if you want it to be.

“Sure,” she says, removing her coat and shoes. “Italian sounds fine.”

“You look nice,” he says, giving her a quick once over. His tone is fairly neutral and his expression is observant, not leering.

She feels a flush of some strange combination of embarrassment and pride as she looks down at her raggedy jeans and baggy Georgetown T-shirt.

“Thanks,” she mutters. “Wearing your invisible shirt, I see,” she adds, and her tone comes out just a bit snarky, though that hadn’t been her intention.

Mulder looks down at his bare chest and laughs, then disappears into his bedroom and comes back with a heather gray T-shirt on, much to her relief.

The movie he wanted to show her is a silent film starring Charlie Chaplin about working in a factory, and ultimately tells the story of the ways in which modern-day advancements make our lives more difficult to the same degree that they improve it. Their dinner arrives sometime in the first half of the film, and they eat it hunched over his coffee table. It doesn’t feel romantic at all, and for that, Scully is grateful.

During the second half, Scully shivers, and Mulder wordlessly grabs the blanket draped over the back of the couch and spreads it out across both their laps. He’s a respectable distance away from her, but she can’t help but think back to the boys in high school who used a shared blanket to conceal surreptitious attempts to hold hands, or even cop a feel over her jeans. A little pit begins to form in her chest, and she scoots to the far end of the couch before folding her legs up on the cushion beside her such that he can’t reasonably sit close enough for any shenanigans.

When the movie ends, Mulder clears their plates while she uses his bathroom. As soon as she sits back down on the couch he plops down right next to her, so close that the sides of their thighs brush up against one another. If she had any room to scoot away from him, she would, but the arm of the couch is flush against her other side and she feels somewhat trapped.

He fans out a handful of case files on the coffee table, then turns to look at her.

“Ladies first,” he says playfully. “What looks good?”

She can smell him—his deodorant and aftershave, the beer on his breath. The heat of his body radiates against her side and alarm bells begin to quietly sound off in her head. Be careful.

“This looks promising,” she says without much affect, plucking one of the files off the top of the stack.

“Excellent choice,” he congratulates her. “I’ve been wanting to dig into this one for a while. Are you familiar with the concept of corporeal vaporization?”

Scully chuffs a laugh, but Mulder is quiet. She turns her head to look at him, bringing their noses within inches of one another.

“You’re serious?” she asks, incredulous, and Mulder smiles in that impish way that she finds irresistibly charming. In this circumstance, however, his charm makes the alarm bells grow louder.

“I am,” he says in a tone that reminds her of the day they first met, when she asked him if he’d read her thesis. I did. I liked it.

The butterflies in her belly flutter against the pit in her chest, and the alarm bells jangle in her ears. She runs her tongue across her bottom lip, deciding whether she should make up an excuse to leave.

“Ah, you’ve got a little sauce on your cheek,” he says as he leans in closer and brushes his thumb across the skin at the corner of her mouth. He’s so close, so close, and she just knows he’s going to kiss her.

“Mulder,” she says firmly, leaning away from him and closing her eyes. “Can you please give me some space?”

When she opens them, he’s staring at her with nothing short of abject confusion on his face. He scoots to the middle cushion on the couch, and she feels the tension drain from her body.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he runs his palms over the tops of his thighs, his eyes averted to the coffee table.

They sit there in palpable awkwardness for what feels like an eternity. She could just leave and let him take her rejection of his advancement as evidence that she isn’t interested in being anything more than friends, but the idea of facing him at work tomorrow without addressing this is unbearable.

“Mulder,” she starts, not looking at him, “I really enjoy working with you, but I’d like for our relationship to remain professional in nature.” She waits for a beat to see if he has anything to offer in response, but he remains quiet. “I’m not passing judgment on how you comport yourself at work, but I am not a person who engages in casual sex, much less with coworkers.”

Again, she pauses so he can respond. Again, she is met with silence. She turns her head just slightly and peeks at him out of the corner of her eye. He’s sitting back against the rear cushion of the couch, his hands still resting on the tops of his thighs. He’s looking at her with a strange expression on his face, one she isn’t familiar with.

“Scully…” he says uncomfortably, scraping his thumbnail across the denim covering his thigh with an audible scritch. “I’m gonna be totally honest with you—I have no idea where this is coming from. Did I do something that made you uncomfortable?”

She looks at him sharply, her initial impression being that he intends to feign ignorance. But he doesn’t appear to be putting on an act—he looks truly bewildered.

“Why did you invite me over tonight, Mulder?” she asks flatly.

“To look over some case notes. Eat dinner. Watch a movie,” he lists off, watching her reaction to determine which of these invitations was the offensive one.

“You said I look nice,” she points out.

“I don’t normally see you dressed this…casually, I guess. I’m sorry if that was an inappropriate thing to say,” he replies, looking mildly horrified.

“What about the blanket?”

“The blanket?”

“You put a blanket on me.”

“It seemed like you were cold.”

“Why were you sitting so close just now? And you were…touching my face,” she says, brushing her finger over the spot beside her mouth where she can still feel the warmth of his thumb. There’s a bit of something there, maybe marinara.

“Scully, did you…did you think I was making a pass at you?” he asks dubiously, like the very idea of it is absurd.

More absurd than the existence of extraterrestrials. More absurd than liver-eating mutants and primitive homosapiens living in the forest outside New Jersey. More absurd than parasitic alien life forms trapped in the Arctic ice is the idea that Fox Mulder would be sexually interested in Dana Scully. She feels her cheeks flame, and she looks away.

“I—” she starts, but finds that her throat is growing tight. Embarrassment is something that she diligently avoids for this precise reason: the way her body responds to it is with the rapid onset of tears. “I may have misread the situation, Mulder. I’m sorry.”

She moves to stand, but he catches her by the wrist. She’s perched on the edge of the couch cushion, tethered to him by one hand, and the vision of his coffee table is blurring behind the pool of tears in her eyes. She can’t see how they can possibly recover from this. How she can.

“I think that came out wrong,” he says gently. “It’s not that I wouldn’t make a pass at you because I’m not attracted to you,” he explains, and she cringes at his attempt to make her feel better. “You’re beautiful, and insanely smart, and funny. But you’re also lightyears out of my league, Scully,” he finishes with an uncomfortable chuckle.

After blinking rapidly to encourage her tears to dissipate, she looks at him and finds only earnestness on his face.

“That’s not true,” she says quietly.

Again, he laughs.

“Uh, yeah, it is,” he says matter-of-factly.

She heaves a sigh, suddenly exhausted by this entire exchange. She loses the will to dance around the subject, and decides to just come out with it.

“I ran into this woman at work. Meredith. She said you two went out a while back,” she divulges, feeling like she’s in high school again.

“A few years ago, yeah,” he confirms, narrowing his eyes skeptically.

“She told me you used her for sex, and essentially warned me about your proclivity towards seducing your coworkers, and….” She drops her head into her free hand, the other still being wrapped up in Mulder’s. “I’m sorry, I have no idea why I gave any credence to it.”

“Ah,” he says knowingly. “I don’t want to come across as overly defensive, but that’s a gross misrepresentation of what happened between me and her.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Mulder. It’s none of my business,” she mumbles.

“I know that I don’t have to, but I don’t like the idea of you thinking that I would do whatever it is that she said I did. She and I did go out a few times shortly after I got out of a relatively serious relationship, and it made me realize that I wasn’t ready to date yet. We started…messing around, if you will, and I felt like I should tell her because I didn’t want to lead her on. She got upset and left, and that’s the last time I ever spoke to her. She practically dives headfirst into a conference room when she sees me coming, so I’ve never had the opportunity to apologize or clear things up.”

“Yes, that’s quite different from the way she tells it,” Scully says, chagrined.

There’s an extended silence, though the weight of it isn’t nearly as heavy anymore.

“Even if I thought I stood a chance with you, I’d never take it,” he says, quite tenderly, and she looks at him then. At those Richard Gere-esque eyes and his softly smiling mouth.

“I feel compelled to correct your assumption that you’d never stand a chance, but I don’t want you to think I’m making a pass at you,” she says, and his soft smile breaks out into a grin.

“I’d hate to have to file an official complaint with H.R.,” he quips, and she cringes again.

“Sorry,” she says, reliving it all over.

“Don’t be,” he tells her. “H.R. and F.B.I. policies aside, I’ve never worked as well with someone as I do with you. The idea of fucking that up is a little terrifying.”

She nods in agreement.

“Let’s not fuck it up, then,” she tells him, and his eyebrows jump up.

“Agent Scully, I didn’t know you knew that word,” he teases, and she rolls her eyes.

“Here’s another word for you, Mulder: bullshit. Which is exactly what this case file is,” she retorts, finally breaking free of his grasp and picking up the corporeal vaporization file they abandoned.

“That’s exactly what that son of a bitch Skinner said,” he shoots back, and her mouth falls open with surprise before she laughs loudly.

“You have a great laugh, Scully,” he says with a smile, then sits forward and collects all but the corporeal vaporization file into a neat stack. “That wasn’t a come-on, by the way.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mulder,” she says, punctuating it with a slap to his arm.

“Watch your goddamn mouth in my apartment, for fuck’s sake.”

They go back and forth like this until they run out of curse words in both the American and British vernacular and Scully again has tears in her eyes, but this time from laughter.

“I better get going,” she says as she wipes the corners of her eyes, her cheeks aching. “It’s a school night.”

He walks her out, leaning against the table with his hands in his pockets as she dons her jacket and shoes. Once she crosses the threshold into his hallway, she turns around to find him standing in the open door.

“Goodnight, Agent Scully,” he says formally, extending his hand.

She looks at his outstretched hand, then at his face, where she sees the corner of his mouth quirk as he attempts to fight off a smile. Stepping past his hand, she slings one arm around his waist and gives him a squeeze.

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she says casually, and he wraps one arm across her shoulders and gives her a squeeze in return.

WShe leaves him there, noting that she does not hear his door close behind her. Not until she’s standing in the elevator does she look up to find him watching her, an affectionate expression on his face. She waves, and he waves back, and then he disappears behind the mirrored metal doors.

It’s a special thing. A unique thing. To feel the way she does when he looks at her like that, but have no intention of doing anything about it. To know that he very likely feels the same way, but would rather never find out if it could work than risk ruining their friendship. In another time and place, maybe they could have gone on a different kind of adventure together. But here and now, she just feels lucky to know him in any capacity.

It’s enough. More than enough.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #xfiles

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