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aromantic-shadow · 10 months

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Still thinking. Maybe this is influenced by the fact that I’m a real life goth with grief and mental illness and Angst and past emotional neglect but the way Most People have treated Shadow since Shadow the Hedgehog 05 has been so dismissive.

Like, yes, he is a edgy motorcycle-riding PTSD-ridden teenager with almost no communication skills beyond hitting the problem until it goes away. And that’s the point!

It feels redundant to say on Tumblr where we’re all mentally ill and love a dysfunctional edgelord(/affectionate), but the fact that he is a dysfunctional edgelord is the point and doesn’t mean he isn’t worthy of respect. Honestly, so much of the writing I hate seems to be the writers having a lack of respect for Shadow, and vice versa.

Let’s look at some examples. Sonic 06? Deeply respects him, acknowledges his character arc, his insecurities, and his strengths while also letting him be a loose cannon with no communication skills who gets himself Stranded In the Future for almost no reason. Rouge spends almost the whole game shaking her head at him, but when he’s in turmoil she says “even if you believe the whole world is against you, know that I’ll always be by your side.” Omega and Rouge take his fears seriously, and they both have his back in the finale.

Forces? He’s… there. Honestly so little focus is put on him that they couldn’t really screw up. He’s in character, for the little time he’s around. The other characters don’t seem to acknowledge his existence though, besides a brief “why would Shadow help the enemy” speech right before they reunite with no feeling behind it.

Boom (specifically the show)? Don’t get me wrong, I find Boom Shadow hilarious. Watching him beat up Team Sonic can always cheer me up. But despite being mandated not to make jokes, he somehow manages to be the butt of the joke. Watching it leaves you with the impression that he’s an idiot (/derogatory) with no understandable emotions who exists to beat up Sonic and be a Problem for no reason. He’s not intimidating (well he is when compared to everyone else but in a Broader Context), he’s an Edgelord that we’re supposed to point and laugh at.

Prime? He spends the entire show pounding Sonic into the ground while telling him to listen. His motivations are clear (get answers, get his frustrations out, find a solution, get revenge), his emotions are justified (even if his response is a bit overboard)- Sonic introduces Shadow as “a real buzzkill, and also, he rollerskates!” He’s allowed to be cool. He’s allowed to be a little shit. He’s allowed to be a foil to Sonic in every way I’ve been missing.

IDW? I actually have little problem with his introduction. The first peal of doom comes from Rouge’s treatment of him; when he runs off, she talks about Shadow like an unstoppable force that cannot he reasoned with- which he is, but she and the Chaotix talk about those character traits like they’re an annoyance or an obstacle. Rouge treats him like a tool to manipulate- and Rouge is a manipulator, don’t get me wrong, she’s selfish, but she also cares about Shadow, even when he’s being an edgy 15 year old (just look at 06).

That’s all of IDW- Shadow is an annoyance, a loose cannon “getting in their way”, messing up the plan by being reckless and independent and violent. The scene in issue 19 bothers me for a lot of reasons, but that’s the main stickler. Rouge and Sonic talk about him like he doesn’t care about the survivors (you could argue this point, but I’d say that while Shadow tends to use violence, he’s doing it for what he considers good reasons, not just for his ego). Shadow’s stupidity in the fight is treated as, well, stupidity- which, fair. I think the scrapped idea of him taking off his inhibitors would have at least let him be cool, go out with some dignity. But his “death” isn’t a tragedy, it’s a problem. Rouge is the only one who mourns him.

Idk- as someone who grew up as the bullied outcast, whose emotions were an inconvenience and an annoyance, who, if he tried to be himself, was just “too much”- it hits close to home.

(I haven’t read the newest IDW issues (I love my local library but could y’all PLEASE get the latest issues???), but from what little I’ve seen, the difference seems to be that Shadow is treated with dignity. Yeah, he’s mean to Sonic- of course!- but he’s also angered by the clones- “they don’t deserve to wear my face”- and that’s treated as legitimate rather than “ugh, Shadow’s ego causing us problems again.” And they let him be cool.)

TLDR: some of y’all really don’t want teenagers to have inconvenient emotions and it is not a good look. People are messy, stupid, take up space, and often don’t make sense, and they still deserve to be treated as people.

#shadow the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog meta #tw ableism #?#vent #I’ve needed to get this off my chest for a long time #this makes me so angry. obv cause I relate to it #ppl just get so tilted when you dare to have emotions. now that I’m not a powerless kid I get to tell them to suck it #I’ll have emotions as loud as I damn please; and if that’s a problem for you then I’ll be louder #(this isn’t about hurting ppl with emotions. emotions are neutral and we’re allowed to feel as many as we need #it’s what we do with them that matters)#thank you for coming to my ted talk #🔥#EDIT: /nbh

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becca-alexa · 1 year

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Ride the Lightning

Chapter One: Prelude

Read on AO3!

01 ┋ 02 ┋ 03 ┋ 04 ┋ 05 ┋ 06 ┋ 07 ┋ 08 ┋ 09 ┋ 10 ┋ 11 ┋ 12 ┋ 13

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Original Female Character

Summary: Eddie Munson hated Veronica Windsor, the newest student at Hawkins High, and she hated him just as much. When a situation arises that brings them together, will they both emerge unscathed? Will things forever change between them?

Word Count: 3.3K

Content Warnings: [N/A]

Author's Note: I tried to be cool and name the chapters after songs that would have been around in '86 - mainly Metallica, W.A.S.P, Mötley Crüe, Judas Priest, and The Smiths. I might make a playlist with all the songs once this is over, just for fun. Let me know if you liked this! I'm excited to get this going!

Nestled somewhere between the preps, jocks, and goths, stretching far across the expanse of laminate tabletops and trays of barely-edible slop sat the familiar members of the Hellfire Club, all enthralled in conversations over their latest campaign, the excitement in their voices clear and carrying over those of the students around them. Dustin’s head snapped back with pealing laughter at a comment Gareth had made; Jeff and Thomas were both hunched around Will, staring in awe as he flipped through a handful of drawings from his sketchbook - designs for their newest D&D characters. And, arguably the most “normal” among their rag-tag band of outcasts, Mike and Lucas both ate their pitiful excuses for lunches in a mutual silence, picking up bits and pieces of the discussions around them, answering when needed - but, for the most part, listening.

And watching.

The only one seemingly out of character was Eddie, quiet as he picked at his bag of pretzels, his gaze locked onto… something, his attention consumed, entranced, by whatever - or whoever - had caught his eye - and, by the look of him, he wasn’t very happy about it.

“Guys, who…?” Lucas twisted himself around, nearly falling from his seat as he tried to follow Eddie’s apparent line of sight, asking the rest of the group, “Who is he staring at?”

Their conversations ground to an abrupt halt at his question, everyone’s attention turning toward their fearless leader - who was still painfully oblivious to their odd looks. “Do you even have to ask?” Dustin offered in response, rolling his eyes, smirking as he shoved a handful of soggy fries into his mouth.

Lucas replied with a shrug, hands raised in confusion, “I don't-”

“It’s Veronica, dude.” Jeff graciously chimed in, giving Lucas a nudge toward his left, pointing out the girl in question from among the crowd - she was sitting across from a fierce-looking Max, her back to them, her shoulders shaking in laughter at something Robin had said.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘Oh’ - and you better cut it out, man.” Dustin turned to Eddie, a frown etched into his soft features as he swat at his arm. “Max keeps giving us the stink eye.”

Eddie blinked, as if only now hearing what they were saying, and he frowned. “If you’re all so curious, I am not staring at her - I’m glaring. Menacingly.” He stuffed a few pretzels into his mouth, his gaze never leaving the back of Veronica’s head. “There’s a difference.”

“Why don’t you like her?” Will asked, ever the innocent one, his head falling to the side in confusion as he poked a straw through his juice cup. “She’s really nice.”

“Yeah, man.” Mike quickly agreed, nodding as he added, “She’s pretty cool, plus she's never mean to us."

Eddie groaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “What, like I’m just supposed to like everyone?” he snapped, eyes narrowed as he turned to the table, jaw tight, lips pressed into a frown.

“I mean, technically, no - but you’re the only one who doesn’t like her.” Dustin pointed out, his observation serving only to worsen Eddie’s mood; the others all nodded in agreement - and he could only stare at them in disbelief - in betrayal. His mouth thinned in annoyance at their sudden interrogation - and over Veronica Windsor, of all people.

“Whatever, dudes…” He’d already listened to more than he could stomach; rising from his seat, he gathered his things, stuffing his baggie of pretzels into his pocket as he made for the door.

“You’re leaving?” Gareth shouted after him, confusion clear in his voice. “Hey, lunch isn’t over yet!”

“I lost my appetite.” Eddie said, his frown evident in his voice.

“C’mon, Eddie…” Dustin said, his voice urging the older man to come back. “Promise we’ll stop-”

“I’ll be in the theatre room.” He didn’t bother turning around. “Just scream if you need me.”

The group watched in pained silence as he disappeared into the ever-present sea of students, all wondering why he was so sensitive when it came to her.

And they weren’t the only ones watching.

“And… He’s gone.” Max announced, stretching her neck to see over the crowd, her eyes following Eddie out of the lunch room.

“Finally.” Veronica said with a sigh, her hands tucked between her knees, shoulders hunched forward as she slumped into her seat, an unwanted shiver coursing through her. “I swear to God, it's like I can feel him staring holes into the back of my head.”

“That’s just Eddie being… well, Eddie.” Nancy offered with a smile, but it did little to reassure her.

“I swear, he’s usually not like this, though.” Most days, Robin tried her best to keep her friend from thinking that Eddie was a complete lunatic, but even she couldn't dispel Veronica's doubts entirely. “At least, I don’t think he is. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it-”

“Sure, and I’m Barbara Walters.”

“Why does he hate you so much?” Max asked, a full-mouthed El nodding at her side in agreement, eyes wide and bright with curiosity.

“Hell if I know!” Her head dropped into her hands with a frustrated groan, shaking as she added, “I bumped into him in the hall one day and, bam - sworn enemies.”

“He’s usually a sweetheart-” Robin began, but was quickly silenced by the piercing look Veronica threw her way.

“Munson? You're telling me that Edward J. Munson is a sweetheart?” She couldn't help but bark out a laugh, cynical and dry, her bland excuse of a lunch long since forgotten. “Please. Might as well have told me Satan lives under the town or something.”

“Well, technically-”

“Anyway,” Max interrupted, shooting Robin a chastising look that, luckily, went unnoticed by Veronica. “Are we still meeting up later?”

It was the first Friday of the month, which meant their group gathered at Nancy Wheeler’s for a slumber party - a tradition they’d long since held, and one that Veronica found herself joining into seamlessly, almost as if she’d been with them since the very beginning.

“I promised Mr. Clayborne I’d help him clean up after school.” Veronica answered, fumbling with something in the bag at her side.

Max struggled to hide her disappointment. “O-Oh.”

“Let me guess - extra credit?” Nancy asked, rolling her eyes dramatically, knowing that, wherever those golden words were involved, Veronica would always be the first on the scene.

“Every point counts, right?” Looking up, Veronica softened at the sadness lying just behind Max’s eyes, a tightness settling in her chest. “Hey, I’ll go straight over once I’m finished, alright?” At her reassurance, the redhead seemed to perk up, even if only a little. “It shouldn’t take too long, I promise.”

"Pick up the pace, Henderson! We only got an hour before the guys start showing up!"

Eddie and Dustin rounded the corner to the empty hallway, each holding a box filled nearly to overflow with stuff the older boy had gathered to add to their setup - candles, strings of holiday lights, plastic skulls he'd found at the bottom of the discount bin at Melvald's that he'd repainted to look decrepit and aged.

"Didn't you finish this last week?" Dustin asked, adjusting his grip on the box, nearly tripping over his own shoelaces as he tried to keep pace with him.

"I need to add some final touches - then it’ll be perfect." Eddie replied with an easy smile, having already planned out the placement of each of the items. But, as they neared the drama room, he slowly came to a stop, with Dustin struggling to balance the heavy box atop his hip.

“Dude, what gives?” the younger boy asked, already feeling a layer of sweat begin to bead underneath the brim of his cap. “Why’d you stop?”

Eddie slowly approached the door, straining to listen to the music coming from inside the drama room, frowning as he recognized the song - Can’t Fight This Feeling by REO Speedwagon. Had Mr. Clayborne left the radio on? Just as he’d taken a step forward, the soft melody of someone’s voice demanded his attention; it was gentle, sweet, and it made his stomach flip, twist, wrench as a familiar heat began to boil deep within his gut.

Only one person would ever stay at school this late - and on a Friday afternoon, no less.

Eddie all but jumped for the door, throwing it open with a single hand, the wooden thing crashing against the wall, nearly clipping Dustin on its backswing.

"Oh, for the love of- Windsor!"

At the sudden slam, Veronica let out an ear-piercing shriek, the handle of the broom she’d been holding clutched almost painfully against her chest as she spun around, long braids wrapping around her, skirt still billowing about her knees as she shouted, "For Christ's sake, Munson!" Chucking the damned broom aside, she marched up to where he was standing, a nervous-looking Duston only paces behind him. "What the Hell is wrong with you?"

"With me?" he shouted back, voice loud booming, chest expanding in anger at having come across her, of all people. "What's wrong with you? And what are you doing in our room?" Looking around, his face fell at the sight of… everything, stacked, sorted, and neat about the space - and out of the arrangement he’d worked so hard to perfect. Chairs were pushed back against the wall, tables folded and stored away.

"Uh… Cleaning? This place was a mess." Her rolling eyes only incensed him further, and Dustin could tell he was veering toward the Danger Zone.

"O-Oh, no…"

"Mr. Clayborne asked me to organize in here." She took a step back, leveling herself with him, hands planted firmly on her hips as she leaned toward him in pure challenge - and, to add insult to injury, she batted her eyes. "Why? Is that a problem?"

"Yeah, it's a problem - you touched our shit!” Eddie exclaimed, waving an arm toward where their Hellfire setup had once sat, now empty and cold.

"First of all, this is the school's shit, which I received express permission to touch.” Setting aside his mounting panic for but a moment, Dustin couldn’t help the admiration he held for Veronica - if anyone could hold their own against Eddie’s temper, it was her. “And, secondly - I didn't throw any of your junk away. Your dolls-"

Eddie blinked once, twice, the inner mechanisms of his mind all but visibly working to understand what she’d said, his voice quiet as he repeated, "Dolls…?"

"Shit, shit, shit, shit-" Dustin hissed, dragging his hands down his face, watching in horror through his slotted fingers, his gaze following the searing wave of red scaling up the pale column of Eddie’s throat.

"Dolls?" He screamed, the sound echoing through the room as he took a step forward, forcing himself into Veronica’s personal space, his face a mere breath away from hers. She could feel the heat radiating from him, unfiltered rage at having had his passion mocked so openly, so bluntly. "Look, Windsor-"

Dustin pushed himself between them, grabbing Veronica by the wrist and all but dragging her toward the door, making sure to pick up her bag on their way out, voice quaking as he exclaimed, "H-Hey, Veronica! Can I talk to you for a sec? Great, thanks!"

"Dustin, what-" Veronica pulled herself free of his grasp; she tried to go back into the room, only to be stopped by the youngling, his body physically blocking the doorway.

"You need to leave."

"Excuse me?" She couldn’t believe what she was hearing - Eddie was the one who showed up and caused a massive scene over what was, arguably, nothing, and she was the one being told to leave?

"You. Need. To leave - before Eddie goes full Death Star on both of us."

Veronica raised her hands in equal parts exasperation and confusion. "What does that even mean-"

"I'll explain later! Just, please…!" Dustin begged, shoving her bag into her arms and pushing her down the empty hallway.

Veronica took in a breath, closing her eyes as she brought her rising temper in check, all while Dustin was practically having kittens at her indecision. "Fine - but if that room's a mess tomorrow morning, I'm blaming it on you guys!"

“Henderson!” Eddie screamed, his patience obviously worn thin.

Pleading, Dustin shouted, "F-Fine! Okay! Just go!" Watching as she disappeared down the hall, he took in what he’d hoped was a calming breath before jumping back into the lion’s den that was their Hellfire room, praying he was prepared enough to deal with Eddie’s blackened mood.

He walked in slowly, cautiously, nerves wracked as he watched Eddie drag the massive wooden table back to its rightful place in the center of the room. "H-Hey, man, it's okay-"

"What part of this looks okay to you?" he shouted, face still red, his voice quaking as he spoke. "It took me three weeks to get this place perfect, Dustin! Three weeks! And she ruined everything-"

"Eddie! Eddie, listen to me! It's fine!" Dustin insisted, grabbing his mentor by both arms, giving him a settling shake in hopes of clearing his mind - or, at least, distracting him. "We'll get everything set up again. It's not that big a deal, man-"

"Whoa, what happened here?" Gareth's voice echoed through the space, the rest of the group following closely behind him, all staring at the empty room; Eddie rolled his eyes, tugging himself free of Dustin's grasp as he went to grab a stack of chairs.

"Veronica." Dustin confessed, lifting his cap as to drag a hand through his errant curls. "Mr. Clayborne asked her to clean things up and she put everything away."

"She shouldn't have been in here." mumbled Eddie, digging through one of the stacked boxes nearby, his arm shoved inside nearly to the elbow as he tried to find the stacks of terrain maps he’d left behind after their last session. "This is our space."

"She was just doing what he asked her to do!" Dustin groaned, pinching the space between his eyebrows as he felt a headache coming on.

"Honestly, though, it was getting kinda grody in here." Thomas added, moving to help Eddie search for their things.

Mike and Will both chimed in, "Agreed."

And their responses only further upset Eddie, who rolled his eyes as he grumbled, "Whatever."

"Yeah, dude - and you really shouldn't have yelled at her like that."

At Dustin’s words, the room seemed to still, everyone turning to look at Eddie, matching expressions of surprise frozen onto their faces. "Hold up, you were yelling at her? At Veronica?" Lucas asked, clearly stunned that anyone - including Eddie - would ever think to raise their voice at her at all, especially considering the circumstances. They all knew how deeply Eddie’s disdain for the girl went, but to yell at her? "Like, how loud are we talkin'?"

"Sinclair-"

Jeff stepped forward, his grip rough as it landed on Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing as he shook his head in… disappointment? Eddie couldn’t tell. "Dude, did you at least apologize?"

"Well, she was yelling right back-" he tried to defend, but to no avail.

"Because you did it first!" Dustin shouted, clearly having had enough of his nonsense. "Honestly, you two should just kiss and make up already…"

Eddie turned to stare at him, as did the rest of their group, eyes wide with unfiltered shock, a seething heat - one that always seemed to appear whenever Veronica was involved - coursing through him, rattling him, his body all but seizing at the thought of… "Henderson, I swear to God, if I ever hear you say something that moronically idiotic again, I’m suspending you for a month."

"Alright, sorry, my bad." Dustin mumbled, setting the last of their figures onto the table, sliding into his seat beside Will. "I was just saying…"

Looking over their table, Eddie let out a sigh, conceding that things were as good as they were going to get, at least for now. With his voice booming, he announced with a clap of his hands, "Alright, gentlemen - are we getting this campaign started or not?"

"...And then he yelled at me!" Veronica exclaimed, earning a gentle swat from Nancy, who was seated behind her and undoing the tight braids in her hair. "Can you believe that? And over a bunch of little dolls-"

"Figures." Nancy conceded, placing a bright pink elastic onto Eleven’s outstretched hand. "Mike says they're figures, not dolls."

"Whatever!" Veronica groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “He was acting like I’d burned the room down-”

"Hey!” Robin poked her head into Nancy’s bedroom, a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of soda balanced in her hands. “Are we talking about Eddie?"

"Who else?” Max chimed in with a laugh. “I swear, he’s cool but he’s totally weird.”

Eleven smiled as Nancy passed her the brush, the pair switching places atop her bed - Eleven always liked brushing out Veronica’s lengthy hair, silky between her fingers. "Why don't you like him?"

“He hasn’t really given me a reason to, has he?”

“Eddie is nice, though.” Eleven continued, head falling to the side. “It confuses me, why he’s so mean to you.”

At her words, Veronica went quiet, her gaze falling onto her lap, fingers pulling at the hem of the shirt Nancy had let her borrow. Just from what his friends had so often claimed of him, she knew that Eddie Munson was kind, loyal, protective of those in his life nearly to a fault. She knew that he could be sweet, could be gentle - she’d seen that side of him firsthand, yet it always disappeared the moment she got too close. She’d never admit to it aloud, but his treatment of her… stung, even if only a little. She gave a smile, the melancholy still clear behind her eyes, and she shrugged her shoulders as if to say "Your guess is as good as mine".

Nancy was the first to break the silence. “Alright, moving on - I have three new colors of nail polish and I just bought a new set of curlers.” she announced, and the warmth of the room seemed to return tenfold. “Who wants to go first?”

Eddie groaned into his pillow, his face pressed into it as he laid atop his stomach, sleep evading him as he tossed and turned beneath his blankets. Flipping onto his back, he stared holes into the ceiling, the events of the last few hours still fresh in his mind, still raw, still aching.

The week’s session had gone through without incident, the group successfully defeating the rabid band of werewolves he’d set in their path and moving onto their next objective. Still, Jeff’s words echoed through his mind, souring in his throat, settling uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

"Dude, did you at least apologize?"

Should he apologize? Thinking back, now alone with his thoughts, Eddie admitted that he may have overreacted - had she even known that the room was theirs? That they would be using it that day? All she’d done was follow Mr. Clayborne’s instructions, and he’d exploded at her. It certainly hadn’t been one of his proudest moments, he thought.

But, what bothered him the most was what Dustin had said - that he and Veronica should just kiss and make up already.

Reaching over to his nightstand, he grabbed the mixtape she’d left behind after Dustin had all but dragged her away from him; he traced over her neat handwriting with his finger, felt the raised bumps of the stickers she’d used to decorate it. He flipped it over in his grasp, holding the plastic thing close to his chest. His other hand moved up toward his face, his touch soft as he grazed over his lips.

Kiss and make up-

In a flash, he’d put the cassette back on the nightstand, hands fisted at his side as he willed away the heat boiling in his stomach, his head spinning. He forced himself to sleep, eyes clenched together, his breathing deep and slow as her distant singing fluttered through his raging thoughts.

He didn’t return it, and he didn’t apologize.

#ride the lightning #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x original character #my first stranger things fic!!#this is going to be an enemies to lovers slow burn so get ready y'all #and steve's not relevant in this chapter but he'll show up later i swear #feedback is greatly appreciated!!!#AAAAAAAAAAA i'm so excited for this #eddie munson fic #enemies to lovers #slow burn #this can be eddie x y/n if you want my smooth brain just needs a name in there to write #also want to add that Grant Goodman's character is Thomas in this fic since he was never formally given a name #becca.fic

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waddlebouncefloof · 2 years

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Leviathantale Mermay 2022 Days 21-22: Bioluminescence, Goldfish

Summary: Dream approaches Reaper with a request and an offer.

Reaper remembers a time when his very presence spelled the death of the mortals around him. His presence made the sea’s temperature drop alarmingly low and he left behind more seafoam than frightened mortal bodies wherever he swam. Even amongst his fellow Leviathans, there were a few who could stand his ice-cold touch.

Dream was the exception. While Reaper froze those in his path, Dream burned. His beauty and touchiness made him Reaper’s favorite to swim and tangle with. He remembered how Dream would tug him away with a coy giggle and unravel him with pointed touches. They would dance with each other in the dark, his ice blue complimenting Dream’s blinding golden.

Reaper knew that Dream only spent time with him to make Nightmare jealous. They were all so thoughtlessly cruel to each other back then, though he had been too lonely and desperate to mind it.

But then, Error came into their fold. But then, the Leviathan Wars began.

When Dream came swimming back to Reaper with a knowing look in his eyelights, Reaper knew what he was going to ask.

“Join us,” Dream had crooned, leaving burning touches on Reaper. He had looked so confident back then. “Fight for me.”

But by then, Reaper was no longer the same, desperate soul. He had already rejected Error, whose anger and betrayal stung far more than any tantrum that Dream would throw ever would. He was determined to stay neutral and far away from the senseless squabbling. Reaper was tired.

So, he gave Dream a dry and sarcastic smile. “Tempting, but I’ll have to decline.”

Reaper got some terrible burns out of that, but he had his centuries of isolation in his own territory to soothe his wounds. It would be a long, long time before Dream would approach Reaper for a dance again. It was for the best. Reaper wasn’t at his best back then and neither was Dream.

Now, they’re different. They’ve met mers and selkies and other mortals who changed them for the better. And now, they’re parents too.

Reaper dances with Dream in the water, countering the Koi’s natural heat with his ice as the Shiver admires Dream’s true form up close. Cross is especially enthralled. With a quirk of his mouth, he overhears Palette Roller loudly and proudly proclaiming how his Dreamama is the most beautiful in the sea.

“W-Well, I think that my Papa is very pretty too,” Goth shyly speaks up in Reaper’s defense, making him brighten up the seafloor even more with his bioluminescence. It compliments Dream’s natural light very nicely.

Palette Roller wisely doesn’t argue with Goth. Instead, he takes Reaper’s son’s hand and leads him away to play with the other children. The pair’s peals of laughter make Reaper’s soul warm with happiness.

“Awwww,” Reaper coos at the sight. “So cute.”

“You’re taking it rather well, Reaper,” Dream giggles. “I would’ve thought that after Percy, you’d be more strict with Goth.”

Reaper’s smile freezes. He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

Dream tries to explain before he cuts himself off and shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s nothing important.”

Reaper stops him with an eerie look. “No, Dream. Go on. What. Did. You. Mean?”

———————————————-

Dream, seductively: Join my cause.

Reaper: No

Dream: >:0

Palette Roller, adorably: Hold hands with me!

Goth: Ok!

Reaper: >:0

#leviathantale #little selkie #mermay 2022 #Dream #reaper

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prettyflyshyguy · 5 months

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goths rejoyce, there's a fuckoff long (fake) peal necklace available at kmart for like $8

#you can double it over its great #I'm tempted to wear it to work #but I wear a polo uniform shirt to work #so I'd look like an absolute meme like that tiktok audio where its like #I have to go to work :(#and the person transitions from looking banger to trying to incorporate as much of their fashion as physically possibble within the #constraints of their uniform restrictions

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cyarskaren52 · 8 months

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The Best and Worst of the Grammys

Billie Eilish won big, Aerosmith and Run-D.M.C. made a glorious mess, and the show faced the challenge of having to respond quickly to Kobe Bryant’s death.

https://web.archive.org/web/20200127174112im_/https://static01.nyt.com/images/2020/01/27/arts/27grammys-billie-sub/merlin_167895759_ed12d0c7-178f-40ca-9613-51b8bd49a52c-superJumbo.jpg?quality=90&auto=webp

The 62nd annual Grammy Awards on Sunday were going to take place in the shadow of a scandal: the removal of the Recording Academy chief Deborah Dugan 10 days before the event and the stinging allegations of misconduct at the nonprofit that oversees the awards that she outlined in a complaint to the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. Instead, they took place in the aftermath of tragedy: the death of Kobe Bryant in a helicopter crash at 41. The host Alicia Keys was tasked with responding to the basketball star’s death on-air; she chose to make a statement about “respect” after what she called “a hell of a week,” too.

Here are the show’s highlights and lowlights as we saw them.

Best Coronation: Billie Eilish

It’s been a long time since a phenomenon as talented, authentic, complex and delightfully of-the-moment as Billie Eilish took over the Grammys. She turned five of her six nominations into wins, victorious in all four major categories (album, song and record of the year, plus best new artist), becoming the first artist to sweep since Christopher Cross in 1981. At 18, she’s the youngest person to win album of the year. It is all richly deserved: “When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?” redefines teen-pop stardom, as Jon Pareles wrote in his review of the album. Eilish (working with her producer brother, Finneas O’Connell) digs her shapely talons into the conflicts that throb in our minds like her meticulously constructed tracks: anxiety and confidence, love and terror, fairy tales and reality. She is a genuine melting pot of pop history — goths, rappers, confessional singer-songwriters, all tucked into baggy clothes that defy all kinds of stereotypes. “Why,” she cried into the microphone as she accepted her first televised award, for song of the year. “Aye yi yi,” she started her second, for best new artist. “Please don’t be me,” she mouthed as album of the year was being announced. Finneas spoke up during their speech for the LP: “We wrote an album about depression and suicidal thoughts and climate change and being the ‘Bad Guy,’ whatever that means,” he said, “and we stand up here confused and grateful.” It was simply proof that sometimes the music industry does get it right. CARYN GANZ

Best Flown-in Flute: Lizzo

Ever the savvy trouper, Lizzo maximized her opening slot. “Tonight is for Kobe!” she proclaimed at the start, then launched into her screaming, rasping, sobbing, pealing “Cuz I Love You,” in a monumental black dress. An orchestral interlude threatened to turn “Truth Hurts” into Grammy kitsch, but it was just long enough for a costume change — then Lizzo was back with rhymes, skintight sequins, dancers and kiss-off sass. A flute descended on a plastic tray; she played just enough showy trills and runs, then growled harder to finish the song. If a prime-time network audience hadn’t already known who Lizzo is, they knew now. JON PARELES

Worst Use of an Award Presentation: Comedy Album

It’s conventional wisdom at this point that the Grammys are more of a concert special than an awards show, but presenting the trophy for best comedy album on a night where only nine awards were given over nearly four hours was absurd. On Sunday, that insult to musicians was compounded when Dave Chappelle won for the third straight year in the category — it’s not like they were giving a new face some shine — and then compounded once again by the fact that Chappelle, who might’ve at least given a speech to remember, did not even show up. (Poor Jim Gaffigan, and also every smaller artist in a genre category whose life would’ve been made by accepting a Grammy onstage.) Tanya Tucker accepted on Chappelle’s behalf, giving a halfhearted “I’m sure he thanks y’all.” Right. Sure. JOE COSCARELLI

Best Call to Arms: Sean (Diddy) Combs

There were only the faintest hints of skepticism at the Grammys on Sunday, only the mildest acknowledgment of the controversies that have been engulfing the Recording Academy for the past two weeks, and really, the past two years. Saturday night, however, Sean Combs received the Salute to Industry Icons Award at the Clive Davis and Recording Academy’s Pre-Grammy Gala, and Diddy did not mince words. “Truth be told, hip-hop has never been respected by the Grammys. Black music has never been respected by the Grammys to the point that it should be,” he said. “For years we’ve allowed institutions that have never had our best interests at heart to judge us. And that stops right now.” He issued a challenge to the Recording Academy to make radical changes in the next year, and urged his fellow artists and executives to be part of the evolution. And if things don’t change, Diddy’s predictions were dire: “We have the power. We decide what’s hot. If we don’t go, nobody goes. We don’t support, nobody supports.” JON CARAMANICA

Best Example of Someone Coming to Play: Tyler, the Creator

Taking the Grammys seriously is usually a fool’s task, yet there was something extremely endearing about the way Tyler, the Creator rose to the occasion, and beyond it. His red carpet look was crisp bellhop. His performance, of “Earfquake” and “New Magic Wand,” was fully engaged and rowdy. His best rap album acceptance speech was pointedly warm. And his backstage pressroom interview was frank. He received a lot from the Grammys last night, but he gave much more. CARAMANICA

Best Rock ’n’ Roll Mess: Aerosmith and Run-D.M.C.

It was not technically good. But it didn’t have to be good: It had to be insane, and on that point, it delivered. Steven Tyler side-skedaddled over to Joe Perry and dragged his scarf-draped mic stand around the Staples Center. Run-D.M.C. broke through a wall of bricks that looked like a prop from a middle school play. Everyone seemed to be yelling, record-scratching and guitar-soloing in the wrong key, at the wrong tempo, in the wrong decade. But the crowd was grinning and dancing, swept up in some magical blend of nostalgia and Tyler’s frontman charisma. (Two younger women in the front row were literally swept up by the latter. Cringe.) This was the party the Grammys have been trying, and failing, to capture for several years: the power of rock ’n’ roll lunacy, compressed into seven minutes of riffing, screaming and nonsense. GANZ

Worst Self-Cover Version: Aerosmith and Run-D.M.C.

Television cameras and headphone listening were merciless to Aerosmith, who paired up with Run-D.M.C. to recreate their shared 1986 remake of “Walk This Way,” which recharged Aerosmith’s career and introduced hip-hop to many rock fans. That was a long time ago. After Aerosmith plodded through “Livin’ on the Edge” — though Tyler playfully dragooned Lizzo for an impromptu audience singalong — Joe Perry fumbled his indelible opening riff for “Walk This Way.” Run-D.M.C. joined in for colliding vocals, overenthusiastic turntable scratching, incoherent solos from Perry and audience-participation high jinks from Tyler. It looked like fun, anyway. PARELES

Best Internet Fever Dream: Lil Nas X and Co.’s ‘Old Town Road’ Medley

Like most of what Lil Nas X has accomplished in the last year, his epic performance of “Old Town Road” at the Grammys was not primarily about the music. Instead, he attempted the magic act of making memeability translate to network television, and he more or less pulled it off, relying on an intricate rotating set where each door led to another layer of winks and smirks: BTS, underutilized but still electric, did its “(Seoul Town Road Remix)”; Mason Ramsey and Billy Ray Cyrus kept their SEO alive; and Diplo pretended to play a banjo, adding about as much as he did to the success of “Old Town Road” in the first place. For the close-watchers and “Road” completists, there was the empty chamber, featuring a green slimy skull, where Young Thug should have been, and rather than detracting from the unity, his absence just gave us all a chance to breathe amid the MDMA explosion. COSCARELLI

Worst Silencing: The Prince Tribute

FKA twigs learned pole dancing to make her video for “Cellophane,” adding it to an already impressive movement vocabulary. She is also, however, a songwriter and singer who explores complex intersections of carnality, power and devotion — as Prince did. So she was an intriguing choice to join a tribute to Prince, billed alongside Usher and Sheila E. But Prince’s music remained a man’s world on Grammy night, with a three-song medley that was a teaser for a full-length Prince tribute planned by the Recording Academy. The band added Vegas embellishments to the basics of Prince’s arrangements, Usher did the lead singing and some Prince moves, Sheila E. added percussion and FKA twigs only danced: lithe and precise, but merely ornamental. “Of course I wanted to sing,” she wrote on Twitter, but she took what she could get. PARELES

Best Combination of People Who Actually Know One Another: The Nipsey Hussle Tribute

In a show that included no shortage of tear-jerking and maybe too many musical/visual/emotional whiplash moments, the tribute to the Los Angeles rapper Nipsey Hussle, who was killed last year, at least had coherence on its side. Meek Mill started things off with a crisp verse that led seamlessly into an appearance by Roddy Ricch, a surging talent from Nipsey’s own neighborhood, before John Legend did his instant-gravitas thing. DJ Khaled shouted some aphorisms, YG showed off his impeccable style and some local inter-gang unity and then the gospel-crossover king Kirk Franklin brought the wave of emotion home with a choir in white and gold. Above the stage, a portrait of Nipsey was set next to one of Kobe Bryant, another hometown hero. All of these things make sense together, which is more than can be said for a lot of Grammys moments. COSCARELLI

Worst Sense of Pacing: Everyone Who Performed a Slow Song

I’ve complained before about the preponderance of ballads at the Grammys and this year was no exception. We get it: you’re a real musician whose songs are sturdy enough to be played on a grand piano. It’s not that, in isolation, any of these belted slow songs were especially bad, but between Camila Cabello, Billie Eilish, Demi Lovato, H.E.R., Tanya Tucker and Alicia Keys, the repeated down moments were just too down for a show that can already feel interminable. And at least half of those women are capable of lighting the place on fire à la Tyler, the Creator, so to see them stick with safety just feels like a missed opportunity, while also preventing any one minimalist performance from being truly showstopping. On the other hand, if ballads are the key to keeping CBS viewers tuned in, skipping over album of the year nominee Lana Del Rey, whose “Norman ___ Rockwell!” was full of modern-day, lightly subversive torch songs, was extra foolish. COSCARELLI

Best Simplicity: Tanya Tucker

The Grammys love their ballads overmuch — see above — but Tanya Tucker’s “Bring My Flowers Now” needed only her leathery twang and co-writer Brandi Carlile’s piano chords and vocal harmony to tell its story. After 20 years between albums, Carlile and collaborators convinced Tucker, now 61, to record again. The song greets looming mortality with pragmatism. “Don’t you spend time, tears or money/On my old breathless body,” she sang, her voice lived-in and completely convincing. PARELES

Worst (and Worst-Timed) Statement of Emotional Fidelity: Blake Shelton and Gwen Stefani

The rictus ran heavy throughout “Nobody But You” by the real-life couple Blake Shelton and Gwen Stefani. A country singer and a flexible pop singer, they don’t have any natural musical chemistry, and this performance was dry and awkward. That it was the first music played following the musical tribute to Kobe Bryant only made it grimmer. CARAMANICA

Best Guitar Heroics: Gary Clark Jr. and H.E.R.

“This Land,” by the Texas blues-rocker Gary Clark Jr., confronts hostile neighbors with property rights. Backed by the Roots, Clark blasted its blues-reggae riff, snarled the lyrics and played the kind of overdriven solo that drew screams from the audience. It’s what he’s known for; he was back for the show’s “Fame” finale. But it was H.E.R. — a recent Grammy darling for her old-school musicianship — who made the surprise attack. Her song “Sometimes” started, like so many others on the show, as an unadorned piano ballad about overcoming obstacles; a mini-orchestra joined her. But as the song built, suddenly H.E.R. had a guitar in hand and she was making it wail and shred. It was just eight bars, but it made its point completely. PARELES

Worst Encapsulation of the Way It Used to Be (and Hopefully No Longer Will Be): ‘I Sing the Body Electric’

This is the final year of Ken Ehrlich’s 40-year run as the show’s executive producer, which means this might be the final time we see a precision-executed, umpteen-minute-long so-called Grammy Moment that scrambles together rappers, singers, dancers, Grammy stalwarts (Lang Lang! Gary Clark Jr.!) and music students … and that would be just fine. CARAMANICA

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lavatica · 1 year

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Demonia Gothic tall shaft combat boots size 7 - 7.5.

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novaxwalker · 2 years

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@noahwrightx:

Noah was struggling.

He’d had about enough of prancing around this place dressed like the Little Lord Fauntleroy discovered goths, was the thing. It was ridiculous--he looked ridiculous--and completely unsuited for the weather, which was, by the way, stupid fucking hot. So--he’d found clothes. Well, he’d stolen clothes, because he was good at that, and anyway, someone had kidnapped him and dumped him here and someone else had left their store unattended, so he figured it really all balanced out.

The problem now was the wings. They’d been tied up when he woke, careful knots binding them up against his back, and he’d wondered why until about five minutes after he untied them to get his jacket off and quickly realized how much more of a pain they were unbound. They seemed heavier without the support of the ties, and though he knew he controlled them--he’d tried, experimentally, to move one, and let out an alarmed shout when it actually moved--they seemed to have a mind of their own, engulfing him in a great cloud of black feathers when he was startled and knocking things over left and right.

Getting his ridiculous clothes off had been difficult enough, but doable. The fancy shirt and jacket had slits cut in the back, and he’d managed, with some trouble, to get them off. There was a lot of ungainly wiggling and shaking to get them off the wings, but he’d done it. His triumph had been short lived, however, because now he couldn’t get the new shirt on. He’d cut the stupid slits in the back--using one of the bizarre sharp hooks on the wings, so at least they were useful--but he couldn’t get the stupid wings to cooperate and go through, which meant he was tangled up in a stolen t-shirt, in an alley behind a row of shops, one arm through a sleeve and a wing stuck through another, unable to get his head out of the neck hole because the other wing was sticking straight through it, and there--underneath the sound of his own cursing--was the sound of footsteps approaching.

“If you fuckin’ laugh at me, I swear to Christ I will bust out of this t-shirt and cut you,” he warned, yanking hard at the shirt collar to stretch it wide enough to shove his head through. Shaking curls and feathers out of his face, he glared at the person approaching, and said, “Make yourself useful and shove that wing through that slit, or get lost, fuckface.”

The night had only gotten more and more bizarre as it went on. She had seen some serious shit since arriving on the island a mere few weeks ago, but somehow this seemed to top even the knowledge that vampires were goddamn real. Everyone was just acting so..weird. Even people who she didn’t know (which was like..most of the island) seemed off and confused. And yeah sure, she had felt just as trippy when she’d woken up in a strange place, but at least she knew who she was. Which, according to some of the whispers she had heard, couldn’t be said for all of these lunatics.

Having ate and drank her fill, Nova went on another wander of the ballroom. She could have left, she knew, but for some reason the room just seemed more..safe. Which was fucking bizarre since it was the place where she’d woken up, but who was she to question her feelings. Mask and boots having long been ditched at this point, she padded around in her stocking feet. In search of nothing really, except a new way to cure her boredom. And okay..this would do. Nova watched the man from a few steps away, not even bothering to hide her laughter at his struggles. Which she guessed had been unwise because he sure did sound serious with that threat. Undaunted though, she moved closer as she man was finally able to poke his head through. Just in time to see her break into a full peal of laughter.

“And how exactly do you plan to bust through that with just one arm, Hulk?” Nova pointed out, hands planted on narrow hips as she made a big show of assessing the situation. “Alright hot shot, be still.. Why in the actual fuck of fucks did you not take these off before putting on a shirt?” She muttered, a series of pulls and tugs seeming to finally start to work. Jesus what a dumbass...

@noahwrightx

#noahwrightx #delphine's ball #/moved to a new thread for tracking! :)

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articulatecreatively · 2 years

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Curious Artist, by G Kingham

It was a beautiful summer afternoon and the courtyard outside the ‘Curious Artist’ shop was buzzing with excited voices and peals of laughter. Shrubs and small ornamental trees in huge colourful tubs were giving enough shade for those who wanted it and the open spaces, enough light for those who needed it for their art projects. The whole courtyard felt welcoming and the flowers were just simply beautiful. The courtyard was an oasis and fragrant like a National Trust garden.

It was ‘Practice Art Together’ Saturday and plenty of people of all ages had signed up. Because of the time of year, the spectacular recent weather and Mr Brentford, the shop manager’s green fingers, the courtyard pots, were in full fragrant blooms and harmonising colour. An inspiration for the budding and the more advanced artists here today.

In one of the shady corners was a rather unlikely figure though. A regular visitor to the shop and most of its events. Ms Brockstone was a tall imposing woman, always wearing black and purple floating dresses. Heavy make-up and black hair made her look like a Goth and she always stood out inside the shop when she was browsing the fabulous art supplies. Today though, she was definitely in the shadows. She had a sketchpad and a small note book on her lap, her penned hand alternating between the two. She was obviously observing from the corner with an air of the mysterious about her.

No one seemed to know much about her but she was often around . Mr Brentford, the friendly green fingered manager, seemed to know her and tolerate her but never commented on her, her appearance or how much art stuff she bought or didn’t, as a matter of fact. But the rest of the staff had many opinions and gossip was plentiful.

Today was Marina’s first day. It was not unusual to see a new member of staff as there was quite a turnover of those. Students worked part-time and the full-time staff didn’t stay too long as there were no prospects of furtherance within the shop and the pay wasn’t that great either. The only criteria for getting a job here was to be enthusiastic about art and be willing to learn about the shops stock. Mr Brentford was always around to help, encourage and supply information to staff and customer. He was incredibly patient.

So there was always a relaxed happy family feel about the shop floor, except when Isabella Brockstone arrived. She was very quiet, intimidating and never smiled. There were of course rumours about her. No one could guess her age but she wasn’t young. She was single, probably because she was so scary and arrogant. She was an artist but probably not very good as no one had ever heard of her or seen any of her work. An intriguing painting of a dark and moody woodland was hanging behind the till and was rumoured to be hers. A gift to the shop maybe? She was very private – that was actually true. She was a vampire and ate children, which was obviously absurd. The whole village thought her strange and difficult. She just didn’t fit in.

Marina came across very bright and friendly, eager to learn. She was excited about her first day and felt she could learn a lot here. She was a young artist, self- taught, and had just moved to the area to broaden her horizons and was hoping to one day go to art college.

She was to shadow Mr Brentford for the morning and then familiarize herself with the stock in the shop and whatever else may have to be done on this busy day. She very much preferred to be outside with all this talent in the sun. The perfume of the flowers and the warmth and positive vibe was really rubbing off on Marina, so when they were suddenly in front of Ms Brockstone, she was surprised at the change of atmosphere.

“Ms Brockstone, how is your morning going?” said Mr Brentford, nodding at her. “Please, meet our newest member of staff- Marina” and eyes were on her. Marina smiled broadly but felt confused as the lady, Ms Brockstone, remained stony faced.

Quietly, with a slightly husky voice, she addressed Marina. “Nice to meet you” she said slowly, looking at her intensely.

“Marina has just moved to the area from the North.” And to Marina, Mr Brentford said, ”Maybe you could stay with Ms Brockstone for now . Come find me before lunch and help me set up refreshments for our guests.” And with that he walked off. Ms Brockstone’s eyes shone like black obsidian as they bore into Marina’s. She felt a little unsettled the way Ms Brockstone looked at her and it made her nervous like a little dormouse.

Talking of awkward situations – this was one. Marina started to smile again very carefully.

“Please sit and tell me a little about yourself” continued Ms Brockstone.

Marina carefully sat down and suddenly felt a little chilly. She couldn’t put her finger on it but there was something uncomfortable about this situation. The more she tried to relax, the more she tensed up.

After what felt like an interview, Ms Brockstone asked Marina to tea the following day, “to continue our chat,” she said almost pleasantly. Marina could’ve just said no but for some unexplainable reason and with some depredation, Marina said yes. Maybe the Spanish Inquisition had made her more confused or maybe the dark eyes had drawn her in. Either way, she had agreed and would go.

The other staff gave her worried looks across the courtyard, which just added to her confusion. One of the ladies with Mandy on her name badge waved her over.

“Are you ok? You look a little pale. What did she want? She didn’t scare you, did she? Shall I get you some water?” Mandy blathered on without giving Marina a chance to answer. This was all very odd, thought Marina, really getting nervous now.

At that point the nice Mr Brentford beckoned Marina over to the trestle tables he was starting to put up for the lunchtime refreshments and snacks. He was in the shade of a colourful sunshade which he had already erected and Marina couldn’t read his face. It was Mr Brentford who had introduced them after all, what does that say about him? Is he really that nice? But he had a quiet and calming presence and the rest of this otherwise lovely day passed without any more mention about the meeting. No more questions and no more time to think about it either. At some point Ms Brockstone had left un-noticed and was soon forgotten about.

Monday morning came and Marina didn’t turn up for her shift…

By the end of the week the staff at the ‘Curious Artist’ were told she had moved back home, some family emergency. But it all seemed rather sudden and strange . What had really happened to her? Enquiries were soon stifled by Mr Brentford and no one really knew anything about … what was her name again?

Rumours started up again. It was remembered that other staff disappeared like that in the past but no one could quite remember details. Mostly young women after a chat with that Ms Brockstone- she was scary! She lived alone and lured unsuspecting innocents into her lair! But why was this never investigated properly? What were the police doing? What about the missing women’s families, didn’t they want to know what happened to their loved ones?

A few weeks passed and the courtyard had changed colour. The greens started to become warm and glorious hues of orange, reds and browns. The fading fragrant blooms had been lovingly replaced by ornamental grasses by the green fingered manager, Mr Brentford. Everything looked pleasant and welcoming on this warm and sunny autumnal morning. Bunting was gently fluttering in the breeze above the door. It was calm and very few visitors were in the courtyard pursuing their art or just taking in the calm warmth of the space.

A young woman was walking slowly through the courtyard with a soft smile playing on her lips. She was well dressed, comfortable in her skin with an air of independence and self-confidence. She was in no hurry, absorbing her surroundings. Carefully she opened the door to the shop and entered. She caught Mr Brentford’s eye immediately and for a moment, he looked surprised to see her. Then he smiled and rushed around the counter towards her and to shake her hand warmly.

“It’s so good to see you again. I hear you are doing very well for yourself now. How long has it been? 5 years?”

“Thanks to the mysterious Ms Brockstone, who set me up as an artist in Scotland thanks to your introduction.”

After a short pause she continued, “I’m travelling for some new art project and wanted to come and see where it all began, that day, with the interview in your beautiful courtyard.”

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ssa-atlas-alvez · 10 months

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okay but cowboy!reader taking jj horseback riding when they visit his parents town for a case. they don't come back to his parents house (where they're all staying- readers mom wouldn't take no for an answer) until the early morning and the team teases them about it the next morning over homemade breakfast. reader is all blushey about it because he just genuinely lost track of time showing jj around and jj just isn't phased by the teasing. buddy distracting everyone from the conversation by finally getting fed bacon.

- 🦦

PART ONE (this can be read alone, but it starts the day after part one)

Description: Being close to home, the team finally get to meet reader's family. Things start out great and then... Not so much. Reader makes sure his younger brother knows that despite what their parents have said, he's still there for them.

Warning: homophobia, someone nearly says the f-slur twice (they don't say the whole thing, reader puts them in their place), mentions of going to conversion therapy, pro-conversion therapy views, being kicked out because of sexuality, unaccepting parents, unaccepting sibling (Jason's a bit of a dick and I stand by that). I think that's everything.

A/N: Sorry if this seems rushed at all aha (it's like 3k words but idk worried it's rushed). Also just to clarify I'm against conversion therapy (i'm saying it as a just in case it needs to be said).

Taglist: @xweirdo101x @xdark-acadamiax @ara-a-bird @heidss @chubbyboyinflannel @pendragon-writes @migwayne @bigolgay @technikerin23 @supercriminalbean @honestlycasualarcade @caffeine-mess @1s3v3n1 @oddmiles @kevyeen @stealing-kneecaps @criminalskies @woodandwaxwings @wizardmon3 @aphroditeslovr @ducks118 @azeal-peal @13thdoctor-run @introvertpan84 @goth-boi-atlas

You all met in the lobby at nine the next morning, you winced, seeing the appearance of the rest of the team, “Y’all okay?”

“No,” They groaned simultaneously.

“Alright, well, breakfast is on me,” You chuckled, “And I’ll drive so you can all sleep on the way there,” You held back a laugh as they all relaxed in relief (well, minus Rossi and Hotch who always made sure to be relatively simple with their drinking).

It wasn't a long drive, two hours max, before you arrived home. When you got out of the car, you drew in a deep breath, childhood memories rushing in. You had missed his place. You tried to get back as much as you could, for holidays and birthdays, but it never felt enough.

“Hi Mama!” You cheered, walking towards her with a grin.

“(Y/N)! What are you doing with your shoes on?” She raised her eyebrows, putting her hands on her hips. “Boy you know you need to take them off when you get in!” Alice, your Mama, looked up, seeing the panicked look of the team, she continued, “Oh, y'all don't need to worry your pretty little faces about it, (Y/N) should have remembered.”

“Sorry Mama,” You responded, quickly taking your shoes off and removing your hat and giving her a kiss on the cheek, “How are y’all?”

“We're all okay, son,” A gruff voice sounded through the room.

“Pops!” You grinned, giving your father a handshake before a hug. “Where's the squirt?” You asked, looking around.

“I'm not that much smaller than you,” Aden rolled his eyes, you didn’t respond, simply pulling your younger brother into an embrace.

“I didn’t realise he was such a hugger,” Emily smirked slightly as she spoke to your mother.

“Oh, (Y/N)’s always been a hugger,” Alice says, “He’s a complete softy.”

“We could never have known.” Morgan said before continuing, “Especially with all his reckless shoot outs,”

“His what?” Your Pops exclaimed.

“You're such an ass-” You hissed, turning to Morgan with a glare.

“Y/N!” Alice exclaimed.

“Sorry Mama! See y'all come over and now I'm in trouble every few minutes,” You said, turning your attention back to the team.

“Is what this lovely man said true?”

“Yes Mama, but in my defence-”

“Good luck son,” You Pops said, patting your shoulder. “Can I get anyone a drink? I reckon Alice’ll be chewing him out for a least ten minutes,”

Three minutes into the lecture, the door opened and closed loudly. You turned and saw your older brother, Jason, walk in.

“Well I'll be damned, if it isn't my snotty nosed younger brother!” Your head snapped up and your Mama wrapped up her lecture as you walked towards your brother.

“Jason! How you been?!” You pull him into a tight embrace.

“Not too bad, not too bad.” Jason answered, “Plodding along,”

Your attention switched over to Emily as she cleared her throat, “Oh! Sorry, this is my team. So Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, Garcia, Emily, JJ, and Reid,”

“I think you only had a younger brother?”

“Oh, er, Jason was Mama and Papa’s first child and then they adopted me and Aden,” You quickly explained.

“I see, don’t mention your least favourite brother, I see how it is,” Jason teased, you rolled your eyes.

“Whatever,” Jason laughed and gently shoved you.

“Ladies, y’all can take the spare room,” You said, “Gents, y’all can take my room. Aden, you lucky thing, get me sleepin on your floor,” Aden groaned loudly, causing the team to chuckle.

You had a few hours to settle down and you showed the team around, showing them who’s room was who’s, by the time you were settled, you were being told that it was time for dinner. And soon enough you were all sat around the table.

"Mrs (L/N), we were wondering if you had any good stories on young y/n here?" Derek asks with a grin.

Your face pales as your Mama smile, "Mama, that's not really necessary-"

“Nonsense! Your team wants to learn more about you,” She gave you a smile, patting your cheek. You found yourself sinking in your chair. “Sit up straight,”

“Yes Ma’am,” You turned to Morgan, “I’ll get you back for this,” You mumbled, turning to your mashed potatoes.

“We used to have this horse, Cinnamon,” You Mama started and you found yourself groaning in embarrassment.

“You don’t even know what story Mama’s going to tell,” Jason pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter, they’re all embarrassing,” You mumbled.

“He used to sneak out at night to sleep in her stable,” Your Mama began.

"Which would have been adorable if he wasn't sixteen," Jason snorted, you groaned loudly.

"Can you not embarrass me in front of my colleagues?"

"You do that yourself," Aden chimed in with a smirk.

“Kid, don’t test me-”

“Whatever, you’re an old man now,” Aden shot back. “Has (Y/N) told you about the time he got escorted out of a rodeo for threatenin’ the judges?”

“Oh god, I forgot about that!” You groaned loudly, placing your head in your hands as your team laughed loudly.

When night time rolled around, you parted ways with your team. The men heading to one room, the ladies heading to the other. You and Aden made your way to his room. You set up the sleeping bag and laid down. Eventually, Aden hopped into his bed, turning off his lamp and leaving you both in darkness.

“Which one is the one you have a crush on?” Aden asked you, breaking the silence.

“Hm?”

“The one you message me about,”

“Oh, JJ,” You said. “The blonde one without glasses,”

“Oh, she’s pretty.” Aden said, “You should totally ask her out.”

“Not that simple I’m afraid kid,” You sighed, “We work together.”

“No, it is that simple, grown ups just complicate everything for no reason.” You paused, taking in his words. He did have a point, (sort of).

“I guess.” You shrugged, “I dunno, guess I’m scared of rejection.”

“That would make sense,” Aden shrugged, “Given our past n all,”

“Dr Aden over here,” You joked.

Aden paused for a moment, shifting so he could look at you, “I think I wanna be a profiler when I’m older,”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Aden gave a small smile, “I think I could help do some good.”

“Aw, you wanna be just like you’re big brother,” You teased before sobering up, “I think you’d be good at it,”

“Really?” You smiled as his face lit up.

“Definitely, you got a smart brain in there, kid.”

“Thanks!” Aden laid back down, the pair of you smiling softly to yourselves. Silence took over for a few seconds. “Y/N can I tell you something?” Aden asked into the darkness.

“Sure, kid, what's up?”

There was a small pause, before Aden’s voice laced with anxiety piped up, “Promise it won't make you hate me?”

“Nothing you say would make me hate you, kiddo.” You said strongly. “Ever.”

“I- I like boys, I'm gay.”

You couldn’t help but smile, “Kid, that's okay. You're allowed to like boys, there's nothing wrong with it.” You reassured, Aden breathed a sigh of relief.

“I wanna tell Mama and Pops, could you wait close by in case it goes badly?”

“Of course, but I'm sure it'll go okay. When did you want to tell them?”

“Hmm… Two days time? I feel like that gives me some prep time.”

“Okay kid,” You said, “Now get some sleep,”

“A’right, night, (Y/N),”

“Night Aden,” You said, “Love you kid,”

“You too,” He yawned.

JJ opening the door and chiming a ‘good morning’ is what woke you at eight am the next morning. Normally, you would have been mad, having been woken up so early. But seeing JJ smile at you seemed to put the world right.

“Mornin’,” You replied, your voice deep from sleep. “You sleep well?”

“You betcha cowboy,” She responded with a twinkle in her eyes, you huffed a laugh. “Your mum says breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.”

Both you and Aden sat up at the mention of food. “We’ll be right down.” Aden said. When JJ had left, Aden turned back to you. “Where’s Buddy?”

“Sleeping in Mama and Pops’ room, apparently they’ve missed him more than me,” Aden gave a laugh as he left the room.

After breakfast, you sat on your couch, staring out the window into your backyard when JJ sat next to you. “You know, when you were talking about your childhood yesterday, I realised something.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve never ridden a horse before,”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to keep a variety of different jokes in your head - reminding yourself that it wasn’t the time or the place.

“Never?” You asked instead, and she shook her head.

“Nope, not once.”

“Would you like to? We’ve got horses,” You said, “I’m sure Mama and Pops won’t mind. I could even show you around a bit.”

JJ looked at you before nodding. “Yeah, okay,” She gave you a smile.

When you both got back it dark, you put both the horses back in the stables, following the usual steps (picking out the hooves and such) before you gave them an apple each and thanked them (something you always did after a ride). With that, you made your way back into the house.

“Well hey there stud,” Is what greeted you. You stared at Morgan, jaw dropped. “You two kids have been out a while,”

“I showed her around town,” You explained, feeling an awful lot like a teenager who stayed out past curfew.

“Uh-huh,” Penelope chimed, folding her arm.

“Hey, hey now,” You responded, “I just showed her around town, I showed her where I went to school, things like that.”

“Just ignore them,” JJ replied, giving you a smile, “They clearly don’t have anything better to do.”

“You wound me with your words,”

“Children, stop arguing,” Your Mama chimed, “Agent Rossi and Agent Hotchner has helped me cook dinner.”

“Rossi and Hotch are gonna be your new dads,” Morgan teased, you grabbed the closest pillow, throwing it at his head.

And soon enough, you were all sat around the table eating. “I’m just saying,” Aden said, he, Morgan, Prentiss, and Garcia grinning at you, “It’s a bit suspicious that you only took JJ out.”

You opened your mouth to argue when you witnessed Buddy stand on his hind legs and steal some bacon off of Morgan’s plate.

"Buddy!" Your eyes are wide as Buddy runs off with all of Morgan's bacon. "I am so sorry-!" You explain before running after him. "Buddy I thought we were trying a raw diet?!"

Buddy barked and your jaw dropped, "Don't take that tone with me, Mister."

“And on that note, I think we should all call it a night,” Your Pops said with a chuckle.

A few hours later, you laid back in your sleeping bag in the dark, “I think I’m going to tell them tomorrow.” Aden said thoughtfully, “I want it over with.”

“A’right kid,” You said, “I’ll be there,”

“I know, you’re always there when I need you,” Aden sat up to give you a smile, “Except for that time when you were too busy getting to know Rosie-”

“Hey, you told me you were fine, don’t open that can of worms kid-” Aden cut you off with a fit of laughter and soon enough you joined in. “You damn near gave me a heart attack with that.”

“That’s because you’re an old man.” You gasped dramatically.

“How dare you!”

“Boys you better go to sleep!” You heard your Mama exclaim through the door and you both struggled to keep your laughter quiet.

It was JJ that woke you that morning as well (something you could quite happily get used to). When she left, once again the pair of you got ready for the day.

“I think I might tell Mama and Pops before breakfast. I want to get it over with.”

“A’right, kiddo, I’ll be right outside, okay?” You reassured and he nodded. You gathered our clothes, getting dressed in the bathroom whilst Aden got changed in the bedroom. And then the pair of you walked downstairs, you waiting outside the kitchen door in the living room whilst Aden walked inside.

It had only been two minutes when Morgan approached you. “You good?” Morgan asked, seeing you standing in the living room staring intently at the kitchen door. You turned to him and gave a nod.

“Yeah, Aden wanted me close while he tells Mama and Pops something.” You answered, giving Morgan a small smile, “He was a bit nervous,”

The door flew open and closed again, looking at you for a split second before flinging his arms around you as he gave a small sob. “Kid? Kiddo, what's wrong?” You asked, rubbing circles on his back.

“You were wrong, it wasn't okay.” Aden cried.

“What’d they say?”

“That it’s wrong and I need conversion therapy.” Aden’s answer was short but made your stomach drop.

“Aden, look at me. There is nothing wrong with you. What they say don't matter, you hear me? They're bigots.” Your eyes flicked up to JJ, Emily, Penelope, and Spencer as they wandered in, concerned, “Why don't yall go pack some stuff, okay? 'm gonna talk to Mama and Pops, okay?”

You waited until Aden was out of the room before you walked in, “Y’all wanna tell me what the fuck you just said to that kid? He's crying his eyes out.”

“We told him the truth.” Your Mama answered.

“Really and what would that be?” You asked, folding your arms.

“That we don't want the likes of him under this roof.” Your Pops is the one who answered this time.

“The likes of him?”

“He's a homosexual!” Your Pops exclaimed, his face slowly starting to turn red.

“He's your son.” You stated.

“He's a fa-”

“Don't you even fuckin call him that again, you hear me?” You exclaimed, “I don't care if you're our pops, you call him that again I knock you out, understood?”

“We're your parents,” Your Mama exclaimed, “Where's your respect?”

“Funny enough, Ma, my respect left the minute you told my baby brother that the only way he would be accepted in this household is if he changed himself.”

“How are you defendin’ him?” She asked.

“There's nothing wrong with being gay.” You scoffed loudly, were they really so blatantly homophobic?

“It's disgustin’!”

“He's your son-”

“He's a sinner.”

“He’s a fourteen year old boy!” You could feel yourself starting to lose your temper.

“We've told him he can stay if he goes to conversion therapy.”

“Then he's leavin’. I'll look after him.” You state.

“You want him? Take him. We don't want a fa-” You don’t realise you’re reacting until you’re swinging. You hear a slight crunch as it hits his nose, you ignore it. You also ignore the pain that flashes through your hand on impact.

“I told you not to fuckin’ talk about my brother like that.” You state, pointing harshly at him. “Don’t fuckin’ talk about him like that.”

“(Y/N), You need to step out of the room,” You didn’t even realise Derek was in the room, until his fingers are wrapping around your shoulders in an attempt to pull you out of the room. You quickly shrug his arm off you.

“Y’all don't deserve a kid like Aden,” You leave the room, wanting nothing more than to go back in there and talk some sense into them. Instead you force yourself shoulders back, force yourself to take a deep breath and turn to Aden, “Come on kid, let's go. You okay with stayin’ with me for a while?”

“What’s going on?” Jason asked, walking into the room.

You turned to Aden, waiting until he nodded before you continue, “Aden just told Ma and Pops he’s gay and they told him to go to conversion therapy.”

Jason nods, “Good, it’ll help him.”

You scoff loudly, “You know what? I was so fuckin’ wrong about this family. Come on, Aden, we’re goin’,”

“You wait in the car, we’ll round up the others,” JJ said, placing her hand on your arm as she gives you a small smile. Aden follows you with his head down, hands in front as he anxiously picked at his nails.

You opened the passenger door for him, motioning for him to get in (the others could make do in the back for now, you needed to check on your brother). “Whatchya thinkin’?”

“I screwed all this up,” Aden whispers, “(Y/N)- I’m so sorry,”

“What? Hey, no,” Your answer is immediate, “Kid you did nothin’ wrong.”

“But now Mama and Pops don’t want anything to do with us, it’s just us.” Aden said, “I screwed it all up and now we’re back to square one.”

“Hey, no.” You keep your voice firm, “You did nothin’ wrong, what you told them is perfectly acceptable. It’s them that has the problem, a’ight? If that’s a make or break deal, then so be it.”

“But-”

“Kid, I would choose you over anyone, any day.” You said, “You’re my brother, which means you’re stuck with me for life. You hear me? I would rather have no one and still have you than have everyone without you,”

“But I-”

“You did nothin’ wrong.” You answer strongly.

“(Y/N)-”

“No, kid, I won’t have you thinking anything bad about yourself because of this,”

“I was just going to say that I think you need to go to the hospital,” He said, pointing to your hand, which was already bruising and beginning to swell.

“I’ll be fine,” You said, shrugging him off.

“Did you punch him?”

“Yep,” You replied, not one to lie to your brother, even about something like this. “He said some unacceptable things.”

“About me?”

“Yeah, kid. So I broke his nose.”

“I think you also broke your hand,” Aden pointed out.

“I did not break my hand.”

“Prove it.”

“How can I even prove that?”

“Straighten your hand.”

You stared at him, “Fine.” You begin to straighten your hand out, “Okay, you’re right,”

Rossi opened the door, “What’s the kid right about?”

“He broke his hand,” You stared at him in disbelief. “What? You weren’t gonna tell him.” You huffed.

“To the hospital we go,” Hotch chimed, motioning for you and Aden to move into the back so he and Rossi could sit up front with him driving.

“Sir-”

“We don’t want to hear it,” Rossi said, you huffed once more glaring at Morgan as he laughed.

And that’s how you ended up with a cast on your hand and a scowl.

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doctors-star · 2 years

Note

15. Any Astrerix chatacters you feel like for the ficlet ask 🗡

“Shh, they’ll hear us.”

It is a beautiful day in the peaceful Gaulish village, the last still standing against the might of the Roman invaders (with very little effort, it must be said), and Asterix the Gaul is keeping his eyes firmly closed. He is, after all, very comfortable here, napping in the sun at the base of the tree by his house with his hands linked to cradle his head and his helmet pushed down to shade his closed eyes from the brightness. Dogmatix is curled up by his side, snoring gently. He hasn’t anything in particular to do - the village is presently enjoying, or more accurately begrudging, a lull in local legionary activity - and he has no greater demand upon his time than the inclination to settle somewhere pleasantly warm and quiet and snooze through the hottest part of the day.

There is another peal of giggles, and then more frantic shushing. Asterix tries very hard not to smile.

Abruptly, a little voice calls out to charge. Asterix barely has time to crack his eyes open before several sets of small feet are thundering across the grass, and a thin stick is poking him in the stomach. “Surrender, o Roman!” Fulliautomatix’s little girl, Spanna, is standing over him in triumph, one hand holding back a small dented pot - clearly liberated from her father’s smithy - as it slides over her brow. “You are surrounded!”

Asterix slumps against the tree, one hand on his chest and the other draped limply over his eyes. “Oh, woe,” he pronounces, “I am truly no match for this band of Gaulish warriors - I can do nothing but surrender.”

Spanna pokes him again, grinning in triumph, as her playmates whoop and cheer. Pretty much all of the village kids appear to have fallen in behind her on this quest, armed with sticks and wooden spoons and the odd fish. Asterix remembers doing much the same when he was a lad, though in those days it had been Vitalstatistix at the fore; they could do worse for a chief, he muses, than Spanna.

“Yeth!” lisps Crabstix, performing a little victory dance which makes Asterix smile beneath his moustache. “You Romanth don’t thtand a chanth!”

Obelix, wandering past with a menhir on his back, pauses. “Asterix isn’t a Roman,” he protests, apparently quite insulted at the very idea.

Spanna juts her chin out and sighs massively. “It’s just pretend,” she says with great, overwrought annoyance. Asterix makes a small, hopeful gesture with his hand, attempting to convey that he doesn’t really mind it - of course, this doesn’t work.

Obelix frowns. “Even so,” he says, shifting his menhir to one hand to gesture with the other, “couldn’t he be a Viking? A Goth, maybe? It’s very unfair to make him a Roman.”

Spanna plants her hands on her hips sternly, glowering up at Obelix. “He’s got to be a Roman,” she declares. “We’re practising fighting Romans. And I said so. Eep!”

Asterix grins, hoisting her a little higher. For all that he’s not much taller than the child, even without any magic potion it’s easy enough to use her distraction to mount a counter-attack. He swings her gently into the air, catching her up with her arms pinned and her legs kicking uselessly against her captor. “Aha,” he declares, “I have you now, Gaul!”

“Attack!” Spanna shrieks in delight to her cohort, and Asterix has but a moment to brace himself for impact before he is smothered in a crowd of little knees and elbows.

He puts up a good fight, of course - if rather gently - but the kids are a little less worried than he is about doing anyone an injury, and Asterix must confess to being quite glad when Obelix puts down his menhir and wades in. “Well, if Mr Asterix is going to be a Roman,” he says mildly, and sweeps up an armful of the smaller children. “I suppose I will too.” The kidnapped children squeal in equal parts terror and delight and, as expected, a few of the bigger kids peal off to lay siege against Obelix instead. “Hey, Asterix,” Obelix says, gently picking up and turning upside-down a giggling little girl with hair barely contained in her pigtails, “how come you’re a Roman today? I thought you were having a day off.” Asterix smiles fondly at his friend, watching him gently and with extreme care use his strength to entertain the children. “Oh, my work is never done,” he says, catching Crabstix up in a big bear hug to pin him. Crabstix wriggles a bit, but the kids are winding down; he’s quite content to make laughing protests and the occasional token escape attempt, but ultimately to remain wrapped up against Asterix’s chest.

Only Spanna really seems to want to carry on, so Obelix releases the last of his prisoners to run off home, or to new games elsewhere, and wanders over to Asterix again. He picks Spanna up by the back of her shirt and leaves her dangling, kicking her feet in an effort to break free. “They certainly keep you busy,” Obelix says, watching Spanna kick and struggle with mild interest. “A menhir was never so much trouble.”

“No, but this is the one stone for two birds: it keeps them entertained, and even slightly trained.” Asterix hoists Crabstix and settles back into the base of his tree with the boy lying contented on the warrior’s chest. “They’ll be up against real Romans some day.”

“Couldn’t they just go for the real thing?” Obelix asks, returning Spanna to the floor and allowing her to tackle him about the waist - to no discernible effect. “With some of our druid’s magic potion, it’d be a breeze.”

“Yeah!” Spanna agrees, her head popping out from around Obelix to grin hopefully at Asterix. “We’d blow those Romans away!”

Asterix holds up a finger. “Don’t let Getafix get wind of that idea - or your parents for that matter. Magic potion can have permanent effects on children.”

Obelix and Spanna both make grumpy faces at him, and he has to smile. “It’d be fine,” Spanna protests, decidedly less hopefully.

“You fall in one cauldron when you’re a baby,” Obelix complains, “and they never let you forget it!”

Asterix grins. “I know, it’s very unfair.” Crabstix shifts and stretches, and Asterix watches with mild bemusement as the boy yawns widely and promptly goes to sleep. “Huh. Well, seems I’m only good for being slept on now - no Romans for any of us.”

“Crabstix sleeps through anything,” Spanna says with some disdain, scrambling up Obelix’s back to sit peaceably on his shoulders; one of Obelix’s massive hands settles automatically over her feet to hold her steady. “I suppose you’d have to, if your whole house smelled of rotting fish.”

Asterix huffs a laugh. “Could you brave the smell and fetch one of his parents for us, Spanna? I think his playtime’s over.”

Spanna slumps in a dramatic pout. “But I want more training,” she whines.

Asterix places his hand as near his heart as he can reach around the child sleeping on his chest. “I promise to give you more training when Crabstix is safely home.”

She slithers down Obelix’s side and hurtles off towards Unhygienix’s hut, long blonde braids flying out behind her. Obelix comes to settle at Asterix’s side, stretching massively and smiling as Dogmatix returns from hiding to curl up on his belly. “They’re good kids,” he pronounces.

Asterix nods, smiling up at his friend. “They are. Best the village has had yet.”

“You say that about all the kids the village has.”

Asterix shrugs. “They’re always good kids. It’s something in the atmosphere here - the air makes good heirs.”

Obelix considers this. “If you say so. I think it’s the adults.”

Asterix shifts slightly, leaning into Obelix’s bulk. “The parents are alright. A bit mad. So are the kids, though, so you may be right.”

“You do a good job with them, too,” Obelix points out. Asterix shifts to look at him in surprise, and Obelix colours slightly. “Well, you do,” he adds defensively. “You always take time to train them and play and make sure they’re good warriors. You do a good job.”

“...thanks,” Asterix says eventually. He’d not really thought of it like that. He doesn’t raise them; he just wants to keep the village safe and happy, and he’s as good at play-fighting as he is real fighting. It’s just - sensible. He hadn’t thought he was responsible for them especially.

Obelix shifts to look at his hands, twining his fingers awkwardly and examining them with care. “Do you want kids of your own some day?” he asks, with very feigned indifference. “You could. If you wanted. It would be - nice. Probably.”

Asterix shifts Crabstix and stops to think. What he wants, really, is safety and friendship and the occasional adventure to pass the time, and to think back on when he’s very old. He has his home and can defend it; he has his neighbours for friends and Obelix for companionship; and there’s always something going on to give them both some time out of the village and exploring the wider world. He likes the kids, sure, but he can’t think of what a child of his own would give him that he doesn’t already have. He’d have to find a wife first, anyway, and that’s never really appealed.

Besides, even briefly looking after Caesar’s baby was horribly stressful. He’d rather not.

“Not really,” he says easily, nudging Obelix’s side with his elbow. “I’ve got everything I want.”

Obelix’s fingers untwine and he beams in sunny delight at Asterix. “Good,” he pronounces. “Dogmatix would feel very jealous, you know.”

“Would he,” Asterix says wryly, meeting the little dog’s eye in shared affectionate exasperation.

“Oh, yes,” Obelix goes on, waving cheerfully at Bacteria as she and Spanna hustle along the path to collect up the little boy still sleeping in Asterix’s lap. “He’s terribly fond of you.”

But he lets his arm settle back around Asterix’s shoulders, tucking him in close, and Asterix reckons that probably none of them have anything to be jealous about - but quite a lot of which to be very fond.

#gosh asterix is hard to write! my stylings are insufficiently comic #did my best with some puns #fulliautomatix does have a daughter who wants to fight romans and be chief and wear a dress (queen) but she is unnamed!#so i've called her spanna. for funsies.#this is by the way entirely based on that thing which adult male lions do #of playfighting with the cubs and dramatically being '''injured''' by them to train them as hunters which i think is so cute #this is also going to be a fun name localisation exercise for those non anglophones for whom fulliautomatix unhygienix dogmatix #bacteria and crabstix will have different names!#enjoy! these are the english ones #thanks for the prompt! sorry for the delay!#this is your captain speaking

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

Text

Pick Your Poison

the boys get high together - fluff ensues

WE’RE GETTING INTO THE SPIRIT OF HALLOWEEN, FAM, SO YOU’D BETTER LEAVE ME SOME TREATS IN THE COMMENTS/TAGS

tw: drug use, drug mention, it’s just weed tho

thank you @anxiousbard for the inspiring conversation <3 love you

---

“Wanna go out tonight?” Jaskier asks, glancing towards his roommate. Geralt is sprawled along the length of their shared IKEA futon, one elbow propped up to support his head where it leans against his hand. The curtain of his white hair shakes back and forth as he gives Jaskier a silent ‘no’.

“New scary moves on Netflix,” is all the older man offers in consolation.

“Oh! Which ones?” Jaskier inquires, coming around the side of the futon to sit on the wooden arm-support. “I’m a sucker for the bad shit.”

“Friday the 13th, all the originals,” Geralt lists. “Halloween I and Halloween II. I think there were also some sci-fi movies and some paranormal stuff. Oh, and Hellraiser.”

“All the Hellraiser movies or just the first one?”

“Uh...the first six, it looks like,” his roomie answers, scrolling down the list with the remote. “Oh fuck they even have the straight-to-DVD one from like 2005 on here.”

“Damn,” Jaskier slides onto the couch beside Geralt, his plans to leave the apartment totally forgotten in the face of shitty horror movies. “Let me put on some pajama pants and make some popcorn so we can watch this beautiful disaster together.”

“Have you seen it?” Geralt asks, glancing up at Jaskier.

“No, but it was a horror movie made in 2005 and the description includes the word cyber so I’m already lowering my expectations,” the music teacher states, standing and stretching. “Be right back, darling.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier dips from the room and when he returns he’s wearing a pair of bright pink Tinkerbell-print pajama shorts (the ones he had proudly brought home from a Jo-Anne Fabric’s “Basics of Sewing” class) and carrying an unfamiliar wooden box.

“What’s that?” Geralt asks, pointing. The younger man blushes and shrugs.

“I didn’t think you’d mind if I smoked a little before we watched the movie? You’re welcome to join me, of course.”

Jaskier had been offering to get his freakishly gorgeous roommate and ill-begotten crush high for months now, ever since it had been legalized, but Geralt just didn’t seem that interested. Tonight, however, the snowy head nods in affirmation. “Never tried it before. Nothing to do tomorrow. Might as well, if that’s cool?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m happy to smoke you down.”

So Jaskier packs his favorite, fanciest pipe and teaches Geralt how to inhale. He also watches him nearly die after his first big hit. The young music teacher laughs and claps his friend on the shoulder firmly, stating: “You’ve gotta cough to get off!”

Geralt’s face goes even pinker than it was after his coughing-fit recovery. “Wh-What?”

“If you want to get high really fast then you have to take fat rips,” Jaskier explains, puffing on the long, curved pipe like he’s Sherlock motherfucking Holmes. “You must cough, therefore, to getteth off.”

“Fuckin’ weirdo,” Geralt mutters. But his posture is already more relaxed and his tone is already more playful. Oh yes, Jaskier thinks, emptying the ash and packing it up again. This is going to be a great night.

---

“What the fuck is this kid doing?” Geralt wheezes, tears streaming down his face as he bursts out into another loud peal of laughter. The ‘joth’ (goth jock) on screen, Mike, is experiencing perhaps the worst make-out session in the history of cinematography and neither man can keep it together on the futon. “Wh-Wh-Why!?”

“I couldn’t honestly tell you,” Jaskier replies, giggling madly. He reaches forward and picks up the pipe. He’s about to take another hit when Geralt stops him. “You wanna go first?”

“No,” Geralt says, still smiling goofily. “I just wanted to tell you that I like you.”

“Huh?”

“I like you.”

“And you chose this moment, as we smoke weed on our shitty couch and watch a young and underpaid actor say ‘rawr’ in all seriousness, to tell me that you like me?”

Geralt tilts his head to the side like a confused puppy and Jaskier’s heart goes to mush in his chest. “Yes? Did I do it wrong?”

“No,” Jaskier smiles, leaning closer to his roommate. “I like you too, by the way.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Geralt sighs. He tosses one of his tree-branch sized arms around Jaskier’s waist, hauling the younger man up the length of the futon and into his lap. He nuzzles down against the top of Jaskier’s head and squeezes the surprised music teacher into a tight hug. “Let’s be boyfriends.”

It’s all moving incredibly fast but Jaskier understands. Geralt is an ‘all or nothing’ kind of guy and he’d needed the high to lose his fear of failure. He’d needed Jaskier to get to Jaskier. How adorable.

“Okay. Will you remember all of this when you’re sober?”

“Mhm. Just...nervous.”

“You thought I’d want to move out?”

“Mhm.”

“Well I’m not moving out now,” Jaskier says. “I live with my insanely hot boyfriend.”

“Insanely hot?” Geralt blushes. On the screen, Mike is being impaled. Jaskier ignores it completely, brushing noses with his newly-minted boyfriend instead. “You really think so?”

“Oh yeah,” Jaskier nods, relaxing into Geralt’s strong arms. “Now, let’s finish this horrible movie, shall we?”

“Mhm. I hope there’s a shitty twist ending.”

“Oh babe,” the blue-eyed man agrees, “Me too.”

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