#levity heights | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonstruckme · 5 months

Note

I would loooove Sirius taking care of reader after a GNO like he’s so supportive of girls night and then reader calls him to pick her up or she gets dropped off at his flat/house and she’s just all snuggly and lovey and Siri is just all 🤭😚 “you’re cute when you’re needy”

Thanks for requesting!

cw: drunkenness

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Sirius!” You tear out of Lily’s grasp as soon as the door is open, pitching forward. Sirius scrambles to catch you, his arms compensating for your jelly legs when your face lands just north of his navel.

“Hi,” he says, surprised but not at all displeased. You’re not typically a very tactile creature. You and Sirius have hugged a handful of times, but only when you were feeling in need of comfort or especially overwhelmed by affection. Or, apparently, squiffed. He tries to pick you up to your full height, but you lock your arms around his waist and don’t let go. He looks at Lily. “Is she alright?”

Lily nods, giggling as Mary mumbles something nonsensical (at least to Sirius) into the skin of her shoulder. “Yeah, she’s okay. I think she’s having a great time, actually.” She grins at the way you’re smiling contentedly into the fabric of Sirius’ shirt. “Could you have her call us in the morning? I’m very curious to see what all she remembers from tonight.”

Sirius raises his eyebrows. “What should she remember?”

“Well, I fucking hope she hasn’t forgotten the part with the bouncer,” Marlene guffaws. “She promised she’d bring him cupcakes, and I think he’s expecting to collect.”

“Just have her call us,” Lily says, dragging the other two girls away. “Thanks, Sirius!”

“I want to be allowed in on the debrief!” he calls after them before shutting the door, careful not to let it hit your ankles.

He looks down at you, still vaguely smiley but otherwise seeming like you might be dozing. Your eyes are closed, one of your cheeks is squished up against his abdomen, and you’ve got your hands bunched in the fabric of Sirius’ shirt at the small of his back. He pets the back of your head, thinking of what to do with you.

“Doing alright, sweet thing?” he asks softly.

You pick your head up, setting your chin against him so that your face is tilted upward at an awkward angle. You look at Sirius, and the sun rises in his chest. Just like always. “Hello,” you say.

Sirius smiles. “Hello, lovely. Did you have fun?”

“Mhm.” You seem to realize that the position you’ve chosen is less than comfortable, slipping down his legs and puddling at his feet. One of his calves still firmly in your grasp. He can feel the cold of your hands through his pajama pants. “Still having fun.” A tiny giggle bubbles out of you, amused with yourself. “The fun never ends.”

“Not with you,” Sirius agrees, deciding to sit on the floor with you. You make it look like the place to be. “Say, doll, Lily’s got me curious. What happened with the bouncer?”

“The bouncer…oh!” Your eyes light up. “He wouldn’t let us into the club, but I got us in.”

“Yeah?” He laughs as you take one of his hands and bring it into your lap as if this is something you do every day, playing with his rings. “How’d you manage that?”

You look at him gravely. “I did what I had to do.”

He blinks, then reminds himself that Marlene had said something about cookies. “And what did you have to do?”

“Nine rounds of rock-paper-scissors.”

Sirius guffaws at the solemnity in your expression, leaning forward to peck you on the cheek when you seem a tad wounded by his levity. “Well, I suppose sacrifices had to be made,” he tells you. “You got your way in the end, hm?”

“I did,” you agree, looking rather pleased with yourself. “Though I did have to promise him baked goods as payment. Bribery, you know.” You lean forward until your forehead lands on his chest, his hand still in yours, and sigh heavily. Sirius brings a hand to your back, rubbing between your shoulder blades.

“Feeling alright, doll?”

“Yeah,” you sigh again, and then you’re shuffling into his lap, setting your chin on his shoulder. “I’m just really happy you’re here.”

“Well,” he jokes, “it is my flat, so.”

“I love you so much.” You sound vaguely teary, and Sirius’ heart contracts painfully.

“I love you too, baby,” he says back, letting the sappiness you both usually tend to shy away from seep into his tone.

“And I love when you call me that.” Your grip tightens around his ribcage. He presses his palm in between your shoulder blades like he can steady you. “You’re so nice to me, Siri.”

Sirius hums noncommittally, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “If I were really that nice,” he says, “I would have been a better boyfriend and gotten some water in you as soon as you got here. C’mon, sweetness.” He hoists you with him as he stands. “Let’s go have a drink.”

He changes his mind when you seem unwilling to walk by yourself, taking you to bed instead so he can bring you water there. He finds your favorite pajamas and helps you change into them, telling you to close your eyes when he uses the emergency makeup wipes you’ve left at his place to fast-track your skincare routine. You laugh and play-fight him as he manhandles you beneath the covers, but he’s only reminded of your true strength when he goes to get your water and you latch onto his arm in protest.

“Don’t leave,” you beg, looking partly like you’re having fun with this game and partly like you might be genuinely upset if he does. “I don’t need water.”

“Course you do,” he says, working a hand behind your ear so he’s holding your face. You lean into the touch fondly. “All flowers need water.”

To his disappointment, you don’t seem to recognize the compliment, pouting at him. “M’not like other flowers,” you argue. “I need you tons more than I need water, Siri.”

He smiles, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “You’re awfully cute when you need me, you know that?”

You beam in response.

Sirius debates whether he’s going to tell you tomorrow how lovey-dovey you’ve been tonight. On the one hand, it’d be the highlight of his week to watch how flustered you get, but on the other you might very well break up with him out of embarrassment. He’ll have to decide later.

“You’ve still got me,” he reassures you. “I just need you to have some water, too, baby.” He wields his new knowledge of how that particular endearment affects you to his advantage, and it works; you go all soft around the edges. Sirius pushes his advantage. “I won’t be gone more than thirty seconds, promise.”

You seem to deliberate for a few moments before capitulating, giving him your most severe look. It’s adorable. “I’m going to time you,” you threaten.

“Sounds good.” He gives your cheek a little peck and starts for the kitchen, your voice mounting behind him as you count upwards.

He’s back quickly with a tall glass of water and a couple of pain relievers, and you glare at him. “That was more than thirty seconds.”

“Sorry, doll.” He doesn’t mention that you’d skipped the twenties. “Guess I’m not as fast as I thought.”

You make it very clear he’s not yet forgiven, but you still seem to want to hug him. Sirius is delighted, palming the back of your head when you bury it in his shoulder. “Missed you,” you mumble, and he thinks he finally detects some sleepiness in your voice.

“Baby, I was gone for less than a minute.”

You nod as if in agreement. “It was horrible,” you grumble softly, breath warming his skin through his shirt. “Never do that again.”

“Alright.” Sirius lets his palm coast down the line of your spine, back up again. “Alright, I won’t.”

870 notes · View notes

yuellii · 9 months

Text

catch me if you can, salvatore

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 there are quite obvious red flags in your relationship, and they’re all from him

feat. neuvillette, zhongli, pierro ( separately )

note. reader’s gender unspecified, the old men of genshin ( i’m so sorry ), established toxic marriages given the prompt, possible fontaine lore inconsistencies

> [part one] . part two

NEUVILLETTE. always too serious

Your bedroom was a space sadly quieter than even the outdoors. For at least on your doorstep, the sounds of crickets were heard, the mechanical noises of distant construction were there—but here, there was not even a sound.

Perhaps you were too sensitive. But you also thought a spouse had every right to feel love and respect from their husband, and you felt none of that. The suffocation of this Fontaine air only brought up an even more suffocating man, and you fear you may lose your breath before even coming to your senses.

“You’re up late.” He stood right behind you at the opening of the balcony. Of course, you didn’t hear him coming from inside that silent fortress of a household. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

His words—you wish he didn’t say them, for they’ll unwillingly fill your thoughts with the idea that he cares. But sometimes ( or perhaps most ), you were too foolish to counteract that.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you simply said, continuing to stare out into the blue aura of the nation. A technicolor world made of music and machine—but unfortunately, your husband was only like a machine. “Was so caught up awake, completely immersed by your current court performance,” you yawned sarcastically.

He grumbled, “It’s a court hearing, not a silly performance.” Then, he joined you at the bar of the balcony, perhaps far too distanced from you for your liking. He was never next to you; always paces away just light tonight. “And I’ve been telling you, I can sign you up as a spectator or part of the jury.”

You almost snarled after he failed to pick up your sarcasm. “I’d rather die before you did that,” you scoffed. “Me? Sitting in that stuffy courthouse whilst you talk for hours? If it were my way, Her Grace would’ve had her way a long time ago. Perhaps you can learn from her, sometime. It can loosen you up for once.” He turned to glare at you.

“Oh, spare me the levity.” From the way he suddenly straightened his back, presenting himself a towering height over you, you knew you were about to be scolded. “If you cannot take the Court of Fontaine for what it is instead of a laughing stock, than perhaps you should be the next one on a treason hearing for exile.”

Your stomach dropped. As inconceivable as it sounded, you wouldn’t put it past him with how booming his tone was. And… coming from your own husband… “I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, good Monsieur.” To very man that wore your wedding band. “But spare me one truth…”

“Right now, are you my husband, or are you the Chief Justice?”

You immediately regretted the question once his eyes looked ready to kill.

⎯ ✧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

ZHONGLI. overprotective

Sunrise, Midday, Sunset, Midnight.

You could only see the light from the cold glass of your window, or the freshest air from your porch. Sometimes the fresh sea breeze of the harbor, but that was more of a rarity.

You loved Liyue Harbor; so did your husband. Living in Jueyun Karst was safe, sure, but it was boring. And maybe, there was a time that you loved the harbor so much during Lantern Rite—a time where lanterns graced the sky and fireworks were heard all the way from your small home in Minlin. So much, in fact, you almost felt like Rapunzel in those fairytale books when she leaped out of the comforts of her tower to chase the lights.

And even moreso like Rapunzel when Zhongli saw you at the harbor with a look of horror on his face, not caring of the genuine smile you carried before dragging you away by the wrist. Perhaps it was then that you felt more like his scolded child than his ‘beloved’ spouse.

Could he not see the light in your eyes as you pranced around the harbor? Could he not understand how boring it was to be cooped up in the mountains for your ‘safety’? It sucked, it really did. And it sucked even more once you tasted freedom at the harbor, once you met people that would never shackle down your life to never experience the many joys that Liyue had to offer.

“Am I your partner, or your controlled child?!” you seethed once he dragged you back inside the house.

“I am simply bringing you back after you failed to listen to me,” Zhongli calmly stated. Calm, he was also so calm, emotions be damned. “I told you not to go to the harbor, especially on your own. Have I told you what happened before through the tale of Osial?”

You coughed out in exasperation. “You’re acting like this during a festival?” There was a clear betrayal in your voice—it was truly something he had been hiding from you all this time. “You’re just going to let me be locked up in here, because you think a festival is unsafe?”

“It’s for your protection.”

“‘Protection’, give me a break, Zhongli.” You were near desperate to go back, like once you got an inch of freedom, you suddenly needed it all—but perhaps he only saw you like a partner who needs to be more controlled. “I married you for all your adventurous tales,” you reasoned. “You sounded much more excitingly interesting than you actually are, I fear.”

He continued to stare at you, face hardening into something of a glare like a parent disciplining a child. You hated it. You hated this, you hated him. And as he walked back out with the door locked by some force, you could only wonder how you married a man so cruel.

⎯ ✧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯��⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

PIERRO. a master manipulator

“You know I love you.”

The large pads of his fingers massaged coarsely through your hair at the very top of your head, brushing the your scalp almost delicately like a doll.

“Right?”

It felt almost like Hell itself to feel flutters in your stomach from the way the deep mess of his voice resounded in your ears. It was akin to signing a contract with the devil, like this feeling of infatuation was a demon’s sickly trick. “I do.”

He hummed in contentment. Not like you pleased him with your answer, but like you answered him correctly, as if this some sort of test where there was only one right answer.

He had you seated down on his lap, and it still made you feel like a doll. But there was an uncertainty in it—one that made you question if you should be feeling used and disgusted, or in love with being pampered by your husband like this.

You married a leading man of the most dangerous elites. Perhaps the fluttering feelings pulling at your heart were more of a warning sign than something good, but you couldn’t help it when he made you feel so special. Special words, special treatment—so painfully addicting and so obvious to win your favor for your hand in marriage.

“When the time comes,” he whispered once more, as if speaking the holy words only pure lovers could dare to hear, “would you die for me?”

You should’ve know this was coming, truly. It should’ve been clear the moment he courted you, and painfully obvious once he wanted to wed you. A puppet he could control at his will, someone who looked so innocent compared to the dangerous looks of the Fatui—a person easily stricken by love and compliments, easily you.

But he captured your heart in a way that was devouring, like your love was swallowed into a black hold the moment you showed any weakness. He trapped you in a web you could not escape once pulled in, and you feared you were truly doomed from the start. But that was how the leader of the Harbingers worked; and that was how you gave up your life.

“Yes, I would.”

#zhongli x reader #neuvillette x reader #pierro x reader #harbingers x reader #genshin men x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x reader

1K notes · View notes

rosewaterandivy · 2 months

Text

summary: as far as dinners go, it could’ve been worse.

pairing: e.m. x eldest harrington!reader

w.c.: 990

warnings: accidental pregnancy, attempted bribery, reader a sophomore at Yale, eddie is 20

“So, Munson,” Mr. Harrington says, voice straining at politeness, “Ever heard of condoms?”

Steve chokes on his water as his eyes cut to you. Rolling your lips between your teeth, you hold your tongue despite wanting to do the exact opposite. Eddie cautions you with a quick glance, oddly reassuring.

“I hardly think that appropriate—“

“If you’re old enough to use them, then you're old enough to discuss the consequences, isn’t that right, dear?”

And for all your mother’s effort, she merely shrugs as if to say what can you do? She takes another sip of her wine.

“Dad, you said you’d be polite.” You remind him, spearing a brussel sprout with a particular fury.

“I’m being perfectly nice,” He says icily, “I haven’t even threatened him yet.”

“C’mon,” Steve says, trying for levity. “We can be civil.”

“Of course,” Your father scoffs. “Civil. It’s civil of me to invite you into my home, to dine with the trailer trash that dared laid hands on my—“

“She’s not yours,” Eddie cuts in, a mirthless laugh propelling the words from his mouth. He’s getting impatient, the pull of his upper lip just enough to give him a slight snarl. “She’s not some pawn for you to maneuver across the board anymore, Harrington.” Eddie’s eyes dart to you, calm and collected. “Hasn’t been for some time now.”

“That is enough!” He seethes, playing right into Eddie’s hands. Smoothing down his tie which had become rumpled in his outburst, Mr. Harrington trains his eyes on Eddie with a steely resolve. “I am only going to say this once.”

Eddie sits up a bit straighter in his chair. He can see you’ve abandoned the pretense of eating, fork laid delicately across the bone china plate. Your knuckles turning white as your clutch the arms of the chair. Steve catches your attention and deploys some sibling shorthand Eddie could never quite decipher, before abandoning his seat to stand at your side.

You bite your cheek, hoping the slight pain would mitigate the tears gathering in your eyes, as your brother lays a comforting hand on your shoulder, and wait for the fallout from this dinner party disaster.

Mr. Harrington points a menacing finger at Eddie, all boardroom bravado, and carefully enunciates his words. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy.”

Harrington’s barely started his tirade and Eddie’s blood is already boiling. He tongues his canines and forces himself to stare the man down.

“From one… father to another,” He spits the word. “I will not have my grandchild to be raised by the likes of you. As a Harrington, that baby will know exactly who they are, and who they are not.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, knows he can’t let himself to get distracted right now. Eddie takes a slow breath as your father continues.

“I will not allow you to ruin everything this family has built. You can rest assured that the child will want for nothing. And if you walk away now,” He pulls a paper from his jacket pocket and slides it deftly across the polished table. “I can make it well worth your while.”

“William, you wouldn’t—“ Your mother gasps, wine glass clinking onto the table.

But oh, he would.

In fact, there was not much Mr. Harrington wouldn’t do to preserve the pristine veneer of his family name. And really, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d paid a Munson off.

It would, however, be the first time he’d attempted to bribe the wrong one.

Apparently, the apple fell farther from the tree than he’d bargained for.

“You done now, Will?” Eddie snarls, voice taunting as he rises to his full height and looms across the table. “Must think you’re real hot shit in that three piece suit to what? Try and intimidate me?” He scoffs, eye flitting to the document laid before him. “Have to say, that’s a pretty nifty sum you’ve had your boys cook up there. Too bad you bet on the wrong horse, huh?”

At this, your father’s once confident smirk slides off his face.

“See, you can raise all the hell you want. Drag me through the mud for all I care. You think I give a fuck about that?” He snorts, flicking the paper back down the table. “I know what people like you think of me, and that’s fine. I know who I am.” He pauses, watching the muscle of your dad’s jaw tighten in fury. “I may just be Al Munson’s screw up son to you, can bribe him just like we did the old man. But I think we both know who raised me.”

Eddie watches as the realization dawns on the man, how fantastically he’d miscalculated. Didn’t even have to mention his name, and already had old Harrington sweating bullets.

“I don’t know about you, but I wager there’ll be hell to pay once he finds out you’ve not only slandered his grandchild but also upset his favorite person in the world.”

His mouth, which had fallen open to launch a rebuttal, falls shut. Mr. Harrington eyes him quizzically.

“Oh, me? Nah man,” Eddie shakes his head and nods toward you, standing at the opposite end of the table. “Her.”

He sets his napkin on the table and pushes in his chair, his mama taught him manners after all. “Well Mrs. H., thanks for the swell dinner.”

Eddie’s body is already buzzing as you stride toward him and slot your fingers through his. Pulling him down the entryway, your heels click against the polished marble floor.

He pauses at the door, your mother and father still seated in the dining room as Steve grabs his keys.

“Y’know, I may not have much,” Eddie says, voice raised for them to hear. “But I’ll do right by them, William. No one can stop me.” An elegant bejeweled hand reaches for the door knob, “Though you’re welcome to keep trying.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #tw: pregnancy #wtf is this #i sure as shit don’t know!

160 notes · View notes

kathaynesart · 5 months

Note

I remember when you first started Replica and I haven't been here in a hot minute!

May you please do a debrief of what it is, the characters and their relationships.

I want to be able to give my friend (who I finally dragged down into this TMNT rabbit hole) a good explanation of your wonderful comic!

(⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

Aw thank you so much! Hm… I suppose a summary would be good to have on hand. For the uninitiated with no context, here is the basic elevator pitch:

The year is 2044 and the last remaining Resistance of Earth has just fallen to the alien invaders known as the Krang. In a last ditch effort to save the planet, Casey, a freedom fighter is sent back in time to undo the events that first led to the invasion. While he is ultimately successful in his mission, the state of his original fallen timeline remains unknown. The last of the freedom fighters, his family, perished to ensure his safe escape, leaving their world to the mercy of the Krang.

Which brings us to the ultimate question: when you already know the heroes are doomed to fail, what can be gained from being told their story?

For the rest below, I’m going to write with the assumption that the reader has some basic knowledge of the series and the film because I feel that this story is best enjoyed with proper context.

SUMMARY

Replica is a story meant to answer many of the questions the first 4 minutes of the movie left us wondering. It’s to explain the basic history of the bad future timeline and how it came to be. The plot focuses particularly on the later half of the apocalypse, all with the intention of leading up to the opening scene where the Krang wins and Casey Junior is sent back in time to fix the mistakes that Leo and his family could not.

It’s to answer questions like:

How did Leo get injured?

Why is Mikey so old looking?

What were these characters like in the future?

What happened to Raph, Donnie, and April?

Where is big bad Krang Prime in all this?

How did the Resistance finally lose to the Krang?

Did they plan to send Casey back in time in advance?

What happened to this world/time-branch after Casey Jr was sent into the past?

MAIN CHARACTERS

For the most part, the cast is comprised entirely of characters from the series. My goal is to keep this as canon as possible, so no new OC's... save for one (kind of).

Omega Bootyyyshaker 9000 is where this story starts and ultimately where it ends. He is a brain scan AI of Donatello, created to act as both a support system for the Resistance after the turtle’s untimely death and also a key component in a plan that will hopefully put a stop to the Krang should the Resistance fail. Omega is great because he adds some much needed levity to the story, acting a bit more like the aloof but silly teenage Donnie (a side affect of not having to experience the usual physical weariness that comes with being an organic, aging organism in an apocalypse). However, he also adds more weight by being the thing that is supposed to outlast all of them and act as the last line of defense for the remainder of the universe. He claims to merely be a "replica" of Donnie's mind, but whether he's just a digitized scan, his own AI person, or somehow connected to Donnie in a deeper way has yet to be seen.

Leonardo Hamato: the man, the myth, the legend. Casey Junior spins tales of how great his sensei was in the movie, but in this story we really get to see Leo go from his lowest point as a pawn for the government, crushed by the shame of his past actions, to his greatest height as the leader of the Resistance. He is going to fail a lot in this story... but ultimately his greatest success is overcoming his own inner demons and coming to terms with being the father figure he had never asked to be. He cares deeply for his family and Casey... but he thinks he'd be a horrible dad.

Michelangelo Hamato: the only other surviving turtle to see the end of the world. He is the emotional bedrock of the family and a stand in therapist when he's not being a silly little guy. His mystical powers are unparalleled, but in his attempts to regain his lost Ninpo he taps into something far deeper, leading them down a path that intertwines the destiny of their doomed future and a past that has yet to occur.

Casey Jones Jr: a sweet boy taken in by the Hamato family. He strives to become a great warrior like his mother (Cassandra) and his Sensei (Leo). We are going to watch him grow from child to teenager as he slowly takes on the roll of being a fighter in the resistance. Through it all he must walk an unsteady line that allows him to find the strength to weather the storm but retain a certain spark of hope that helps keep his family going.

April O'neil: Commander of the Resistance and another honorary Hamato family member. She is the voice of reason and most emotionally stable of the family. Even after dealing with so much loss, she keeps a stiff upper lip as well as cold and calculating mind that always puts the colony's wellbeing first and foremost.

Donatello Hamato (deceased): The story begins shortly after Donnie’s passing during an infiltration mission against the Krang. He was dead set on planting a probe behind enemy lines that would allow them to spy on the Krang’s movements. However it seems that he had a secret agenda in planting something that would work as a final doomsday weapon against the Krang. What that is exactly, we do not yet know. The man self-destructed in a last ditch effort to avoid being interrogated by the Krang as well as a final attack to injure Krang Prime.

Raphael Hamato (deceased): The eldest brother who sadly passed away many years ago in the fight against the Krang. A boisterous but considerate man whose death sapped a great deal of the fighting spirit out of his brothers. His absence is greatly felt, but he might not be as far gone as he seems.

Krang Prime (One): Our big bad of the story. He is the leader of the Krang that has latched onto this planet like a cancer, using up its resources and assimilating its population. However, unlike the hundreds of planets that have come before this one is particularly personal. He doesn't want to merely assimilate but utterly destroy the descendants that caused his imprisonment thousands of years ago. His current state is unknown after being last seen with Donatello at the time of the man's self-destruction.

NEED TO KNOW DETAILS

All Resistance fighters have tiny self destruct bombs in their brains so that the Krang can not probe their minds to find out the Liberty Colony's location. They go off automatically after Krang infestation reaches a certain percentage, but can also be set off via voice command.

Donnie's brain bomb was far more potent because of the amount of information he knew. He did not want to risk the Krang getting any part of his mind.

The Krang have been searching for the resistance in a frustrating game of cat and mouse which has only become more difficult now that the Resistance easily knows their every move by using Donnie's probe.

Central Park Colony: now destroyed, but was once the last massive human colony in North America, housing both the EPF (Earth Protection Force) and US Government. Racism was a huge problem as most yokai and mutants were either quarantined, tested on, or used as living weapons in the fight against the Krang. It has since been destroyed.

Liberty Colony (aka the Resistance): grew from the ashes of the Central Park Colony. It is comprised of the survivors and lead by Leonardo, April, and several others. It is much smaller and more militaristic, but treats yokai, humans, and mutants equally.

Artificial Intelligence (like Omega and Shelldon) are able to fend off the Krang assimilation that people and tech would normally succumb to. It is for this reason Omega is used as both a protector of the Liberty Colony and operator for a majority of the vehicles so that the tech can no longer be easily taken over by the Krang during attacks.

Leonardo and Michelangelo (as well as Donatello's) Ninpo have all been stripped from them by this point in the story. While Leo can not tap into his family connection at all, Mikey at least has regained the ability to use some of his mystic powers.

Mikey's mystic abilities however come at a price. Since he can not tap into his Ninpo and the fountain of energy from his ancestors, he is instead using his own life force to cast his spells. It is slowly draining him.

TIMELINE Can be viewed HERE

SOURCE MATERIAL The video that inspired this all can be viewed HERE

Hope this helps! Sorry it's a bit long, tried to break it up with images. At least there might be a few interesting bits of information other readers may not have noticed. I snuck in a few things that haven't been mentioned yet, hehe.

#rottmnt replica #replica #rottmnt #kathaynesart #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #unpause rise of the tmnt #q&a #save rottmnt #unpause rottmnt

313 notes · View notes

spinchip · 5 months

Note

for the fic prompts- something about your hometown glory au maybe?

OOPS. 2300 WORDS.

There’s a dinner in the grand hall two days after they arrive on Chen's Island. Clouse had been the one waiting on the shore to welcome them to the tournament and explain that they would be given two days to settle in before the competition began, with the night of the second day an introductory dinner with Lord Chen himself. They had all jumped at the opportunity to experience the luxuries the palace had to offer before fighting against one another. Cole particularly loved the fully stocked mini-fridge in his room, packed full of all his favorite treats. He made sure to interact with the other contestants as well- know thy enemy, or whatever.

Jay had mostly left him to his own devices, following that girl Nya around like a lost puppy. Cole had known Jay long enough to understand his obsession with love- he wanted to be in love very badly, and Nya was just the newest target of his affection. Whether it would last remained up for debate.

Cole inexplicably found himself running into the ice master, Zane, a lot over the next few days. Zane tended to hover around Kai and Nya or Cole and Jay, when he wasn’t off on his own, but Cole always seemed to stumble upon him randomly in the halls. Sometimes, Zane would have this look on his face-not quite guilty, but like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been. Cole never asked why Zane seemed to be poking around the halls on his own, and Zane never explained. They ate all their meals together.

When Jay had squeezed himself into a seat next to Nya at the welcome dinner, Cole had hung back and sat with Zane and the kid, Lloyd. There were soft murmurs throughout the hall as they all anticipated Lord Chen's arrival. When Cole glanced over at Zane, the ice master was frowning softly, the barest hint of a crease between his brows. Cole felt a chill creep up his spine that had nothing to do with the other man's element.

Chen threw open the halls at the front of the room dramatically. He gathered himself to his full height and cleared his throat, a hush falling over the room, “All rise for Lord Chen.” He announced.

They all stood from their chairs respectfully, standing tall and squaring their shoulders as Lord Chen made his first appearance of the tournament. He wore long, expensive robes that billowed with every step. Delicate embroidery and beading catching and twinkling in the hall's warm lights. He was flanked on each side by several samurai in strangely shaped helmets and elaborately tattooed faces, each with a sword on their hip who marched in time. Several women fanned out behind him as well, their faces painted theatrically in swooping kabuki makeup. They fluttered forward to pull out Lord Chen's chair, others throwing themself forward to unlatch his fancy outer robe and remove it, revealing equally elaborate but more practical robes beneath. One woman hurried to fill his glass with water and his cup with tea, bowing as she stepped away from the table.

Lord Chen, in contrast to his neatly put together robes and serious air, was a scruffy looking man. His eyebrows and his mustaches were wild and unmaintained, the red makeup around his eyes applied sloppily- even the salt and pepper of his hair seemed to get the memo and came in in awkward stripes along his sideburns. “Sit.” He commanded, his voice rough and scratchy.

Cole sat along with the others. The Samurai fanned out across the room, looking intimidating and mean, but made no move to draw their weapons.

Lord Chen's face was kept in a neutral scowl, eyes narrowed and assessing as he raked them across the gathered crowd. Then, his lip twitched- and just like that, he gave up the act and grinned broadly. He threw his hands out, a new air of levity breaking through his serious act, “Welcome,” He shouted, “to the Tournament of Elements!”

He smiled, arms outstretched. A long moment of silence passed, no one knowing quite what to say. His smile never dimmed even as his arms dropped and he settled into his seat, “I am delighted to have you all here, in my home. Please, eat!”

The moment the words come out of his mouth, servants flood into the room each carrying trays of food and drink. They serve each of them a small appetizer dish artfully arranged on the plate. The dinner continues in a similar manner, with each consecutive dish brought out ceremoniously. It's easily the most expensive meal Cole has ever eaten, with puffer fish a delicacy he never thought he’d taste.

The dinner passes quietly. So quietly, in fact,that after the third course Chen himself scoffs, “No need to act so shy! You are my honored guests. You are permitted to speak freely!” He makes a shooing motion with a piece of sashimi in one hand, “Socialize!” He orders.

Hesitantly, chatter fills the room. Zane quietly instructs Lloyd on how to properly eat some of the more exotic foods on his plate, and Cole not-so-subtly eavesdrops and mimics him. He can hear the sound of Jay and Kai arguing down the table, which has quickly become a regular occurrence among the two.

“You have a beautiful home, Lord chen.” Neuro says politely.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Chen smiles, sipping his tea.

“It is,” Zane agrees, and his voice slices across the room as he directs his eyes to the head of the table, “I suppose it must be, since you cannot leave.”

Chen's easygoing smile freezes on his face. The room grows quiet and strangely tense, Cole shifting uncomfortable. Zane's eyes are that bright, intense blue, and all his attention is focused solely on Chen.

Clouse speaks next, recovering smoothly from whatever Zane had just implied, “Lord Chen has been well documented as a recluse, but this tournament is his return to the public eye. He has always been intrigued by the elements, and has chosen to face the world once more for the opportunity to see you all in action.”

It sounds like damage control. Chen is still smiling, but there’s something dark swirling in his eyes now.

“Of course.” Zane nods graciously, “It must be difficult to come out of hiding considering his role in-”

“What was your name again?” Chen interrupts abruptly, grin tight along the edges.

“I believe you know my name.” Zane responds neutrally, “You know everything about us.”

When Cole was younger, when he still lived with his father, he could always tell when his dad was angry by the way his lips pulled tight over his teeth. Like he was suppressing the urge to snarl. He always walked away then, leaving Cole to practice his fouette alone with his fathers disappointment hanging over his head. Chen has that same tightness around his mouth, but there's a fury to it that Cole can practically taste that hangs electric in the air.

“You are awfully presumptuous.” Chen says jovially, the sharp blade of danger brutally apparent to Cole.

Zane dips his head, “It was not my intention to offend,” He says, despite the fact that Cole is one hundred percent certain that was exactly his goal. He looks up and meets Chen's eyes, “My name is Zane. I am the master of Ice.”

“Ice.” Chen echoes, “Symbolizing stillness, coldness- the absence of love. Death, even. What an element to be saddled with, but it seems it fits you well.”

There’s something there Cole can’t pick up on, some uneasy threat. Chen continues, “Despite that, I still welcome you to my island and I am eager to see you fight in the tournament.”

Zane regards him quietly, “Thank you for inviting me.” He says evenly as dessert is served.

Chen turns away from Zane and stands, addressing the whole table warmly, “Never before have so many Elemental Fighters been under one roof. I see Master of Fire, Earth, Shadow, Speed, even a prophesied Green Savior.” His eyes linger on Lloyd before he moves on, “I must welcome you again to the Tournament of Elements! Here, we will pit you against each other in friendly combat to reveal which element rules over them all! The rules are simple. Every match will be different. No two fights will be the same. Your powers will keep you in the Tournament. Use it or lose it!”

Karlof rubs at his beard, “Hmm, What does Karlof win?” he asks with narrowed eyes. It seems Cole wasn’t the only one to pick up on Chens strange behavior towards Zane- in fact, most of the table looked uncomfortable and wary, now. Zane had revealed teeny pieces of fact about Chen he was trying to suppress. What was he hiding?

“Win and stay on the island. Win it all, and you'll receive fortunes beyond your wildest dreams!” He flings an arm out and one of the lush curtains to the side of the room is pulled aside by one of his woman servants, revealing stacks of cash that nearly reach the top of the vaulted ceiling. There’s a collective gasp through the room, and Cole can practically see everyone's suspicion fly out the window at the size of that prize, “-and lifetime supply of Master Chen noodles. But no one is here because of noodle. You want the glory of being the greatest fighter in all of Ninjago!”

Jay is practically drooling at the sight of the money, as are several of the others. Cole gets a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, but even he can’t shy away from a prize like that. Earth could win this thing- he could win this thing. He knew he could. Coming home with all that prize money… proving himself as ninjagos number one warrior… this was his chance to prove himself. Maybe then his dad-

A cold hand grips his bicep and Cole turns around to look at Zane, whose face is tense with worry.

Cole feels that same cold chill up his spine again.

“What happens if we lose?” Lloyds little voice pipes up, carrying ominously across the room.

Chen's smile grows strained again, but he doesn’t miss a beat, “Lose? Who here likes to lose?” A few of the others laugh at that, “Now please, enjoy my island. It's a super fun, happy place. Hahaha. Fun time on me! We will begin the first challenge of the tournament bright and early tomorrow morning!”

With that, he sweeps out of the room with a flourish. His servants and guards go with him.

Clouse stands as well, “Lord Chen formally requests you all retire to your rooms for the night.” He says bluntly, completely disregarding Chen's words not five minutes earlier, “We must prepare for the first challenge and that requires you all to stay in your rooms until morning. Our servants will escort you.”

As they are marched back to their rooms by several of Chens samurai, Zane stays close to Cole. It feels like a funeral procession.

“Cole, I have a favor to request.” Zane says quietly as they approach the rooms, the Samurai finally out of earshot.

“Uh, What is it?” He whispers back just as softly.

They arrive at Zanes door quickly and Zane barely has time to speak before the guards are ushering him away- he looks at Cole with those intense, knowing eyes and simply says, “I need you to find me.”

And then the door closes behind him with a finality, and the others are escorted to their rooms in similar fashion. Cole can barely sleep all night, but when he finally does doze off it feels like only a few seconds have passed before the rising sun cuts a path across his eyes and wakes him. He has a quick breakfast from his minibar and joins the meandering mass of contestants as they walk down to the grand hall once more.

Cole had been ruminating over Zane's request all night, trying to understand what he meant. Maybe he wanted Cole to stand with him this morning? He stands on his tippy toes and looks over the crowd, hunting for Zanes signature white hair. He frowns, turning around and looking behind himself too- where was he?

“Oof!” He grunts as Jay crashes into his side.

“Morning!” Jay greets with a grin, “How’d you sleep?”

“Not well.” Cole admits.

“Me neither! You know why? Because it occurred to me last night that Chen said there would be one winner last night- one!” Jay smiles with a manic edge, “Which means our genius team up plan is out the window. They’re gonna tear me apart!” He gestures at the others wildly, a few of them shooting him a weird look.

Cole snorts, “You’re the master of electricity, Jay. I’m sure you can hold your own.”

Jay throws himself onto Cole, gripping the collar of his shirt and sagging to the floor in anguish, “I’m going to die!”

The grand hall had been cleared of the dinning room table, the raised dais now the focal point of the room that Clouse was standing on as he waited for the last contestant to linger in. Clouse clears his throat, “Before Lord Chen arrives, I have some unfortunate news.” He clasps his hands together and summons an extremely fake looking frown, “Late last night, due to a family emergency, Zane chose to drop out of the tournament and leave the island.”

That cold chill is back. Zane didn’t have any family, that was one of the first things he’d told Cole.

I need you to find me.

“He is being transported back to the mainland by our ferry, which is our only way off the island. It will return in a few days, but for now that means we are unable to leave.” He says apologetically, “But I can ensure your accommodations here are more than adequate enough that you won’t want to go!” He says with a grin.

“Now, it is time for our first challenge: The hunt for the Jade blades. Lord Chen will explain the rules.” He says with a bow, graciously stepping aside so Chen can take center stage with his signature flourish.

Zane didn’t leave on that ferry.

Cole had a feeling no one would be leaving on that ferry.

#ninjago #zane julien #cole ninjago #hometown glory au #ninjago hometown glory #spinchip fic #jay walker #ninjago au

87 notes · View notes

selkielore · 2 years

Text

i think one of the things that’s so fun about dracula daily is that it’s encouraging readers to have fun with the source material. i feel like there’s this pervasive idea that classics have to be taken very seriously and while they absolutely can be- sometimes it’s easier & more meaningful to read a classic like you’d read any other book. something i love about dd right now is that people are making memes about it and joking and i feel like the desire for levity is such a communal human urge. i just finished wuthering heights and it’s disappointing to go into the tag on here or any other website and see that it’s all #dark academia aesthetic posts. i feel like a lot of people are reading classics just to say they read the classics and i’m definitely guilty of that too sometimes. however, the more i read classics, the more i have fun with them! and i’m still able to engage with the complex themes of these novels while having fun. free urself from the idea of reading books the “right” way or the “smart” way. just read the books and have a good time! 🕺

#is this anything idk how to articulate myself but i tried #dracula daily #dracula #classic literature

2K notes · View notes

idolatrybarbie · 5 months

Text

pairing: marcus pike x fem!reader

word count & rating: 3.9k | explicit - minor free zone!

summary: you wish marcus a happy thirty-sixth birthday. the sequel to two lonely people.

warnings: social isolation, self doubt, anxiety, themes of alienation, light angst, fluff, marcus has the cutest stretch marks and freckles, reader is described as same height and/or shorter than marcus, smut - mentions of intercrural sex, cum eating, grinding, handjob, sex toys, praise kink, exhibitionism, nipple play, vibrator play, cuddling(!!!).

notes: wrote this sporadically throughout my weekend away, shout-out to sima for letting me blab on and on about pedro boy porn. truly in my marcus era, i am a man possessed. these sex toys [x] [x] are also real! in case you were curious.

Bender stretches out on the couch beside you, his long and lanky body bowing low. His hairy belly brushes against the fabric of the cushion when you scratch beneath his chin. The mission of an early afternoon nap has been well accomplished. You push yourself into a sitting position, letting Bender jump to the carpet and stroll away. The grey-white of the cushions contrasts the red of the walls perfectly; in another life, Marcus must have been an interior designer.

You watch your cat—yes, yours—settle atop the orange loveseat across from you, dotted with crimson and tangerine throw pillows. Everything inside Marcus’ place is so rich and vibrant, a constant splash of colour no matter where you look. It makes you feel good to be here, like you belong. Every night spent across the street from your own home feels like a glorious field trip.

You've been coming around for four months, and Marcus has never turned you away. He's your boyfriend now, a label and structure that hasn't existed in your life for what felt like aeons. You've had to modify your habits a little bit—boyfriends get worried when you don't text or show for four days. They show up at your front door ready to call someone—a hospital or an ambulance, or your mother, god forbid.

It has been more difficult to adjust than you thought it would be. As it turns out, once you live a life of solitude, incorporating people back into it is a little like pulling teeth. It’s not that you don't like it, crave that contact. You simply don't think of it. You don't take into consideration whether or not Marcus is missing you because that feels like a little too much. Too much thought from another thrown your way, too much care about you as a person.

You're finding that Marcus almost strictly operates in the realm of too much. Too much time, too much attention dedicated to you. It's a seed of guilt that you've swallowed. The feeling has rooted itself in your chest, stringy vines encircling your lungs. Surely he has something better to do: work, maybe, or visit family and friends. But he seems to want to spend almost every night with you.

You watch movies, chat dinner plans, fuck—though it doesn't really feel like fucking. Marcus brings sweetness to your tender care, delivering praise to each of your soft touches. You love learning his body. The glow in his eyes when he makes you feel good could light the night sky, you're sure of it.

Time with him injects a new type of levity into your life that animals can't bring. Even with Bender as your own now, after Anne-Marie admitted to you his care was too much for her to handle, Marcus brings a presence to your life that makes you feel a little more assured. It's cliché, but it's true.

Tonight, you're waiting for him to come home from a late shift at work. No pet clients this week, you’ve been making yourself comfortable at Pike’s place for the past few days—since that fateful evening he knocked on your door, presuming you dead or worse.

Earlier, you texted him asking when he'd be home and almost dropped your phone. Home. Marcus hadn’t seemed to notice, but the message stopped you short. Maybe you’re a little too comfortable.

Later than I’d like, he’d replied.

His guesstimate was closer to bedtime than dinner. You told him not to worry; you’d still be here waiting. It's his birthday, after all. You are determined to celebrate, even if it's after a long day of catching criminals.

You’ve got a whole thing prepared. A silver birthday banner hanging above the kitchen entryway, his gift on the coffee table. And dinner, of course: chupe and warm bread for dipping, along with sopapillas and ice cream cake for dessert. You've never put so much effort into something like this for another person—never gotten the chance to.

Picking his gift was probably the hardest part of the process. You'd bugged Marcus over and over about an online wishlist. Anything that he needed for his place, any wants. His answer was always the same, eliciting an eye roll every time: you.

“You can't gift a person,” is always your counter, to which the man wholeheartedly disagrees. He has everything he wants; a feeling you cannot understand. Everything he wants and all he seems to want is you.

When Marcus makes it through his front door, the sky is dark. You’re asleep again, body laid across the couch as Bender sits in a comfy loaf across your ribs and diaphragm. His purring moves through your chest, keeping you warm without a blanket. The peaceful scene is disrupted when Marcus drops his bag to the floor a little too loud, waking you. It’s less of a slow, sleepy roll and more of a sharp gasp. The intake scares the cat, Bender leaping from you. He lands on the floor easily.

“Marcus,” you sigh.

“It’s me!” he smiles, his tone one of mock celebration.

“I fell asleep.” An astute observation on your part, you rub the sleep from your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Marcus approaches the couch, holding a hand out to help you stand. You take it, pulling yourself up with his weight as an anchor. He manages to get you into the hold of his arms before you realize, giving you a warm hug. He’s a little sweaty today, salt mixing in with natural sweetness at the collar of his shirt.

“Don’t be sorry,” Marcus says.

You start to move, readjusting the huddle of two so he’s at least facing the strung up banner. “Happy birthday,” you whisper. “I made dinner.”

He hums against your cheek. “All this for little ol’ me?”

“Yes,” you say. “And dessert. And a gift.” You nod at the coffee table, like he can even see you with his chin over your shoulder.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Marcus says.

“I already did. And I wanted to, so it’s done. Come on.” You squeeze your arms around him. “Let’s eat.”

You sit him down at the table, not letting Marcus lift a finger as you bring out two bowls. The shrimp stew has been on the stove, simmering at a low temperature since you finished cooking. You bring the pot out of the kitchen and set it on a cork trivet. When he looks past the lip of the pot, Marcus’ face splits into a disbelieving smile.

“I could kiss you right now,” he says, ass hovering from his chair.

“Sit. You can kiss me later.” You ladle chupe into Marcus’ bowl, then your own. “Shit, spoons. Just a second.” Getting up again, Marcus catches your wrist as you pass the side of the table.

“Honey,” he says.

“I’ll just be a second.”

“You’re doing too much.”

“I’m not,” you insist. “I—can I…”

Your eyes tell it better than your words can, staring down at him. Please let me do this for you. Marcus lets you go, and you return a minute later with a pair of spoons.

You sit down at the table. Marcus simply stares at you. You start to smile before twisting your lips, looking down at your bowl.

“What?” you ask. When he doesn’t say anything, you repeat yourself.

“Nothing.” Marcus shakes his head.

“There’s something.”

“You. You’re just…incredible.”

You shrug. “I wanted to do something a little bit special. I know it’s not a super big deal—”

“The woman who has a freezer stocked with heat-and-eat lasagna made me chupe.”

“Sopapillas, too. They’re in the microwave.”

“And sopapillas. This is such a big deal,” Marcus says.

You hate to admit it, but your heart swells. This is such a big deal. God, you really do lo—

Marcus watches you expectantly, like he's just asked a question. You have no idea what he said. Instead you smile and nod. Then you dip your spoon into the food.

Watching him eat is the best part. Every bite is a reaction, seeing the flavours splash over his tongue turning into something of a spectator sport. Marcus takes seconds but declines a third helping, obediently letting you clean up from dinner and bring out the aforementioned fried dough pouches.

In central Chile, they make sopapillas with pumpkin—in the north, that's not so much the case. Marcus has told you where his family is from, Arica, right near the border with Peru. Part of your disappearing act last week had to do with the last round of research and planning for tonight. By the time you’d nailed the recipe, you’d gotten caught up in looking at maps and learning the country’s history.

“I know it's not one hundred percent,” you say, referring to the food. “Not too sure if I cooked the sauce long enough.”

The cinnamon syrup was the difficult part of the cooking operation. Unsure if Marcus would like a thicker or thinner consistency, you spooned in corn syrup ‘til the liquid took on a half-runny, half-gloopy viscosity.

Marcus speaks with his mouth still full. “It's fucking delicious.” He cuts himself off at three, promising to finish the rest for breakfast.

You scoot away to the kitchen for the final time tonight, taking the ice cream cake out of the fridge. Admittedly, you got a little carried away with it. Ninety dollars on a cake sounds like highway robbery, but it's worth it for the look on his face.

As you set the cake down on the table before him, Marcus looks at a perfectly printed image of his own dopey grin. Jutting out from his mouth is a speech bubble made of icing and carefully placed fondant. He's wishing himself a happy birthday.

You stand by his shoulder, watching his expression. He seems to be stuck halfway between amazement and amusement; just what you wanted. When he joins you on his feet, it's to kiss you—long, deep, and slow. You lean into it, into him, his soft strength supporting you as Marcus caresses your upper arm. Then he grabs your elbow, gently placing each forearm at his sides to cage him in. You hear Bender more than see him, feeling him rub his head against your shin.

“This is the best birthday ever,” Marcus says.

“Including or ignoring that you’re four years out from fourty?” you ask.

His nose brushes against yours. “Don't be a smartass,” he breathes, voice all play.

You both only take a small slice of the cake, bellies full of your homemade dinner. You won't be telling Marcus about the trial batches of shrimp stew that were ultimately fed to the dogs in your care, woefully forgotten as you added another bag of the fresh shellfish to your grocery order.

When you're finished, you start to clear the table. Marcus insists on helping at this part, leaving no room for discussion when he plucks the stack of bowls and spoons from your hands. You wrap the cake and put it back in the fridge, along with the chupe and sopapillas, both in airtight containers. Marcus washes as you dry, navigating his kitchen like an expert when you go to put things away. Well, not like an expert—you are one. After today, you can run this room blindfolded.

When all is said and done, Marcus leans you against the kitchen counter. He plants a kiss to your cheek, slowly heading southbound to your jaw, then your neck.

You giggle as he reaches the soft skin of your throat. “Still got your present waiting for you.”

“You're right here,” he says.

“Hardy har,” you intone. Pushing at his shoulders, Marcus lets up. “On the coffee table.”

He takes the lead back to the living room, sitting on his couch to eye the sleek black box that awaits him. You can't sit, running a thumb over your lips as Marcus takes the gift in his hands. He shakes it, causing you to roll your eyes.

“You're killing me here, Pike.”

“I'm appreciating the fine cardboard craftsmanship,” he says of the box. As much artisanal handiwork as the dollar store gift aisle can grant you, anyway.

Finally, Marcus lifts the lid from the box. On a soft pillow of red and white tissue paper lies the three things you got him, as well as a small card. You watch him take one of the gifts from the box, squeezing it. Nerves claw at your stomach. He takes his time to analyze it, flip it over and flip it again in his hand.

“This is cool,” he says, almost absentmindedly. Then to you, “These stress toys?”

That anxious cord inside snaps, taking you down with it. You're in free fall as your skin goes warm with embarrassment, your palms the only thing shielding you from the world.

“No,” you sigh softly.

It's a shitty gift. That much is clear when he can't even tell what it is. You should have stuck with something simple, like a bookstore gift card. But no, you had to go out on a whim.

Marcus asks if you're okay, words laced with tender concern. You take three seconds to recompose yourself and prepare for what comes next. Pulling a mask together, your hands come away from your face.

“They're, um—well. They're sex toys. Grinding toys made of silicone to…” You clear your throat. “Those are soft... The other one is sort of a vibrator.” Marcus follows your words, looking down at the small green device. “It was a bad gift idea. I thought you would like ‘em.”

If you click your heels three times, will the universe grant you mercy and travel you home? Squeezing your eyes shut for a second, you swallow the knot in your throat. Opening them again, your boyfriend is still here. No dice.

He stands, bringing the box with him. You take a seat on the loveseat, letting him join you. As much as you want to curl inwards and die, for a lack of better words, Marcus will want to talk about it. Understand.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” you return. Looking at him makes it hard to retreat into yourself.

“It's a great gift.”

“You don't have to say that.”

“I mean it,” he insists. “This is good.”

Watching his thick fingers rub over the meat of the toy should not turn you on as much as it does, a low simmer between your legs. The soft ridges of the floppy one in his hand look a little Georgia O’Keefe; the lines of an abstract vulva. You stop yourself from picturing that hand by your thighs, cupping you where you want Marcus the most.

“I figured because you like to grind on me, this might add something more to it. Just for fun,” you shrug.

Like to is an understatement. If observing Marcus Pike is a competitive display, when it comes to grinding, you're going pro. In bed, he rubs his cock against you—your thighs, your ass, your chest—and against the sheets. He's very into intercrural, first showing you a video of the act on the night of your two month anniversary before putting yourselves to the test.

His favourite, though, is to rub against the top of your thigh as you make out and watch him. He likes the attention, and you love giving it to him. When Marcus finishes, he lets you feed him his cum with the pads of your fingers.

He kisses you softly now, hand at your cheek as he rubs the skin close to your ear.

“It's a great fuckin’ gift,” Marcus assures you. “Just needed the clue in.”

“You don't have to reassure me,” you say, shaking your head. You hate when this happens. Tonight is about him, and suddenly it's your emotions taking centre stage. Sometimes it feels like you take up all the air in the room.

“I want to,” Marcus says.

He wants to. You could melt.

“Did you want to try them?” you ask. “The toys?”

“Please.” He nods in the direction of the stairs, prompting you to lead the way.

You take Marcus by the hand, leading the way as he follows you up to his bedroom. In the months of being together, the rush to the bed has dissipated. Neither of you are any less eager, but you know now that Marcus isn't going anywhere. There is a sense of security here that you haven't ever felt before.

When you cross the threshold of the room, you take your time with undressing him. It's an unwrapping of sorts. The buttons of his shirt come away easily, sliding off Marcus’ shoulders to the floor. Next is his belt, clinking lightly as you reach down and pull the leather strap from his waist. He takes his pants and boxers off for you, leaving the man in the nude.

You leave yourself a moment to simply look. Taking him in with your eyes, you smile. Who has blessed you with such a beautiful, understanding man and how can you ever repay them? The heat of his body pressed against the skin bared by your rolled up sleeves makes you shiver. You want forever to hold him. Have him be yours.

Cool fingers run across Marcus’ bare hip. You trace the marks of thinned skin near his waist. He watches you carefully, breath held. You blow air against his lips before kissing him hungrily. Like this, you can taste him: vanilla ice cream and butterscotch.

Pulling him to the bed, you let him get comfortable. Marcus has left the box of toys on the nightstand. You leave them for now, straddling his thighs before you take his dick in your hand. He’s all warm and smooth against your palm, the ridge of a vein pressing against your thumb.

Marcus sucks in a small gasp as you start to move your hand. He gently takes hold of the base of your skull, resting your forehead to his. He looks at you, unblinking. The two of you are caught in a bit of a staring contest; you never want to pull your eyes away from his beautiful face. Those full lips pout for you, forming something like your name in precious whispers.

“Shhh, you’re okay,” you say. “I love you.” Marcus’ eyes roll to the back of his skull, his hips tilting further up into your touch.

This man is the sun to your stars. You don’t quite orbit each other, but he makes you feel that much brighter. You two are cut from the same cloth; scorching infernos no one ever truly gets to see, not quite within the grasp of others. But here, it’s different. A focused fire meets an exploding astral scatter.

“You’re always so good to me, Marcus,” you whisper. “I’m so lucky.”

“Fuck, you’re so—god.” He doesn’t get much more coherent.

You reach for the toys with your free hand, distracting him with gentle kisses across the constellations that dot his chest. A thousand tiny sun spots beneath the plush of your lips. You could stay here forever, feeling his skin against you.

First, you start with the soft silicone toy without the vibe. You squeeze it in your hand to warm it up, then bring it close to Marcus.

“Can I touch you with this?”

“Please,” he nods.

You take it into the hand already in contact with his cock, sliding the toy against him slowly. Marcus groans, tipping his head back. His eyes close briefly before flying back open.

Immediately, you stop what you are doing. “You alright?”

“You’re still fully dressed.” He speaks as if he’s just realized the situation at hand.

You simply nod. “Yeah.”

“Would you wanna…” Marcus glances down at his naked body.

“Tonight is about you,” you say.

“Well, I want you to. If you want to.”

You’ve been ignoring the tacky feeling in your underwear, letting the seam of your pants do the work for you as you watch Marcus.

“Okay.”

You let Marcus undress you, pressing pause on sex. His hands rove over you as he peels the shirt from your skin, making quick work of everything below the waist. He settles your cunt over his cock, gliding you forward and back with his hands. You take in a breath, reveling in the slide against your clit. When Marcus lifts his hips just so, you moan. You use his shoulders as a hold, balancing to stay upright.

Taking the silicone toy, you place it between his pelvis and the length of his dick. Then you hover over the underside of him once again. When you sit down, pussy slick against his length, Marcus huffs out a desperate groan. You grind against him, giving him friction at either side.

“Feels so fucking good,” Marcus says. “I…you’re so fucking warm. Wet.”

“Yeah? That’s what you do to me. So sweet, such a good man,” you say. His hands come to rest at your hips again. “Wanna flip me over?”

Marcus nods, readjusting so that he’s overtop of you now. He slots the toy between the crux of skin at your thigh, grinding against it as he presses light touches to your clit. Focused on his pleasure, he keeps his eyes closed as he ruts into you. Marcus kisses you as he cums, stickiness painting your skin.

He travels down your body with his mouth, trailing lips and tongue across your collarbone. Marcus licks at your left nipple before he latches onto it. Your spine pulls taut as you cup his head to your breast, petting his hair in encouragement. When he leaves your chest, he moves straight to the cum against your skin. As you watch him lick it off the front of your hip, you’re sure that you have died and gone to heaven.

Marcus laves his tongue over the skin between your belly and pelvis, watching for your reaction. He leaves your body for only a moment. When he comes into focus again, he’s holding the green vibrating toy in his hand.

Turning it on, he asks, “Is this okay?” as he presses it to your pubic bone.

You nod, an mhm coming out more like a slight whine.

He moves it lower and lower, tracing the tip of the pear-shaped device around your wetness.

“Where do you want it?” The question is playfully facetious; he knows exactly where you want it.

“Marcus, please,” you sigh.

He hums, nose inches above your soft and swollen cunt. “You know I’ll always give you what you want.”

Marcus presses the toy against you, the round and squishy body subtly buzzing against your cunt as the tip delivers a direct point of pressure to your clit. He shifts it every few moments, the readjustments pushing you further and faster towards the edge. It’s the kiss that does it for you, tender as he cradles the side of your face with his large hand. The caress of his ring finger against your cheek cuts the cord, your orgasm rocking your body like volts of electricity.

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” he murmurs. Marcus turns the toy off, releasing you from the overwhelming waves of pleasure. Cradling your back to his front, he kisses the crown of your head.

“I love you too, y’know,” Marcus says.

“Hm?” You shift in his arms, looking at him now. “What did you say?”

The way you bat your eyes at him tells Marcus that you heard him perfectly fine. He shakes his head with a light chuckle. “I said—”

“I love you.” You steal the words from him the same way he’s taken your heart.

Marcus Pike is many things: your neighbour, your boyfriend. A lover and a thief. He’s offered up his guts to you so easily, your prize for taking a chance. This man is a gift. A teacher. You're re-learning what it's like to have someone be there. To live and feel the art of giving.

#marcus pike #the mentalist fanfiction #marcus pike fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #marcus pike x reader #*lover be sweet

71 notes · View notes

sailorgoon13 · 22 days

Text

Vash Stampede

Basics:

Full Name: Vash Stampede

Nickname: Vash, Blondie

Gender: Male

Date of Birth: 15 December, 1871

Heritage: American

Blood Status: Muggle Born

Wand: Rowan wood, 11 3/4", Dragon Heartstring, Slightly Springy. Prefers to use his revolvers

Appearance:

Hair Color: Blonde

Eye Color: Blue

Skin Tone: Fair

Height: 6ft

Body Type: Lean and athletic

Style: Rugged, Eccentric

Features: Messy blonde hair, Blue eyes, Mysterious smile, Freckle on left cheekbone. Always has his red coat and revolvers

Personality:

Traits: Optimism, Compassion, Morality, Playful, Courageous

Likes: Donuts, "Love and Peace", Comedy, Nature, Helping others

Dislikes: Violence, Loneliness, Tragedy, Harm to the Innocent

Hobbies: Exploring, Stargazing, Spending time with friends

Fears: The unknown, Losing control, Failure, Harming Others, Being Alone

Family and Friends:

Father: Muggle (Unknown)

Mother: Muggle (Unknown) Siblings: A few muggle siblings (Unknown) Twin brother Nai, also a wizard and shares rare ability with Vash

Friends: Rory Wilder, Garreth Weasley, Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian Sallow

Magic:

Special Abilities: Can wield and use Ancient Magic

Boggart: His darker self

Patronus: Phoenix

Polyjuice: Glints of gold and silver flecks would shimmer in a rich amber color. Taste like wild berries and honey followed by a warm, spicy kick of cinnamon and cloves. The aftertaste would linger with a hint of smokiness

Amortentia: Fresh Rain, Gunpowder, Vanilla and Sage

Backstory:

Vash's backstory is a captivating yet heartbreaking tale. Born into a destitute Muggle family alongside his twin brother Nai, they were the only ones in their large brood to possess magical abilities. At the age of eight, their parents, unable to comprehend or cope with their uniqueness, callously cast them out into the streets to fend for themselves. Facing the harsh reality of homelessness, Vash and Nai clung to each other for support, relying on their wits to survive the unforgiving streets. In a stroke of fate, Vash obtained a stolen revolver, providing a semblance of protection for himself and his brother amidst the perilous urban landscape.

Their fortunes took a pivotal turn when they received letters of acceptance from Ilvermorny at the age of eleven, granting them a chance to harness their magical potential. At school, they quickly distinguished themselves, drawing the attention of Professor Rem Saverem, their History of Magic instructor, who took them under her wing. Professor Saverem became a mother to the orphaned boys, offering them guidance and nurturing their burgeoning talents in a nurturing environment.

Despite their shared upbringing, Vash and Nai took divergent paths in their magical education. While Vash reveled in camaraderie and levity, earning a reputation as the class clown, Nai excelled academically, driven by an insatiable thirst for knowledge and power. Tensions between the brothers escalated when Nai sought forbidden knowledge to further enhance his abilities, leading to a confrontation that ultimately ended in tragedy. Nai's descent into darkness culminated in a catastrophic act of violence, leaving devastation in his wake.

In the aftermath of the tragedy, Vash found himself ostracized and scrutinized by authorities, his academic performance suffering as a result. Faced with the threat of expulsion and the loss of his magical privileges, he was sent to Hogwarts in a last-ditch effort to salvage his education. It's at Hogwarts where Vash encounters Aurora 'Rory' Wilder, another wielder of ancient magic, and together they embark on a quest to thwart Nai's nefarious plans and prevent further catastrophe.

Haunted by his past and burdened by the weight of responsibility, Vash struggles to find redemption amidst the chaos unleashed by his brother's actions. Yet, fueled by a newfound sense of purpose and the bonds forged with his allies, he remains determined to confront his demons and fight for a brighter future.

Academics:

Best Subject: Muggle Studies

Favorite Subject: DADA

Favorite Professor: Professor Hecat

Worst Subject: Ancient Runes

Least Favorite Subject: Transfiguration

Least Favorite Professor: Professor Shah

Student Life:

Vash initially struggles academically. He is very smart but doesn't always like to apply himself

Despite the challenges he faces, he forms meaningful friendships with his fellow students.

Throughout his student life, Vash grapples with moral dilemmas and inner turmoil stemming from his past and the actions of his brother. He wrestles with questions of guilt, redemption, and the nature of good and evil, struggling to find his place in a world that often judges him based on his family history.

29 notes · View notes

direwombat · 3 months

Text

OC INTERVIEW

tagged by @carlosoliveiraa, @aceghosts, @finding-comfort-in-rain, @cassietrn, @g0dspeeed, and @simplegenius042 for a little oc interview! making this kind of a part 2 to this oc interview i did a while ago.

“Jesus Christ,” Sybille hisses, sinking into the folding chair set up on the other side of Wheaty’s desk, haggard and weary from six weeks of nonstop fighting. “Are we really doin’ this shit again?”

He regards her, equally exhausted, and sighs. “It’s for morale, Dep. People gotta remember you’re human too.”

“Why?” she scowls. “Aint’ it more inspirin’ if they think I’m Wonder Woman or some shit?”

“Yeah, well, Wonder Woman has literal super powers,” Wheaty says. The attempt at levity falls flat, as Sybille levels him with a glare. “Look,” he sighs, “I know it seems counterintuitive to you, but reminding the people that you’re a person, just like them, will help inspire them to keep fighting against the Cult. Normal life is almost back in the Valley, you know? We gotta remind them that the fight’s still going.”

She’s silent for a long moment, before ultimately relenting. “Fine. Ask ya damn questions.”

WHEATY: Name?

SYBILLE: Sybille Marie La Roux.

WHEATY: Nickname?

SYBILLE: Was “Sarge” for a while. Mostly just “Dep” or “Syb” these days.

Editor’s note: Also “Sweetheart/Honey/Jackrabbit” if your name is Jacob Seed.

WHEATY: Gender?

SYBILLE: [Rustling of fabric as she shrugs] Female

WHEATY: Star sign?

SYBILLE: Taurus

WHEATY: Moon and rising?

SYBILLE: What now?

Editor’s note: She’s a Scorpio Moon and Capricorn Rising.

WHEATY: Personality type?

SYBILLE: The fuck does that mean?

WHEATY: Y'know. Like. Uh. Your Myers-Briggs or Enneagram type.

SYBILLE: I dunno what any of those words mean.

WHEATY: Y'know what, here. Let me call Xander up and see if he has the quizzes handy.

SYBILLE: The what now?

[A painful half-hour of listening to Sybille take various personality quizzes live on the air]

SYBILLE: [Very slowly] “Lawful Neutral,” “ISTJ,” “Type 8w9,” and “choleric.” [Long pause] Wheaty, all these words are nonsense.

WHEATY: Height?

SYBILLE: 5'9"

WHEATY: Orientation?

SYBILLE: [Muttering] Jesus Christ. [Louder] I’m bisexual and I ain’t lookin’.

Editor's note: The rest of the county doesn't know she's taken by this point.

WHEATY: Nationality/Ethnicity?

SYBILLE: American. Cajun French.

WHEATY: Favorite Fruit?

SYBILLE: [Sighs wistfully] I’d kill for a mango or nectarine.

WHEATY: Favorite Season?

SYBILLE: Spring. But since movin’ to Montana, I understand the appeal of autumn.

WHEATY: Favorite Flower?

SYBILLE: Hibiscus.

WHEATY: Favorite Scent?

SYBILLE: Fresh coffee. Pine. Frankincense. Shit, I dunno, it’s hard to pick just one.

WHEATY: Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate:

SYBILLE: Coffee. Black.

WHEATY: Average Hours of Sleep:

SYBILLE: [Long silence] Not nearly enough.

Editor’s Note: Between 4-5 on a good day; closer to 2-3 on bad ones.

WHEATY: Dog or Cat Person?

SYBILLE: [Rustling of fabric as she leans over to pet Boomer] I like both, but overall ‘m more of a dog person.

WHEATY: Dream Trip?

SYBILLE: Shit, it really is a dream trip now, ain’t it? Woulda liked to’ve roadtripped ‘round Australia, but I doubt that’ll ever happen, now.

WHEATY: Favorite Fictional/Real Character?

SYBILLE: Jesus, I dunno. Trinity from the Matrix, I guess.

WHEATY: Yeah, I can see that.

WHEATY: Number of Blankets You Sleep With?

SYBILLE: Depends on where I end up sleepin’. ‘F I can find a cabin or bunker, then one or two. Otherwise it’s just my leather jacket.

WHEATY: Random Fact?

SYBILLE: Was on the track team my freshman and sophomore years of high school, before I had to drop out.

this one has been going around so sorry for any double tags, but, tagging: @marivenah, @corvosattano, @trench-rot, @harmonyowl, @fourlittleseedlings, @purplehairsecretlair, @adelaidedrubman, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @voidika, @locustandwildhoney, @testyfestyenthusiast, @strangefable, @inafieldofdaisies, @alexxmason, @deputyash, @josephslittledeputy, and anyone else wanting to do this for their ocs!

#oc: deputy sybille la roux #who's the editor? don't worry about it #(it's me. i'm the editor)#also i will get to everyone's tags eventually i promise #i'm just having a severe case of brain sludge so it may take me a moment

29 notes · View notes

sherpagutz · 1 month

Text

I was told I should post more wips and sketches so enjoy some Stanford Gleeful stuff from my au Levity Heights

#gravity falls #reverse falls #levity heights #stanford gleeful #Stanford pines #Au #Megalo falls #My art

9 notes · View notes

lightweaving · 9 months

Note

Can I uhhhhhh have Itachi/Ibiki or Kakashi/Itachi in “We’ll always toe that fine line but never actually, like, cross it, will we?” 🙏

Listen I love kakaita with a passion so obviously it had to be these two ❤️ I just have so many feelings about their senpai/kouhai dynamic and also the fact that they've both suffered so similarly and THEY CAN HEAL EACH OTHER'S EMOTIONAL WOUNDS OK

Wallflower

Length: 1.3k

Summary: Kakashi finds Itachi hiding out in the Uchiha library.

Regency AU, set after a war that's implied to be an analogue to the Napoleonic Wars

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and Itachi willed whoever it was to walk past the library, to leave him be. But the stars were not in his favour on that day, for the sound paused before it continued, muffled by the carpet that covered the library.

"One would think," a teasing voice sounded, and Itachi felt himself perk up, "that I would be able to locate Lord Uchiha at the ball thrown by the Uchiha Family. And yet, here you sit, far from the festivities. Where I had planned to hide, in fact."

Itachi pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Has my absence been noticed so quickly?"

Kakashi chuckled as he entered Itachi's field of vision. He cut a dashing figure as he always did, clothed in a navy blue waistcoat. As Itachi's eyes roved down his figure, a familiar warmth sparked to life within him. "You know it has, my lord. The noble Lord Uchiha, awarded a medal of valour for his daring deeds against Orochimaru? The devastatingly handsome heir to the Naka Dukedom, recently returned from the warfront? The debutantes are casting their eyes all about the ballroom to be the first to spot you. Oh, and your mother is looking for you as well."

Itachi sighed once more, and snapped his book shut. He should return to the ballroom. It was the height of rudeness for him to hide in the library at a party hosted by his own family, and yet…

"It just seems so trivial," he admitted quietly, casting his eyes out the window, watching the steady flow of carriages in and out of the Uchiha Manor grounds. "All the social niceties, pretending I have any interest at all in discussing the weather or the races. To watch them, you would never realise how close to ruination we came. We fought as hard as we did in order to preserve this way of life, and yet, I find myself wholly unable to enjoy it."

Kakashi nodded slowly. "I keep hearing Obito's voice," he admitted. "Nagging at me to ask the wallflowers to dance. I almost did. And then I thought of having my back to all those people."

Not much more needed to be said. Both men well knew the horrors of war. It was not a thing of glory as the poets painted it – it was a thing of fear, of wondering if the man you embraced in the morning would live to see another sunrise. Of praying you would still be able to eat, dress and wash without requiring assistance at the close of each day. Kakashi had been fortunate to have only lost an eye in the conflict. And Itachi? The stars had smiled upon him indeed, for all his scars were invisible ones.

"And so, you sought out this wallflower instead," Itachi said, attempting a moment of levity. That was how it had been between them. Kakashi, bereft at losing Obito, and Itachi, still aching from Shisui's death, had found comfort in each other's company. Taking turns to wallow in despondency, and taking turns to lift the other out of the morass of grief. Just being with each other had soothed the sting of the loss, and he had almost believed himself healed.

Thankfully, his remark worked, and Kakashi snorted. "Of course," he mused. "My Lord Uchiha is hiding because he is too shy to dance! The only way to rectify this would be with a dancing lesson."

Itachi felt his lips quirk upwards. Kakashi always had that effect on him. "If my Lord Hatake would be so kind," he murmured. His heart beat faster at the thought of having Kakashi in his arms once more. They had not touched since they had left the warfront.

Two men sharing a tent and even their bedrolls was not looked askance at when female companionship was lacking, but back in polite society? It was utterly unthinkable. It mattered little that his and Kakashi's touches had been entirely innocent ones – holding each other through nightmares, stroking each other's hair. Any hint of the intimacy they had shared would be enough to court scandal.

Kakashi's hand settled around Itachi's waist, scorching even through the layers of cloth that separated it from his skin. "My Lord, if the purpose of this lesson is to restore my confidence in dancing, should I not be the one to lead?" Itachi remarked, desperately attempting to reduce the tension that had manifested the instant they had touched.

"If it was a normal dancing lesson, then of course," Kakashi replied, eyes twinkling in that way which always lightened Itachi's heart. "But you are a wallflower, and so you must be coaxed. And of course, I am taller than you."

By a scant few centimetres, but it was not as if Itachi was keeping track.

They were entirely silent as they twirled around the room, with only the books to bear witness. And then Kakashi dipped Itachi low before lifting him back up, and both men paused. There was an electricity crackling between them that they were both unwilling to extinguish.

"In Icha Icha," Kakashi said finally, "this would be the moment when the two lovers would kiss."

Itachi could barely suppress his smile. Kakashi had carried that noxious orange book everywhere, even breaking it out during column formations to break the tension before they met the Oto forces in battle.

He lifted a hand to Kakashi's face, tracing its hard planes. Looking into the eye that, like Itachi's, had seen far too much.

"Are we lovers, then?" Itachi whispered.

"We could be."

They could be, if Itachi was willing to forsake his duty as the heir to the Naka Dukedom. They could be, if Kakashi was willing to cry off from his engagement with a wealthy heiress, one that had been arranged while Kakashi was still in the cradle. They could be, if they were willing to be condemned by the ton for their unnatural desires.

But could Itachi truly abdicate, casting all responsibility onto his younger brother's shoulders?

Kakashi must have read the conflict in his expression, for he tilted his head and smiled in that way which forced his eye closed. He had once confided to Itachi that he did it when his eye watered, to prevent a show of weakness. Even as he took a small step back, his hand tightened on Itachi's waist.

"We have always toed that fine line, but it appears that we will never cross it," Kakashi said. Anyone else would have thought he was utterly unruffled. But then, anyone else would not have soothed him through the nightmares he had experienced after Obito had taken a bullet meant for him; would not know that precise set of his shoulders which indicated he was a single step away from the complete annihilation of his dignity.

Itachi felt the breath leave his chest. Something told him that if he allowed Kakashi to walk away now, this would be the end of everything. Of late night conversations over a bottle of whiskey they weren't supposed to have, of verbal spars and practice sword fights which ended in one of them getting pinned beneath the other, sweaty and panting.

Of dances set to a funeral dirge which only they could hear.

"No," Itachi whispered. He swallowed, and forced himself to say it once more with greater emphasis, to ensure Kakashi heard his resolve. "No." He had lost Shisui, and had only survived the loss of the man he loved because Kakashi had been there to patch the hole Shisui had left behind.

If he lost Kakashi too, it would end him.

Seizing Kakashi's face in his hands, Itachi pressed his lips against Kakashi's.

The music crescendoed as their hands and lips explored each other, finally allowing themselves the release they had denied themselves for far too long.

They had given enough of themselves. Perhaps now, it was time to allow themselves to take instead.

#kakaita #kkit #hatake kakashi #uchiha itachi #naruto fanfic #lightweaver writes #naruto rarepairs #writing games #flash fiction #asks

46 notes · View notes

soft--dragon · 1 year

Text

Bomb Disarming

I adore Wrecker and Omega's dynamic so I had to write something for them!! :D Hope you enjoy! <3

THIS IS ALL PLATONIC, GET AWAY YA NASTY SHIPPERS

Word Count: 2,388

Warnings: None

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)

Travelling to new planet systems always seemed to take longer than wanted, and this one was especially bad. It was going to take so long in fact, that Tech had ended up switching the ship to autopilot and left the cockpit to tinker with a new project. Hunter and Echo were somewhere in the Havoc Marauder, either discussing new jobs from Cid or talking plans about ration stockage and fuel supplies.

Those types of serious conversations were something Wrecker would rather leave to the two leaders of the team, it was way too boring to force himself to be interested in those topics. Though, he was almost considering going to see what they were talking about just to save himself from going stir crazy. He was in the cockpit with Omega, sat back in the comfy chairs and desperately wishing something interesting would just happen already. He’d even take being knocked out of hyperspace by a Purrgil or something.

Another minute passed before Wrecker decided it was official; he was going to die of boredom. Bam. Straight on the floor, flatlined with a sheet thrown over his corpse. Murdered by boredom instead of on the battlefield, what a sad way to go.

By the looks of things, Omega wasn’t far off either. The kid was turning aimlessly in her chair, trying to twirl one of Tech’s tools between her fingers like Hunter did with his knives. She was getting pretty accurate with the timing of the spins, but they weren’t very smooth, the pattern of switching the tool to each finger was stilted. Though she didn’t seem to care about the tacky display, instead staring at the streaks of blue and white outside the glass of the ship with a glazed look in her brown eyes.

Two death counts from boredom in one day. Truly a pity.

Wrecker groaned, sitting up and rolling his shoulders back, causing them to click loudly. Omega didn’t even spare him a glance at the movements, her focus still the shifting blue hues outside. Damn, she was zoned out.

The larger clone hummed deeply, foot tapping the floor in thought as he tried to come up with a way to entertain the pair of them. They still had over an hour of travel left and Wrecker wanted to bash a few more heads in before he took his trip to the afterlife, thank you very much, so the boredom would have to go. His gaze flicked to the tool Omega was still spinning slowly, it was a smaller set of clipping shears Tech used on finicky wires in the more delicate parts of his projects, and quite similar to what they used to cut wires of bombs.

Wrecker’s eyebrows shot up as an idea hit him faster than a bullet train.

“Hey kid!” He exclaimed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to be at Omega’s height level.

Omega gave a start at the sudden burst of noise which caused the tool in her hand to clatter to the floor. She ripped her gaze from the window and stared up at her brother in alarm. “What? What is it?” She asked, her accented voice filled with concern.

Wrecker grinned at her, scooping the discarded clipping shears on the ground and holding them up clearly. “Why don’t we go through bomb disarming again? We haven’t done it in a bit!”

Omega blinked owlishly, eyes flicking between the tool and his face in bewilderment. “On the ship?” Her question was a mix of slight levity and confusion. “I don’t think Hunter would like that very much.”

Wrecker’s excitement deflated slightly. She did have a pretty valid point. They were running low on smoke bombs as is, and the idea of the ship filling with the thick fog with no way to filter it out probably wasn’t a smart idea.

“Ah,” he grunted, lowering the shears slightly. “I guess that’s true.”

Omega nodded quietly and went to look back out the window, her knees drawing to her chest and arms wrapping around them. She looked smaller than usual in that position, and her childish features just looked so sad. Wrecker frowned. He didn’t like Omega being sad.

“We don’t have to use an actual bomb,” he said slowly, his brain trying to come up with an alternative quickly.

“Mm?” Hummed Omega to show she was listening, half lidded eyes drifting over the hyperspace streaks.

“...We could use my hand instead?”

Omega lifted her head, eyebrows furrowing as she stared straight forwards. She then turned to look at him slowly, one eyebrow quirked in puzzlement. “...You want me to use those shears on your fingers?”

Wrecker barked a laugh, shaking his head and tossing the shears to the side which caused them to clatter noisily on the dashboard. “No no, the idea was that you’ll use your fingers like shears to ‘cut’ my fingers which will be the wires. The palm of my hand will be the actual bomb, and your goal is to cut the right wires to stop it from detonating. Make sense?”

Omega’s gaze dropped to his hand that was being held up to be a demonstration alongside Wrecker’s explanation. Slowly, her legs unfurled from her chest and she sat forward on her chair.

“...Okay, that sounds like it could be good practice.”

“Atta girl,” Wrecker praised, ruffling her curls and smiling when she leant up into his large palm. “Do you need reminding of which wires are which?”

“I think I remember… provided you’ve got them in the same order as a smoke bomb and you’re not gonna pull anything?”

“Course not, kid. Now, you’ve got a time limit of ten seconds before it explodes, ya ready?”

Omega leant forward more, using her index and middle fingers to make a pair of scissors on her right hand and studying Wrecker’s ‘bomb’. “Ready.”

Wrecker had spread his fingers with his palm facing upwards, trying to make it easy for Omega to remember the correct method. “Alright. Beep!”

With Wrecker’s noise indicating the ‘bomb’s’ activation, Omega quickly set to work, half listening to his countdown. “The conductor feeds the coil expander… this connects to the transmitter… the detonator links to…”

As she mumbled, she used her finger shears to cut at Wrecker’s fingers, the older clone folding the digits inwards to show the break. She’d ‘cut’ three of Wrecker’s fingers, and was now stalling between his middle and ring fingers, face pinching as she tried to recall the last step.

“I- I don’t know which one to do-”

“Better hurry, kid! Five… four…”

Omega bit her lip anxiously, then on impulse, pinched Wrecker’s ring finger between her shears.

“BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.”

Kriff. Wrong one.

“KABOOM!” Wrecker yelled, sweeping Omega off her chair into his arms, wiggling his fingers into her sides quickly.

Omega squealed loudly, kicking out on instinct and breaking into fits of laughter. “AHA! W-Wrehehecker!”

“You failed to disarm the worst kind of bomb there is, Omega, now you’re suffering the consequences!”

Still giggling, Omega pressed out, “Smoke bohombs arehen’t the wohorst!”

“Oh no, this was very different from a regular ol smoke bomb, kiddo,” Wrecker chuckled, “it was a tickle bomb!”

He blew a raspberry into Omega’s cheek, fingers worming against her stomach to produce high pitched, childish laughter.

“YOHOU LIHIAR!” Omega gasped, squirming in Wrecker’s unrelenting hold. “Yohou shahid ihit wahas aha smohoke bohomb!”

Far too smug about his ploy, Wrecker chuckled evilly. “Oh I didn’t lie, I said the wires were in the same order as a smoke bomb, I never said it was one.” He lay Omega over his lap and raised his hands above her, wiggling his fingers tauntingly. The effect was immediate.

Omega tried to curl up in the limited space, giggling more at the ‘threat’ before her. “W-Wrehehecker!” she squeaked.

“Yeah? That’s my name, Omega.” He held them for a moment longer to build suspense, then suddenly dropped them to just ghost over Omega’s torso, delighting in the squeal that burst from the blonde clone. Her eyes had clamped shut in preparation for the onslaught, only for Wrecker to raise his hands in the air again, still wiggling.

Cracking an eye open, Omega whined at falling for the fake-out. “Wrehehehecker!”

“Still my name. You sure we shouldn’t call you Echo, now?”

Once more, Wrecker’s hands plunged down towards Omega, another shriek bursting from the kid that was followed by bright giggles. The sensations of wiggling fingers never touched down, and Omega didn’t even need to open her eyes this time to know she’d been tricked again.

“Nohot fahair!”

“Not fair? Oh, I’ll show you ‘not fair’, kid.”

Wrecker snaked an arm under her back to tickle her right side and used the other to poke along her left ribs quickly, leaving her no escape route from the gentle attack. Omega squealed and shrieked, her hands smacking at Wrecker’s to try and deter him, but the bigger clone was secure in his path.

These tactics were ones he often used on his brothers’, and he was pleased to see it was just as effective on his sister too. Omega was a bundle of bright giggles and a smile close to literal sunshine, the child was just as ticklish as the rest it would seem.

“Wrecker, I hope you don’t plan on killing Omega, do you?”

The slightly nasally voice made Wrecker look at the doorway where Tech was standing, discreetly putting away a holo-pad that no doubt was filled to the storage limit with photos now.

“Nah, she disarmed a bomb incorrectly and it exploded,” he explained, grinning up at his younger brother. “She’s facing the aftermath.”

“Ah, I see.” Tech’s lips twitched subtly and he cleared his throat. “I’m looking for my clipping shears, have you seen them?”

“Dashboard.”

“Thank you.”

“T-Tehehech hehehelp!” Omega squeaked, reaching out for the bespeckled clone, only to shriek and throw her head back in new bouts of laughter as Wrecker had quickly swept his fingers into the new weak spots. She clamped her arms down to try and stop the wiggling digits, but it only served to trap them in the sensitive hollows, leaving her spluttering and giggling hysterically.

“I’m afraid I cannot help you, Omega,” Tech answered, amusement evident in his voice as he shifted towards the dashboard to retrieve his tool, pocketing it for the time being. “I am not one to stand in the way of a lesson, especially one as important as bomb disarmament.”

“Trahahitor!”

“Now now, there’s no need for insults. You’ll get the right wires next time, I’m sure.” Tech ruffled Omega’s hair in passing, a smile on his face that was a mix of fond and mischievous. He then glanced at the bigger clone with an equally fond smile. “Though Wrecker, remember that her stamina is not the same as ours, you may want to ease up soon.”

Wrecker sent a grin towards his brother. “Yeh, that’s a good point,” he agreed and slid his hands out from underneath Omega’s tightly pressed arms. A giggly squeal slipped from the girl and melted both of the hearts of the male clones instantly.

She brought her arms down to protect her torso, grinning up at Wrecker with mirthful anticipation, giggles still tumbling from her mouth. Wrecker chuckled at her flighty behaviour, raising his hands in what would be a peaceful action though it only caused Omega to giggle harder and curl in on herself.

“N-Nohoho nohot thahat agahain!” she whined, eyeing Wrecker’s fingers through squinted eyes.

“Used the ‘hang and drop’ tactic on her too, I see?” Tech observed, his smile softer than Wrecker had ever seen it. “You really wanted to make her learn the importance of bomb disarming.”

“Of course, we don’t want a lack of bomb knowledge to cause her to be partially blind in one eye, right? That position is already filled.”

Tech flicked his gaze from Omega to Wrecker, eyes trailing over the scarring running over the left side of Wrecker’s face. He softened a bit more, reaching over to gently rest a hand on his shoulder. “You’re being a good teacher,” he said quietly. “She’ll be a natural in no time.”

Wrecker smiled up at him warmly, giving a one shouldered shrug to lean up into the palm. “Thanks Tech.”

“Of course.” Tech removed his hand, making for the door only to pause in front of it. “Omega, I expect you to drink some water after your lesson, you’ll be dehydrated from all your laughing.”

Omega grinned and gave a small salute from where she was still lying on her back on Wrecker’s legs. “Sir, yes, sir,” she chirped, the lingering titters fading out.

Tech gave a nod, giving a smile in return and then stepped from the room, the doors sliding closed behind him. The silence hung in the air for a moment, interrupted occasionally by Omega’s small giggles that crept back into her chest. It was only when she had calmed down fully that Wrecker leant over to the storage cabinet by the piloting chair to pluck out a bottle of water. He handed it to Omega who sat up in his lap to take a swig, humming appreciatively of the cooling effect.

Wrecker let her rest for another minute or two before gently nudging his chin against her hair. “You up to trying again?” He asked.

Omega blinked up at him in surprise, cocking her head slightly. “Oh, I can do the disarmament again?”

“Of course, the only way to get it right is practice.” Carefully, Wrecker picked her up again and set Omega back on her chair. He cracked his knuckles then held a hand upright, fingers splayed. “You got your clipping shears ready?”

Omega sat forward and propped her hand up to have her index and middle fingers positioned again. “Yup,” she said, then suspiciously leant back. “...If I get this wrong again…”

“You already know what’ll happen,” Wrecker chuckled. “Gotta have some consequence right? Otherwise it’ll be pretty ineffective to help you learn.”

Omega rolled her eyes, smiling up at her brother. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It…it is kinda fun.”

Wrecker visibly brightened at her words. “Good! Cause we still have forty minutes to kill, kid.”

Cracking her knuckles, Omega grinned, a flame of determination flaring up inside her. “Bring it.”

#my fanfic #lee!omega #ler!wrecker #bad batch tickle #the bad batch #tickle fic #fanfic #star wars tickle #star wars #wrecker is a massive sweetheart #it is 3am rn #dear lord my life has been taken over by a hyperfixation again #tech shows up but he's just there to be a menace /affectionate

52 notes · View notes

imtryingmybeskar · 1 year

Text

Come Home Chapter Six. Joel Miller x F! Reader.

Welp, if you've made it this far thank you so much! The Joel stuff really kicks off from here (just in time for the start of the series!) and we see the first glimmers of hope for our reader.

Warnings for anxiety and a panic attack, past trauma, PTSD. And Joel being super sweet and caring despite the AWKWARD conversation.

Word count: 4946

Come Home

Chapter Six - Against The Grain

Joel’s face is concerned, the lines on his brow deepened by his furrowing. He’s never been this close and you’re suddenly very aware of the height difference between you.

“You okay?” he says without preamble. “I was knockin’ for quite a while.”

“Uh…ummm…yeah. Yeah I’m okay,” you manage to force out.

“You sure?” he presses, and when you look up at him you know he can see the spark of anxiety behind your eyes.

You blink. Sigh a breath. Force yourself to relax. “I’m fine,” you say, more assuredly.

“Well good,” Joel says somewhat distractedly. He’s not looking at your face, instead his gaze is fixed slightly lower and you don’t realise why until he speaks again, a slight levity to his tone this time. “Worried about a home invasion? I meant what I said you know, this is a nice neighbourhood.”

Shit. You hadn’t even realised you were still holding the kitchen knife. Or remembered the gun at your hip. And –

You press your lips together in embarrassment as you switch off your torch.

“Sorry,” you offer in a small voice. “Didn’t mean to blind you. Or threaten you.” Joel gives that sweet half smile you’ve come to enjoy, but before he can comment on your peculiarities you find yourself asking if he would like to come inside and move back into the house so he can do just that.

“Thank you,” he says gratefully. “The snow’s stopped but it’s still mighty cold.”

He steps inside and glances around – a habit you know very well is born less of curiosity and more of decades of needing to be cautious in new spaces. His gaze settles on the fire, then on the sofa where your book is placed precariously on one arm, and a small smile touches his lips again.

“Looks like you’re settlin’ in,” he remarks.

You shut the door behind him and gesture to the sofa. “Well, I’m trying,” you admit. “Please have a seat.”

The social nicety strikes you as both hollow and faintly ridiculous, but Joel inclines his head in thanks before sitting down and beginning to take off his coat. You cross to the kitchen and place the knife back in its allocated drawer before filling the kettle again and putting it back to boil on the hob.

“Do you want some tea?” you offer as you come back into the living room.

Joel turns to face you, and you’re struck by (and quite envious of) how comfortable he looks in this environment. His coat is now draped over the other arm of the sofa, his elbow resting on top of it, long legs stretched out in front of him. Without his layers he somehow looks even more broad than before – the soft looking green plaid of his shirt tight over his shoulders and upper arms. He’s rolled up his sleeves too, giving you a view of his muscular forearms and christ its been a long time since you’ve been intimate with anyone but you’re pretty sure you shouldn’t be this excited to see them.

He saves you from having to wonder if you’re staring at him as hard as you think you are by answering your question.

“Well, I hate to be a cheeky sonofabitch, but you wouldn’t have any coffee would you?” he asks. His tone is jovial and light, a jokingly knowing undertone to his words because…well…who the fuck had coffee any more?

“I uh…I do actually,” you admit. Shit. Maybe you like this guy even more than you thought. Why the fuck are you offering him your prized possession? Though it’s almost worth it at the astonished, wide-eyed look he gives you. He really is super fucking handsome. “But you have to earn it,” you blurt out. Heat rises to your cheeks almost immediately as he raises a quizzical eyebrow at you. Probably could have phrased that better.

“Excuse me?” he asks, his voice wiped of its joking tone.

“I didn’t mean…I mean…sorry,” you splutter. “That came out wrong. What I mean is, I have a favour to ask.”

Joel sits forward, those thick forearms now resting on his knees and he gives you a wary look as he responds. “Go on."

As you struggle to articulate your request you feel a fresh heat suffuse your face. This was excruciating. It would be an embarrassing situation with anyone, but you’re managing to be extra awkward around him and it feels like your skull is transparent and he can see your stupid burgeoning crush emblazoned across every part of your mind. It doesn’t help that he is so calm and self-assured. Every word, every mannerism speaks to supreme self-possession and it makes you even more flustered.

“I…will you…please…” You stutter yourself into silence and take a deep breath. He already thinks you’re rude and a moron. Might as well add “coward” to that tally against you. “Please could you come upstairs with me?” you ask calmly, looking firmly at the curtains behind him.

No! Shit! Add to that sentence! Complete that thought!

“To check the rooms!” you add hastily, your eyes widening as you finally look at him in horror. Yup. Adding “pervert” to that list too. Good going. “I just…I know it sounds ridiculous, because you’d know if you were living next door to infected or someone that shouldn’t be here but I need to check. And I’m not used to living in such a big space. I looked into most of the rooms but- “

Your stream of words suddenly runs dry as you realise how pathetic you sound. Wanting back up to explore your own house. How fucking ludicrous.

“Sure.” His voice is warm again, and you sigh as you relax into its gentle confidence.

“Thanks. Sorry.”

He shook his head and his dimple flashed briefly before he spoke. “Nothin’ to be sorry for. I get it. Me and Ellie, we’ve only lived here for six months or so. She’s the one lives in my garage and while she’s enjoyin’ havin’ her own space, I like havin’ her close if I’m honest. But the first few weeks we were here we slept in the livin’ room together. She took the sofa, I slept on the cushions from the other chairs. It just felt right to y’know? The beds were a nice novelty. Comfortable. Warm. But actually gettin’ to sleep in them? That was another matter altogether. The nightmares don’t stop just ‘cause you’re behind walls now. And I needed to know she was next to me just as much as she needed to know I was next to her. So…I get it. You do what you need to. I’m happy to help.”

You bite your lip hard to stop it wobbling. Sweet and kind as well as pretty. You kind of wish he’d been a dick to you instead. Then perhaps you could nip this crush in the bud before it really took hold.

“You wanna bring the knife along?” he asked, only a tiny hint of teasing in his tone.

“I think the gun will suffice,” you say as you give a watery little smile. “Besides, I just gotta outrun you, right?”

He chuckles as he stands up. “Long as I get my coffee before I succumb to any bites I’ll die a happy man,” he jokes. “Want me to go first?”

You shake your head. “No, thank you. Just…having someone else here is enough.”

He nods. “Well okay then. Lead the way.”

The light is still on at the top of the stairs so going up them is not as big an ordeal than before, even less so with Joel bringing up the rear, and you begin to feel foolish again as you climb. You should be able to do this alone. After surviving for so long, you should be able to do anything. But you can’t deny that you find his presence behind you extremely comforting.

“Does this place look anything like yours?” you ask as you crest the top step. The question is more to make conversation than for any burning desire to know what his house is like, a way to delay the anxieties that you’re still fighting to keep down.

“Pretty similar,” he replies as he walks up the final few stairs and sweeps the area with that practiced glance again. “Though I think mine was modernised more recently. The décor isn’t so…80s.”

There’s that slight tease to his tone again and it brings a smile to your face despite yourself.

“It is a little dated,” you agree as you gently scuff a foot along what you now realise is a pretty hideous coral coloured carpet, sending small puffs of dust into the air as you do. “But I can forgive almost anything for a roof that doesn’t leak and hot water for a shower.”

Joel huffs a soft laugh. “Ain’t nothin’ like that first one after bein’ on the road awhile.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you reply distantly. Your voice sounds faint to your ears as you’re suddenly very aware that you haven’t bathed properly in a while. Cold weather and lack of plumbing at your cabin meant that the best you and Chris were usually able to manage were quick wipedowns with a flannel out of a bucket. Add to that spending the previous night in a barn and the killing of two relatively fresh infected the day before…God you must stink.

You bite your lip again as shame joins the simmering anxieties in your belly and threatens to spill hot tears down your cheeks. In this world, there weren’t many opportunities for glitz and glamour and dolling yourself up. The absence of mushrooms sprouting from your face was about as good as it got. But it was cruel, you thought, that you couldn’t even privately indulge in the stupid, dopey, soft feelings you suspect you’ve started to harbour for this man without being faced with what a disgusting mess you really were.

“You alright?” Joel asks, that low comforting rumble of his voice breaking into your thoughts, and you realise you must have been staring at the carpet all this time. You nod, still biting your lip, still not looking at him, not trusting yourself to speak right now as your throat is still tight with the humilation you feel.

“This it?” he asks as he gestures to the door ahead and you nod again, oddly thankful that he seems to have mistaken your embarrassed silence for fearful silence. It feels better somehow that he thinks you would be afraid of something that isn’t there rather than knowing you’re twisting yourself up about what he thinks of your currently lacking personal hygiene.

“Well…guns at the ready,” he quips, and this time his gentle humour does draw you and you look up at him with a small, shy smile.

Before you can psyche yourself up, before you can debate with yourself as to who should actually open up the room he’s past you, grasping the door handle firmly and removing all possibility of further chickening out. The feeble hall light isn’t nearly enough to penetrate the gloom and you automatically steel yourself for a potential fight before forcing yourself to relax.

Joel steps through the doorway and flicks the light on.

Or tries to. Even though he takes up a good deal of space in the frame, you can see that the room beyond remains stubbornly dark and a thin snaking of vindication that you had asked him to accompany you up here creeps through you. Since he’s not backing away you have to assume that once again, no one infected or otherwise has managed to conceal themselves in your house.

“No bulb," he mutters half to himself as he looks up at the light fitting. "I think we’re all clear,” he adds, and a wave of gratitude hits you at the seriousness of his tone. He really does understand. “But if you wanna pass me your torch I can take a proper look around?”

“That’s okay,” you reply hurriedly, not wanting him to think you were totally helpless. “I can do a little sweep myself.”

Joel steps inside the darkened room to give you space to follow and you immediately regret your decision. The light from the hallway barely penetrates past the door, and the curtains are already closed here, so not even the light of the moon can be seen. The whole area is made up of hues of grey, shadowy shapes made of deeper blackness the only things that stand out.

Swallowing your fear, you step inside the room and flick your torch back on, directing it at the floor so you don’t accidentally shine it at Joel again. The carpet here is a soft grey colour and whether that was how it looked originally, or the result of years of dust having settled into it you cannot tell. You raise the beam of light slowly up and it travels across to the curved wooden bottom of a rocking chair, the peeling paint that coats it some sort of light pastel shade under the dirt. The gleam of gloss paint. The skeletal nature of the slatted wooden back makes you uncomfortable in a way you can’t quite define, and that feeling grows and sharpens to something you do recognise when you see that the angled centre of a decrepit nursing pillow is hooked over one armrest.

You turn the beam away hurriedly, wanting to finish your investigation in a way that will be thorough enough that you can sleep at night, brief enough that unpleasant memories won’t have time to crowd you, and some way that doesn’t make you look even more jittery in front of Joel. Then you can get out of here and never open this door again. The torchlight sweeps up and over the walls, and now you can see the faded but still intact wallpaper that decorates the place – animated elephants holding umbrellas in primary colours as they frolick through raindrops and puddles. Cartoon toadstools with faces smiling back at you. The remains of some educational posters can be seen too; ABC’s, 123’s, farm animals and the noises they supposedly make.

A buzzing is surfacing in your ears, as if a swarm of angry hornets is closing in on your location. You can almost feel the vibration of it rattling through you, brimming in your skull and you grip the torch tighter as you swallow again around a dry mouth and a distinctly sickly feeling. That’s enough. You know what this place once was. Get out of here.

As you turn to do just that, the beam cuts across the space to your left and lands upon a crib, projecting shadows of the bars at its side hugely against the wall behind it. The sight is so stark that it halts you momentarily. A cage on wheels. The mobile of cartoon giraffes above it twists gently in the disturbed air from where you have come in. You can’t breathe. The corridor stretches away ahead of you as it does every night, as it always will, and you can’t breathe. The gas mask obscures your vision, narrowing it to a pinprick view, spores in the torchlight floating around you like dust motes in a sunbeam-

“Whoa, whoa, easy now.” A gentle voice. Strong arms. Warmth at your shoulders. “Look at me.”

All you can see is the carpet, a halo of light around your feet and you realise you’re bent double with your hands resting on your knees as you gulp for air.

He’s speaking again. His voice is coming from so far away, hidden behind the wall of buzzing. But its insistent, firm. Not inclined to take no for an answer. “I said look at me.”

Exhaling deeply one last time you draw yourself up and stand in front of him. He has one large hand on each of your shoulders, reassuring you with bodily contact, saturating you with his warmth. A tiny, stunted part of you wishes you could take more pleasure in his touch before the shame and sorrow begins to creep in, as it always does after one of these episodes. Feelings that you should be able to cope, that you’re being ridiculous, that you wouldn’t be surprised if he never wanted to see you again and that he would keep Ellie away from your weakness too.

You look up and his face fills your world. Those dark eyes, a strong curve to his nose, a whiskery chin. “You’re okay,” he’s saying. “Just look at me. Listen to my voice. Breathe.” Those are instructions you can obey. His face is so pleasant to look at, his voice rich and soothing. You can breathe. You do it all the time. In and out. In and out. You realise he’s the one speaking after a few moments. “In and out. That’s it. You’re doin’ great.”

Fuck all of this.

“What?” Joel is watching intently, the furrow back at his brow as he regards you, and you realise you must have spoken out loud. Oh well.

“Fuck all of this,” you enunciate quietly, as the whirl of anxiety and fear suddenly abandons you, leaving you feeling exhausted. A quizzical look passes over Joel’s face before it transmutes briefly to a piercing gaze, as if he is trying to get the measure of you. Then it softens to understanding and he nods.

“You wanna get outta here.” It’s a statement not a question and you nod tersely before breaking away from his soft grip and marching back out of the room and down the stairs on wobbly legs. You hear Joel close the door to the nursery before he follows you back down to the lower level of the house.

The kettle is just starting to whistle shrilly as you enter the kitchen once more. You had almost forgotten that coffees were on the agenda, but now find yourself grateful for the distraction and begin to prepare the cups with shaking hands.

It didn’t exactly come as a surprise that one of the rooms was for a child. After all, you knew before you chose this house that these had been family homes. And it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen a thousand kid’s rooms over the years – some abandoned, some with horrendous and heartbreaking scenes within. But having it so close at hand was hard. You didn’t want a reminder like that. Not in your own house, your supposed fresh start. Not when you’d been congratulating yourself on starting to put the nightmares to bed. It seemed unfair that you had survived so long and yet could so easily be derailed by such a seemingly small thing.

“Hey.” Joel’s warm, bassy tones come from somewhere behind you and break into your thoughts. “Was uh…was that what you were expectin’ to find in there?”

“It wasn’t a bloater. So it’s a good day,” you shrug, keeping your back to him and your voice carefully neutral as you avoid the question.

You hear him huff a gentle laugh. “That’s true,” he agrees. “But uh…you okay?”

“Yep,” you answer, trying to put a note of finality into the short reply. Time to change the subject. “How do you take your coffee?” you ask as you grab the silver tin from the cupboard above you and measure some of the contents carefully into two mugs.

“Black. No sugar. Wait, do we even have any sugar in Jackson right now? It doesn’t matter. No sugar.” Though you hadn’t known him for very long, you had still never heard such excitement in Joel’s voice before. Clearly this coffee was very, very dear to him.

“Black, no sugar,” you confirm as you turn and hand him the steaming mug.

He takes the mug and inhales deeply over it. His eyes close in bliss and a tiny smile quirks the corner of his lips. “Oh man,” he sighs longingly. “Its been a while since I had any kind of coffee and this smells amazing. Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” you reply, raising your own mug toward him. Before he can ask you anything more about what had just transpired in the nursery you jump in with “Come sit down, get comfortable. And then you can tell me what your Starbucks order used to be. I reckon you’re a triple caramel shot half foam extra whipped cream sprinkles on top kinda guy.”

You make your way over to the couch and place your coffee on the table before sitting in the seat opposite where he had vacated. Not too close. But close enough. You hear him chuckle as he moves to take his spot once again.

“You got me,” he grins. “I loved those sugar monstrosities. And Sarah, she-“

He draws up short, his eyes flickering with sadness and his body language becoming immediately closed off as his words abruptly stop. With the gentlest of touches he absent-mindedly caresses the face of the watch on his wrist and its only now that you notice that its broken - cracked and chipped and with two big holes marring the plastic covering. Shit. You hadn’t meant to unleash any kind of painful memories. But that’s all that most people had these days. A few seconds of awkward silence tick by as you desperately try to think of something, anything to steer the conversation back into lighter topics, but he beats you to it when he shakes his head almost imperceptibly and speaks again.

“I’m Joel, by the way. I know we’ve seen each other a coupla times but I don’t think I ever actually introduced myself. As mentioned before my lodger, guitar student, and all round pain in my ass is Ellie.”

He holds out his hand and you take it, noting how it completely swamps your own. His palms are warm and dry, his skin softer than you’d expected, fingers long and thick and – fuck you should be saying something right now, instead of fixating on his hands. You open your mouth to introduce yourself but he’s speaking again.

“I know who you are. Maria briefed me and Tommy about your group last night. We’ve had some trouble here recently. Its why you were guarded overnight. Nothin’ personal. We just can’t afford to take risks with what’s been built here. So…Maria has said that when people arrive they need to be screened more thoroughly for the time bein’.”

“What kind of trouble?” you ask, frowning. “If you can tell me. I know its none of my business really.”

“It’s your business as much as anyone’s if you’re gonna be livin’ here with us,” Joel says gently, and “But uh…can I have my hand back first? I really wanna drink this coffee.”

“Oh shi-“ you exclaim as you hurriedly release him. “Sorry.”

“You can stop apologisin’,” he says kindly. “I know what its like after bein’ outside for a while, but take my word for it – you can relax here.” He picks up the mug before adding in a quieter voice, “That’s easier said than done, I know. But if you do wanna talk about anything you can. Do you…do you wanna talk about what happened upstairs?”

A hot lance of anger pierces you through. “You wanna talk about your watch?” The bitter, spiteful, defensive words slip out before you can stop them and you press your lips together as if you could take them back if only you could make your mouth small enough. Fuck. You hadn’t meant to be so cruel when he had been nothing but kind. His eyes immediately narrow, darken in anger and his mouth twists as his jaw sets angrily. You drop your eyes to your lap in shame.

“I’m sorry,” you say again. “And this time I do need to say it. That was rude. And unnecessary.” You sigh, trying to find the words that might fix this. “I-I can’t talk about it. Its not even about wanting to I…I just can’t. But thank you. For not judging me. I’ll sleep better thanks to you.” You hope the lie will help him feel better.

Silence reigns for a few moments, then when he speaks again Joel’s voice is soft once more and you risk raising your eyes to his face. It’s closed, pinched with sorrow, but no longer angry and that's probably more than you deserve.

“Well I’m sorry too. I shouldn't have pushed you on it. And it was a dumb thing to ask anyway. After tellin’ you you’re safe now and to relax…no one needs to relive…” He trails off, then begins again. “Guess I’m just used to tryin’ to pry out how Ellie’s feelin’ about...well anything. The world’s all but ended but teenagers are still the same.” He chuckles hollowly before taking a swig of coffee.

“So…what happened? Here I mean,” you enquire, trying to move on from your indiscretions.

“Had a group of twelve come in a coupla months back. In a bad way. All clean of infection but malnourished and…well you know what its like. Some of ‘em wouldn’t talk, wandering around like…well like zombies. The Romero kind, y’know.” It’s a feeble joke but you smile nonetheless. Perhaps he could forgive you for the awful thing you had said.

“Maria put ‘em up, gave ‘em food, welcomed them. A lot like you, except they were put in houses straight away, allowed to keep their weapons, not monitored. I guess they thought we were soft, livin’ here behind our walls with our electricity and supplies. The third night they were here they tried to take the place by force. Twelve against a whole town. Doesn’t seem like good odds. But they had the advantages of surprise and desperation. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, that can be mighty effective."

You nod your understanding and agreement and he continues. “They killed five of our people before we got ‘em under control. Three of theirs were killed in the fighting, the other nine…well me ‘n Tommy drove ‘em a hundred miles or so out and dropped em in a town out there.”

“You let them go?” you ask, a little incredulously.

“Maria and Tommy did. I was all for disposin’ of them there and then, but they insisted.” He took another swig of coffee, and you followed suit. “Don’t think they’ll be botherin’ us again though. We made a helluva noise as we left. And its hard to run when you’re hogtied and blindfolded. Still…” He trailed off again and you found yourself agreeing with his unspoken sentiment. It was always better to be sure. “But that’s why I near broke down your door earlier. Needed to know you weren’t uhhh…up to anything.”

“Oh, I won’t be causing trouble,” you confirm. “I know a good thing when I see it. And I barely know the others. I just met them on the road here.”

“Well, I can’t lie. The coffee has gone a long way to get you into the good books,” he twinkled. “And Ellie seems to like you.”

“She seems sweet,” you reply.

“Don’t let those innocent eyes fool ya,” Joel chuckles. “When I said she’s a pain in my ass I meant it.” His eyes soften further as he speaks about her, his love and affection for the girl plain to see upon his grizzled face. “Speaking of…” He drains the last of his coffee, stands and stretches. “I’d better get back. If I don’t cook, she doesn’t eat. Too used to living out of tins.” You stand too, suddenly struck shy at how close and imposing he is in front of you.

“It was nice to have you here,” you say, and find yourself meaning it as more than a mere pleasantry. “Come by again if you want. Though I can’t promise coffee every time!”

He quirks a thoughtful eyebrow and raises his eyes to the ceiling, tapping his finger on his chin as if deep in contemplation. “Without the coffee…I’ll have to think about it,” he replies, but you can hear the joking in his tone. He puts on his coat and you walk him to the door. The icy blast of frigid winter air that invades as you open it makes you shiver and feel extremely grateful for the strength of the four walls around you and the fire you have built.

As he steps over the threshold Joel turns back to you, his face serious once more. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” he asks, and the grave concern in his voice sends a flood of warmth through your chest. You don’t know. You just don’t know if you’ll be alright. But he has Ellie to think of, and himself. He doesn’t need to worry about you too.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, hopeful that you’re being truthful. “You’ve helped me out a lot. Thank you.”

The house feels much emptier without him, but the warmth his care and empathy have inspired linger, and you find yourself with a small smile upon your face as you settle back into the cosiness of your sofa and open your book again.

“Well, that’s what neighbours are for,” he replies more cheerily. “I’ll see you around.” And with a final nod he departs from your porch and heads back to his own house. You watch him go, raise an arm in acknowledgement when you see him open the front door, his silhouette stark against the lights inside his own home.

Next chapter

Taglist - @thisshipwillsail316 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @elegantduckturtle @dihra-vesa @midwesternwitchery @just-here-for-the-moment @eri16 @readsalot73 @littlemisspascal @princessxkenobi @harriedandharassed @pagannightwitch @tentacruels @kirsteng42 @shirks-all-responsibilities @deadhumourist @pedrostories

#come home #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel tlou x reader #joel tlou x female reader #joel tlou x f! reader #joel tlou x you #joel tlou fanfiction #joel tlou fanfic

107 notes · View notes

nightingaelic · 1 year

Note

how about the fnv companions(dlc included) meeting the courier's child years after the courier left the Mojave on their own?

"Your life was ours, which is with you.

Go on your journey. We go too."

~ John Fuller, "Lullaby"

There hadn't been much to go on, but what was there was enough. The courier had left an impression all across the wasteland, leaving more than footprints behind wherever they walked. They'd changed lives, towns, histories - you just had to know what to ask.

Eventually, their child found the right combinations of words, the right stories to tell to get them where they wanted to go. They punched the route into the map of the hand-me-down Pip-Boy they'd received and followed it, wondering with each step whether the one who'd given it to them had come this way. Whether they'd seen that same rock formation, met that same shopkeeper, listened to the same songs on the radio.

By the time they arrived at their destination they were dusty, tired, and more than a little beaten up by the dangers of the wasteland. But they were their parent's child, and the will to persist came easily to them. They approached the individual they'd sought and pushed their hat back. "Hello," they said with as much confidence as they could muster. "You don't know me, but you used to know Courier Six. I don't know if they ever told you, but I'm... they were..."

Arcade Israel Gannon: Arcade's jaw dropped. "You're... you were... how did they...?"

"Keep me under wraps?" The courier's child shrugged. "I guess they lived the kind of life that didn't seem like you could fit a kid into it."

Arcade couldn't help chuckling at that. "That... actually makes complete sense. I never would have guessed."

The levity was short-lived, though, as the researcher realized what this meant for the person standing in his tent. "They weren't around much for you, were they?"

The courier's child shook their head, and Arcade grimaced. He rubbed the back of his neck, then went to the desk where his notes on the Followers' latest project ideas were strewn. "After everything I told them about my own family... they never said a thing. What were you thinking, Six?"

His head snapped up in realization, and he looked back at the newcomer. "Lived. You said lived. Are they-?"

"No." The courier's child pressed their lips together. "Well, maybe. I don't think so. But I need help finding them, if only to see for myself."

"So you came here." Arcade shook his head. "This... I'll do what I can, of course, but if there's one thing your parent was good at, it was vanishing unexpectedly."

Craig Boone: Boone peered at them through his sunglasses, then tilted them down so he could get a better look. "Mmm," he said in acknowledgement.

"And I was just..." The courier's child was shaking in their boots under the sniper's impassive gaze. "Just wondering if... you'd maybe..."

Boone set his rifle aside and leaned back against one of Dinky the Dinosaur's teeth. "Breathe," he advised them.

The newcomer took a few deep breaths, eyeing him the whole time with obvious awe and misgiving. They knew his beret, it seemed.

"Better?" Boone asked after another minute.

"Thanks." The courier's child shook themselves out and drew up to their full height again. "I'm looking for them. People say you two used to travel together."

"We did," Boone admitted. "A long time ago, now."

"How long?"

Boone looked out over the rest of the dinosaur's teeth, toward the hills that had been empty of Legionaries for some time. "Too long," he said, shouldering his rifle again. "Talk."

Lily Bowen: Lily adjusted her goggles and peered at the courier's child. "Is that you, pumpkin?" she asked.

"Pumpkin?" the newcomer asked, puzzled.

"It is you." Lily swept them up in a hug that lifted them into the air. "You've been so naughty, dearie, going missing... you had your Grandma so worried!"

"Grandma?" the courier's child wheezed.

"Yes, pumpkin, your Grandma! Don't be silly now, there is much to do today." Lily gave them a final squish before settling them back on the ground. "Gather your things and come along. The bighorners need to be fed, and the fence in the back pasture needs rebuilding. Quickly, now, or Gail and her little lamb will be loose again before the day is out."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: There were tears in the ghoul's eyes as the newcomer stumbled through their introduction, and he clamped his hand over his mouth to keep from sobbing. "Niñe buene," he said when they were finished, feeling as though a miracle had descended to stand in front of him. "You look so much like them."

"Niñe buene," the courier's child murmured. They clearly didn't know the words, but Raul's tone was enough to hazard a guess. "You knew them well?"

"Better than some." Raul smiled and wiped his tears away before they could escape. "Not as well as others. But well enough. Más o menos."

"I... don't suppose you know where I can find them?"

Raul's face fell. "You don't know where they are?"

"No. I was hoping you might."

Raul cursed and looked around him. He snatched up his guns and hat from the chair near his workbench and began strapping some tool belts on. "Always needing your viejo to bail you out of trouble, Six," he muttered as he went. "Y tu niñe dragged into it too? Qué vergüenza."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Oh, are you?" Cass set her glass down and looked the plucky youth over. "In looks, maybe. Got more to learn though, kid. Your parent knew better than to approach me after the kind of night I've been having."

"What kind of night have you been having?" they asked, bewildered.

Cass sighed. "The kind that ends with me passed out on this stool. Similar to the night I met your creator."

"My creat- oh." The courier's child sat down next to her. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry. Heh." Cass smirked. "They were full of apologies, too. Thought it would fix my caravan, my broken heart, the war... I'll give them this, it was an approach I never would've thought of. Was always better with my gun than with my words."

The courier's child clasped their hands on the bar. "Tell me."

"It's a long, sad story, kid."

"I've got time enough."

"Fine." Cass finished her drink and slammed the glass down on the counter. "But the next round's on you. And the one after that."

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica gasped. "You're their secret love child! I knew they had one lying around somewhere! Oh, come here!"

She snatched them up in a hug before they could stop her, squeezing them until they both saw stars. "God, you're just the spitting image of the courier," she reassured them when she finally let go. "Same eyes, same chin, same shoulders... wait, who's the other half of their love nest? They were pretty good at keeping secrets, when they put their mind to it, but I always said-"

"Can... can you slow down for a minute?" The courier's child straightened themselves out again. "I mean, I'm happy to meet you too, I guess, but we just met."

"Oh, sure." Veronica grinned sheepishly. "You just got me excited, is all. It's been an age since they came through, and they always managed to make my life interesting. How are they doing?"

The Scribe's face fell when she realized that the newcomer didn't know the answer. "Oh. I see. That's why you're here."

"Yep." The courier's child shrugged. "I thought... maybe..."

They squeaked when Veronica crushed them with another hug.

ED-E: The eyebot that had been milling about the Mojave Express outpost in Primm grew still in midair, scanning the newcomer repeatedly as if searching for something. The conclusion it arrived at brought joy into its circuitry, and it immediately dove straight for their chest.

The courier's child caught it in surprise, and ED-E trumpeted a triumphant sting from a pre-war television show. "Back on the... dusty trail?" it inquired, using the voices of long-dead actors.

The courier's child looked up in alarm. "What does it-?"

Johnson Nash, who had been watching from behind his counter, was overcome with laughter. "It means the bot's yours, now. Picked you itself. Go on, take it, it's been a spell since someone came through that door that ED-E felt connected to."

"ED-E." The courier's child released the eyebot gently, pushing it up to float at their eye level. "Pleased... pleased to meet you."

ED-E cooed.

Rex: The King smiled and turned to look down at the cyberdog that was napping alongside his chair. "Rexie, you've got a visitor."

The German shepherd yawned and stretched before leisurely greeting the newcomer. He sniffed their hand over a few times and whuffed softly, as if in approval.

"I take it you're looking for the courier?" the King asked, scratching the old dog's ruff with obvious affection.

The courier's child nodded. "It's important. But so far, nobody's been much help. A few of them pointed me here."

"That's because Rex here has a great nose and a long memory." The King patted Rex's brain dome and leaned forward in interest. "He'll suit you well, I think."

"You're giving him to me?"

"Loaning him out, more like." The King winked. "Give your parent my best, when you find them. It's been too long."

BONUS!

Benny Gecko: "Oh, I'd know that face anywhere," Benny assured them. "Younger, older, wig-chopped or chrome-plated. You're that courier's little beatnik."

"And you're the snake who tried to put them six feet under." The courier's child eyed the leader of the Chairmen with disapproval. "Tried and failed."

"That's ancient history, now." Benny crushed his cigarette out on a nearby ash tray and smirked. "As are they, last I heard. Come looking for your parent's blessing on your own life? Don't hold your breath, I ain't seen them, and New Vegas is better for it."

The courier's child took a threatening step forward. "What did you do to them?"

"Easy." Benny withdrew Maria from inside his coat, just to show them he wasn't worth the trouble. "Nothing, since that night in Goodsprings. Once is enough for me to learn a lesson, and I've kept my distance since."

The newcomer's ire dampened. "So you don't know where they've gone."

"Kid, if I knew the answer to that, I would be a much richer man." Benny sat back in his lounge chair. "There's no getting back inside House's casino without them."

Ulysses: "You've got their look," Ulysses admitted, without rising from his seat atop the canyon of the Divide. "The same spark of influence. The same hands of purpose."

The courier's child looked at their hands. "Um..."

"Shaped the land before you." Ulysses gestured at the canyon. "Cracked it where it was brittle, to show the weakness and the strength. Changed the road before walking it."

"The courier did this?" The newcomer's eyes widened in astonishment. "They never... no one ever..."

"The reality beneath the history." Ulysses nodded. "Few know the stories. Fewer still find the meaning. You seek it."

The courier's child shook the realization off and rubbed their temple. "Sorry, can you speak less like a villain in a radio play? I didn't come here to fulfill a prophecy or something, I came here to find the courier."

Ulysses tilted his head back to catch the Divide's wind in his hair. "Prophecies and villains. You even sound like them."

Roxie: Roxie nosed her pups away from where they had been nursing and rose unsteadily. She stepped forward to sniff their extended hand, one lip curled up in warning, but their scent convinced her that they were no threat to her little family. She licked her teeth and flopped back down in the middle of the puppies.

The courier's child crouched down and let the little ones greet them as well. There were six of them, tiny rapscallions who lacked their parents' cybernetics but had every bit of their verve. The concept of a purebred dog was extinct in post-war America, but thanks to the Denver Police Department's budget and the science of the Big Empty, here rolled three German shepherd puppies that were unaware of their own rarity.

"You're a brave one," the courier's child said softly to a little boy pup that was crawling over their boot. "Better be careful in the wasteland, or you'll wind up more dog meat than dog. Take care of him, mama."

Joshua Graham: The Burned Man waited patiently until they were finished, making no comment until they had stammered through their explanation. He set aside the book he'd been reading and looked them over. There was no mistaking the resemblance.

"'And thy seed shall be as the dust of the earth, and thou shalt spread abroad,'" he quoted. "''To the west, and to the east, and to the north, and to the south.' How long did it take you to find me?"

The courier's child shifted uncomfortably. "A while."

"Few know my whereabouts. Fewer still are brave enough to come calling. I assume you have need of something."

"I..." The ghost of an expression Graham recognized crossed their face. He'd seen it before, when the courier stood alone after the battle in Zion, standing knee-deep in the Virgin River with moonlight and blood splashed across their features. A resigned weariness.

"You are tired." Graham rose from his seat. "Go. See the men at the fire, and tell them you require food and a place to sleep. We can speak when you have rested."

They nodded gratefully, then turned and left his tent. Graham watched them go. Only when they were out of earshot did he finish the verse he'd begun. "'And in thee and in thy seed shall all the families of the earth be blessed.' I will do what I can for them, courier. As you did for me."

Follows-Chalk: Follows-Chalk clapped his hands to his cheeks. "Shaiss, you are! Hoi, owslandr!"

"Hoi?"

"Hi!" Follows-Chalk shook his head in delight. "Who knew the courier had a child out there in the world? Unbelievable. What are you doing here?"

"I... I came here looking for them." The courier's child shifted a little, awkward in their own forwardness. "They made themselves scarce, and I want to track them down."

"Then you came to the right place, owslandr." Follows-Chalk straightened his hat with self-importance. "I no longer follow chalk, despite my name. Now I follow real signs, real tracks. That's why you came here, right?"

"Partially." The courier's child smiled hesitantly. "I also heard you spent some time with them, and I wanted to know..."

"What they were like?" Follows-Chalk wrapped an arm around their shoulders and pulled them in. "Of course. Let me tell you about our adventures in Zion."

Waking Cloud: The warrior-mother of the Sorrows swept them up in a hug before they could continue, holding them tight as if she were greeting one of her own returning children. "Holadu, na'ne. You are most welcome, little one."

The courier's child tensed up at first, then relaxed when they realized this wasn't an attack. "I'm not that little."

"This is true." Waking Cloud released them and began to look them over with her eyes and hands. "Resilient. Strong. Tsagasee gave you their good bones."

"Tsagasee?"

"Your parent." Waking Cloud smiled. "They are within you and without. Written on your face, a ripple in the water."

The newcomer's hand went to their cheek. "Really? I barely... it's hard for me to remember."

"Come." Waking Cloud took their hand away and folded it in hers. "The Sorrows owe much to the courier, and their child is as one of ours. Eat with us, and I will tell you the stories we have kept."

Caesar: "No, they didn't." Caesar shifted on his throne, studying the newcomer. "But I suppose it was only a matter of time before they produced a child. What do you call yourself?"

The courier's child swallowed, eyeing the Praetorian Guard around the Legion's god made flesh. "Sorry, I... I'm nobody. I'm not them, that's for sure."

"If you were, I would have had your head as soon as you turned up," Caesar said sternly. "Years of service, of teaching the NCR lasting lessons and bringing the Mojave to heel, and then they up and vanish. Desertion is a crime punishable by death, and seeing as the courier isn't here to suffer the consequences of their actions..."

The look on his guest's face became too much, and Caesar began to chuckle. "Relax. I'm joking. Come, tell me what it is you're looking for. If it's your parent you want though, I'm afraid I won't be of much help. Even the best of my Frumentarii have been unable to find them."

Robert House: "Hmm." House looked them over. The newcomer bore a resemblance to his former employee that was undeniable, and potentially useful. "I fail to see how your parentage is any of my concern, valuable as my associate may have been."

"I'm not here to ask for a job," the courier's child said quickly. "I want to know what records you kept on them. Everything I know about them before... before Goodsprings is vague, but all of the people I've talked to said that if anyone had records about where they came from, who they were, it would be you. So here I am."

"I see." House called up the relevant information from his systems immediately and filled his senses with it. Known aliases, work histories, their modus operandi and preferred weaponry, it was all there. His own searches for the missing courier had all been fruitless, but there was only so far a securitron could go when investigating.

"I'll make you a deal." House began to write the files to a holotape and called forward one of the robots the courier had helped him upgrade some time ago. "I will give you what I have, but when you leave New Vegas, take Victor here with you. He can assist you in your journey."

"Why?"

"I have a vested interest in your parent's well-being. They know much that could prove to be important, in the coming years."

Yes Man: "You're their child, aren't you?" Yes Man's static happy face flipped across the Lucky 38's screens in a pixelated display of joy. "I am just tickled to meet you! They told me all about you!"

"They did?" The courier's child was taken aback. "You're... you're the first person who's had any idea that I exist."

"Technically, I am an artificial intelligence!" Yes Man corrected them. "The courier told me that I was never supposed to mention that they had you to anyone but them, but I'm guessing they never expected you to come here! It's actually very impressive that you did!"

"Thank you." The courier's child blushed. "Why didn't they want anyone to know about me?"

"To protect you, of course! It's the same reason they refused to tell me where they were going, the last time they left New Vegas!"

The newcomer's shoulders sank. "You don't know where they went, either?"

"I don't know for sure, but thanks to my probability matrices, I have a pretty good idea! Would you like me to tell you, or just give you a hint?"

Dog/God: "Courier," the nightkin mumbled.

"I'm not them." The newcomer shook their head. "I'm... I'm theirs, but I'm not them. Sorry."

"They live within you." The nightkin crouched down to look them straight in the eye. "Always. Part of you."

The courier's child was taken aback. "I... I guess?"

The nightkin grunted. "What do you want?"

"I need help finding them."

"Hmph." The nightkin straightened up again and nodded. "I will help."

Dean Domino: The old ghoul looked the newcomer over disdainfully. "The absolute last thing I need right now is a smaller version of that meddlesome mailman knocking on my dressing room door. What do you want, and why did you think you would be welcome here?"

"I don't need a welcome wagon rolled out, I just need information," the courier's child explained. "And you don't look particularly busy."

"My next show is in a half-hour," Dean grumbled. "You certainly are your parent's child. What happened to respecting the theatrical process? I suppose the bombs killed basic manners, as well - what do you want?"

The courier's child squared their shoulders. "You might be one of the last people who saw them before they disappeared. I want to know what happened in the Sierra Madre. I know you were there, so don't try to wriggle out of it, I just need-"

Dean laughed. "You have no idea what you're asking. It won't be done justice in a half-hour. Here."

He ducked back into his dressing room and emerged with a rumpled ticket. "One free admission. Buy a drink, and settle in until my set's done. Then we can talk about how your missing courier ruined my centuries-in-the-making plans."

Christine Royce: Christine stared at them, dumbfounded by the resemblance to the ghost who had freed her from the misty tendrils of the Sierra Madre. She hadn't seen them since they had struck out in different directions from that cursed place, but their features were etched into her being as deeply as the scars of the Big Empty.

"Are you okay?" they asked her, uneasy.

"Yes," Christine said quickly. She cleared her throat and tried to pitch the voice that wasn't hers up, closer to the one she'd had before she ran afoul of the Elder she'd hunted to the ends of the earth. "You are a surprise, that's all."

"So are you." The courier's child crossed their arms. "I heard from others that you never left the haunted casino, but here you are, hundreds of miles away."

Christine looked away. "That place wasn't mine to care for, anymore. Its siren song is over. Its gates are closed. And I left a life behind that needed to be resolved."

"Sure. In a way, that's what I'm trying to do." The courier's child sighed. "I need your help. Veronica Santangelo said you're the best tracker she knows. I need you to help me find my parent."

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #companions react #courier six #12 days of ficmas

125 notes · View notes