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violetsaffron5 · 1 year

Text

12 Days of Christmas (2022)

9 | Nine Ladies Dancing

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Prompt: You’re volunteering at the local homeless shelter on Christmas, despite the cold, you don’t really want to go home afterwards.

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: fingering, vaginal sex, semi-public sex, anilingus, rough sex, breeding

“Please ma’am, I want some more,” one of the men you had already served walks over to you, holding out his bowl.

“What?” You ask, not having been paying attention, staring off in the distance not wanting the night to end.

“Please, can I have some more.”

“Oh, absolutely!” You respond, a wide smile beaming at him as you use the ladle to scoop more soup into his dish.

This year for the holidays you decided to volunteer at a local homeless shelter, serving food for those in need. It’s not something you’ve traditionally done in the past, but for some reason, this year it just felt right. Like it was calling out to you.

You’ve always enjoyed helping others, and offering your time during Christmas this year hasn’t changed that. In fact, you’ve spent the week leading up to Christmas baking all sorts of goodies to bring along with you - to make sure everyone who shows up is able to get their fill.

You do, however, also have to acknowledge the fact that you don’t mind spending your time here, helping others, because going home is lonely. Especially this time of year. At least while you’re here, you get to have some form of human connection and conversation with those around.

“Sir, you can’t come back here, this is for volunteers only,” you tell an absolute mountain of a man who walks past the threshold, behind the counters. He has tousled black hair, piercing green eyes and a scar that starts at the bottom of his chin, ending just above his lip. Notably missing his shoes.

“I am a volunteer, babe. Names Toji.” He winks, voice deep, playful, immediately sending a shiver down your spine.

Your cheeks heat as you mumble an apology to him, he smirks, a deep chuckle erupting from his chest as he comes to stand by you, grabbing a ladle, helping the next person in line.

“What brings a pretty little thing like you here?” He asks curiously, you look up to him, neck craned all the way back because he’s so fucking tall. Looks like trouble too, with the scar on his lip, the teasing eyes and devilish grin.

“Just felt like helping those in need,” you’re scooping more soup into a woman’s bowl as she looks over the man standing next to you, “what about you?”

“Oh, just this and that.” He responds generically.

“Well now I really want to know.”

He grins wider, “if you say so, Princess. Stole some money from a collection basket in church. The priest said he wouldn’t press charges if I did community service.”

“Wow, you really have no shame do you?” He’s crazy obviously, probably dangerous too. But damn if he isn’t so fucking sexy, his eyes looking you up and down proving he has no shame.

Clearly you don’t either judging by the wet spot on your panties from just talking to him for a few minutes.

“Wanna find out?” His voice is somehow lower than before, he’s closer than you thought too, smells like vanilla rum and spices.

You laugh, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, “I’m… intrigued to say the least.”

Toji’s charming, in his own way, telling you about the high risk gambling he does from time to time, though you suspect it’s more frequent than he’s letting on. He’s also funny, keeps you smiling and laughing all night until you find yourself pressed against the trunk of your car, his tongue pushed halfway down your throat.

And then he spins you around, pushing his hard length into your ass as he leans over, kisses down your neck as he swiftly unbuttons your pants, slipping his fingers into the waistband of your panties.

“Here?” You ask breathlessly..

He laughs; it’s deep, throaty and sends a jolt to the apex of your thighs, lifting you onto the trunk of your car so he doesn’t have to bend down as far. Your pants are at your ankles, bent over with your glistening pussy exposed to him.

“Fuck, look at you. So needy,” he runs his fingers between your folds, “good thing I’m in such a giving mood today.”

He slips two thick fingers into your pussy and you’re moaning, in no position to argue with him when it feels this good already. He’s curling his fingers, his thumb tracing small circles on your clit, his other large hand pushing you down so your cheek is squished against your rear window, giving him a better view.

You squeal and clench around him when you feel something wet, unexpected at your other entrance. His tongue glides over your other hole, flicking it several times as his fingers continue to pump in and out of you, hitting all the right spots.

You’d be arching your back if it weren’t for his large hand keeping you in place as his fingers speed up, continues tongue fucking you within an inch of your life.

And it’s too much, he’s too much - a thief, dangerous in ways you couldn’t imagine, and you’re coming undone at lighting speed because of him, walls spasming and fluttering around him harder than you’ve ever done before.

“Oh - oh my god - yes!” You’re shaking, coming down from your high as he pulls away, undoing his own pants and pulling them down, hand still on your back to keep you planted face down, ass up for him.

“Goddamn,” he hisses, running the head of his cock through your folds as you gasp, feeling how large he is. He’s pushing in slowly, his other hand gripping your waist hard, bound to leave bruises until he grows impatient, slamming into you until he’s fully sheathed.

And he really starts to fuck you, not giving you time to adjust to him as he snaps his hips into the plush of your ass relentlessly, viciously. It’s almost enough to make you forget you’re in a dirty back alley of a warehouse where you were both just volunteering, but the loud wet slaps of your arousal in the small space reverberating off the walls is a constant reminder.

“Fuck - nngh - you like this don’t you?” He’s leaning over you now, the weight of his large, muscular body eclipsing your own, “you’re fuckin’ filthy - come on, give daddy another.”

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, drooling onto your rear window that’s bound to freeze if it gets cold enough overnight, you’re trying to moan out a slew of yes’ and pleases but they just come out as strangled moans as your pussy tightens around him, squeezes him for all he’s worth.

“Gonna put a fuckin’ baby in you,” he’s growling, lips pressed to your ear as he fucks into you impossibly faster, harder, in a way those nice men you’ve dated in the past wouldn’t dare, “gonna fill you so fuckin’ full of me.”

His hips falter as he thrusts two, three times before he’s buried in as deep as he can go, letting out a strangled breathy moan as his release absolutely floods your insides.

There are a few moments of panting before he takes a deep breath, lifting up and pulling out with a wince before running his hand through his raven hair, “mind if I crash at your place for a few days. Just till after the Holidays.”

“Yeah,” you’re still trying to catch your breath, lifting off the back of the car with shaky arms and legs, “stay as long as you like.”

At least you won’t be alone for Christmas this year.

Taglist: @z33sblog @thisbicc @septembersums @septembersummer @nothisispatrick300 @km7474 @missyasma @arisucat @watyousayin @khadeejarh

#jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #TDC #violetsaffronfic #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #christmas smut #toji smut #toji x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro #fushiguro x y/n #toji x y/n #fushiguro toji x you #fushiguro toji x reader

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juniper-sunny · 2 years

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The Art in the Heart - Chapter 8

Vander has some insights into your mutual friend, while Silco has some unnerving observations of his own to share…

Everybody Lives AU | Pre-Act 1 | Silco x Reader | Female!Reader | Slow Burn | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Mild Angst || SFW | TW: Mentions of Stalking | WC: 2.72k

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 3.5 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

taglist: @sherwood-forests @deny-the-issue @let-the-monster-out @ariaud @joscelyn02 @crunchlite

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

You suppose you should be feeling lucky right now, upon waking up. Silco is nearby, and you don’t have a hangover despite last night’s festivities. What you do have, however, is cramps from the crouching position you were sleeping in.

And a pain in your heart. An ache that chafes only when you look at your friend.

As you raise your head, you look down to see yourself and Silco covered in patched, thick blankets. Two glasses of water covered with coasters stand patiently on the coffee table.

You pick up a glass and sip the water slowly. Drinking in the sight of a sleeping Silco the whole time.

Thinking back to the morning after his sleepover at your place, you had almost told him everything. But you didn't. He didn’t need to know, back then. After all, you were still in the getting-to-know-you phase of your friendship. No need to tell him all your secrets at once.

Things are different now. Now he wants you to join the Children.

You grip the cup tightly in your hands. Shaking slightly.

It's been a long time since you made a new friend. When is the right time to tell them your deepest, darkest secrets? When do the grains of sand in the hourglass gather high enough to bury you in guilt?

Whatever the right answer is, it's better late than never. It wouldn’t be fair to hide it from him any longer. You’ll have to tell him soon.

Even if he changes his mind about you.

For now, you let yourself enjoy Silco’s company. Just another moment of watching his eyes dart underneath his eyelids. Dust motes dancing in the air and settling on his cheekbones. His chest rising and falling slowly, gentle snores filling the room.

You get up as quietly as you can, setting the now empty glass down on the coffee table. Draping your own blanket over Silco’s shoulders.

Right before you cross the threshold into the pub proper, you look over your shoulder at him. One last time.

________________________________________

On your way out, you bump into Vander taking inventory of the drinks behind the bar.

“Good morning,” you greet him, surprised. He was up later than you and is awake now? Those are long working hours. “Thanks for everything last night. Hope I wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Morning,” he smiles. “Don’t worry, lass. You’re better company than most. How are you feeling?”

“Fine, thanks,” you yawn. “Could you tell Silco I said hi?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about him. If you got a moment,” he nods at the counter.

“Sure,” you pull out a bar stool and take a seat, curious about what Vander wants to say.

He leans forward, palms pressed on the edge of the bar. “How long have you known him?”

“Hmm… a little over two months now? Give or take a couple weeks,” you say thoughtfully.

The barman whistles in awe. “That’s not long… you really are something.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, concerned. A sharp, almost panicked edge in your voice.

Vander drums his fingers on the bar. “Round these parts, Silco brings us the most reliable intelligence. He’s never let us down before, and he never, ever, tells us who his sources are. Something about not compromising their integrity. And he never asks us to let them join the Children.”

You fidget in your seat. A lump in your throat makes it hard to get the words out, “Wait… Are you saying I’m not just a ‘source’ to him?”

“You’re something more than that,” he says. “He hasn’t said anything, but I can tell from the way he talks about you. And to you.”

The pain in your heart is briefly overtaken by a flutter of hope. A baby bird tentatively learning to take flight.

“Nobody cares more about the Nation of Zaun than Silco,” Vander continues. “But I worry that he doesn’t make room for anything else. If he finds someone he cares about— really cares about— it’ll help remind him that we’re doing this for real people. Not just an idea.”

“He cares about you and Sevika, doesn’t he? And the rest of the Children?”

Vander shakes his head. “That’s different. We’re prepared to go down swinging. I’ll bet he’s told you that if we die, ‘it should be a cause for celebration not mourning’?”

You nod.

“He needs reminding that the cause isn’t just worth dying for, it’s worth living for too. That people besides us would miss him when he’s gone.”

You know that Vander means you when he says “people”. You were already worried for him when you first found out he was a member of the rebel group.

If you lost him now, though? Now that you’ve become friends?

Now that you want to be… more than friends?

You have to admit it. You’d be devastated.

You clench your fists and raise them to your chest unconsciously. Trying to physically protect your heart from the notion of Silco’s death.

“What are you trying to say, Vander?” you ask quietly.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do. But you’re a good woman and I hope you stick around, for his sake,” he says. He tilts his head encouragingly at you. “You saw how happy you made him last night. He could make you happy, too.”

You turn over his words in your mind. Sitting who knows how long in silence.

Part of you wants to tell Vander that he doesn’t even know you, not really. Another part of you is thrilled that your deepest wishes about Silco’s feelings might be true.

But when you think about what you have yet to tell him, it hurts all the more.

That you could lose it all.

“Thanks, Vander,” you hop off the seat. You give him a small smile, hoping it conveys the depth of your gratitude that you don’t quite have the words for. “When Silco wakes up… could you tell him— if he wants to hang out— to meet me at the bridge? On the Zaun side?”

“Sure,” he nods, winking kindly at you.

Right before you exit, you call out, “Can you ask him to bring a backpack?”

________________________________________

Less than an hour later, Silco’s there. Waiting for you.

You try your best to close the distance as fast as you can. It’s hard with the oversized, heavy grocery wagon you’re pulling along.

He’s leaning against the railing of the bridge, smoking. Backpack strap slung over one shoulder. When you approach him, he flicks the cigarette away. Standing up straight to greet you with a smile.

“Hi,” he says. He pulls your jacket out of his backpack and hands it to you. “You left this behind last night. Thank you, by the way.”

“No worries,” you smile back at him as you don your jacket. “How are you holding up?”

He rubs his temples. “I’ve certainly been in better form after a night of indulgence. But it could also very much be worse.”

“Good thing you didn’t do any knife tricks,” you tease him.

“My apologies for my uncouth manner last night,” Silco cringes. “And for burdening you at the end of our revelry. Is there any possible way I could make it up to you?”

You grin at him. “I’m not going to lie, I was hoping you’d say that.”

________________________________________

Topside’s farmers’ market is perhaps the jewel of the whole city. Sure, the small wooden stalls and tiny pop-up shops can’t hold a candle to the grand architecture of institutions like the Piltover Academy, but it’s the sheer bustle and life of the area that draws you in. Countless vendors selling their wares, mostly imported vegetables and meats from far off lands. Artisans and hobbyists showing off handmade crafts and goods, calling out and haggling spiritedly with customers. Even the odd street performer or two enlivens what would otherwise be an overly prudish crowd just milling around to shop.

It’s one of your favorite places to visit in Topside. Nobody cares if you’re from Zaun, Piltover, or even foreign lands like Noxus or Ionia. You don’t even need to spend coin to enjoy the sights. You can be yourself around here.

Before you enter the area, Silco clears his throat. “Is this your intended destination?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” You ask.

He glances around surreptitiously. “How do Topsiders feel about weapons being openly carried on one’s person?”

“It probably wouldn’t be okay. Why? Are you carrying?”

He nods. On his belt is a sheathed knife, which he removes and places in his backpack. “Let us proceed.”

“Sorry, I should have told you,” you curse at yourself for your thoughtlessness. (If Silco got arrested because of you, you would never forgive yourself—)

“It’s quite alright. I presume we’re here to do some shopping?”

“Yup! Have you ever been here before?”

“I’m afraid not,” he says dryly. “Most of my ventures Topside tend to involve less… sanctioned matters.”

“I’ll show you around then,” you say excitedly. “There’s some pretty cool stuff here!”

The truth is you do have a deadline, but you want to give Silco a chance to enjoy the sights. Instead of hitting your usual stalls and shops with the practiced speed and efficiency of a regular visitor, you take your time. Pointing out exotic produce and holding them up for Silco to look at closely. Smirking when he scoffs at a seller who claims to have the bitterest fruit in all of Runeterra. Trying and failing not to laugh when he samples said fruit and almost immediately spits it out.

Your shopping trip carries on peacefully like this. The grocery wagon slowly filling with eggs, meats, fruits, rice, breads, pastas, vegetables, snacks, spices, sauces, and cooking oils. All of it is stacked carefully, almost overflowing. His backpack is used to keep soaps and detergents separate from the foodstuffs. When he insists on pulling the wagon, you accept.

It would be nice if this were all you needed to do today, if you had nothing more pressing to think about than shopping. But when you ask Silco if he needs to take a break, he nods. Turning to you with a serious look on his face.

“May I speak with you about what transpired last night?” Silco asks. His lips pressed together in a tight, thin line.

You nod hesitantly.

When you find an empty bench near a fountain, you both take a seat. He leans forward. Resting his elbows on his legs and slowly wringing his hands.

“My apologies, again, if my wish for you to join the Children disconcerted you in any way,” he says regretfully. “I never meant for you to find out in such an objectionable manner.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I don’t know why you want me to join, though.”

He bites his bottom lip, deliberating for a moment. Then turning to face you.

“You are kind, resourceful, and brave,” he looks at you warmly when you blush from embarrassment. “The Children of Zaun would be blessed with great fortune if you did choose to join our ranks. However… I must admit I have an ulterior motive for extending an offer of membership.”

“What??” Your voice is timid and you freeze in your seat. (You must have done something wrong. Of course you did, you always do—)

“I’m afraid this might alarm you, but I have noticed someone shadowing your footsteps, as of late. My attempts to track them down have yet to yield any success.”

So he already knows about your stalker? It’s almost a relief that he’s the one to bring it up. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that. It’s probably nothing.”

He sits up, clenching his fists. Brows furrowed in anger. “So you knew??”

“It’s whatever,” you shrug. “Well, it’s kind of annoying when I’m painting. But other than that it’s not a big deal.”

“‘Not a big—’” Silco repeats, then groans in frustration. Bolting out of his seat to pace furiously like a frantic dog in a cage. “You are being hounded by someone who knows where and when you work! Their intentions are unknown to you and yet you choose to do nothing?!”

“What am I supposed to do? It’s not like I could— I can’t chase them down and fight them or something,” you point out.

Silco opens his mouth as if to continue arguing, then stops himself. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm down.

“I cannot allow this stranger to approach you if they mean you harm. If you were to join the Children, then I would be more readily available to protect you at all hours.” He kneels and places his hands over yours, squeezing lightly. “Please.”

This is… not what you were expecting. At all. You’re touched by his concern. The contentment that’s been glowing in your chest all morning blooms into joy.

Still, you can’t help but wonder if this is worth all the trouble. It’s one thing to idly daydream about Silco helping you; it’s another story when he’s actually going out of his way to do so.

(You’re not worth it.)

You close your eyes. Pondering your reply with a heavy heart.

“Silco… thank you,” you say slowly. “But I’m in the middle of a commission right now. I have to finish it. So I can’t join the Children. Not right now, anyways.”

He squints at you, lips narrowing in disappointment. Then he sighs in defeat. “Somehow it doesn’t surprise me to know that you value your craftsmanship over your own well-being. If you were a lesser artist, perhaps you would have made the better choice.”

“If I were a lesser artist, we would never have met,” you point out with a smile. “I’d never have gotten commissioned to do the mural.”

“If art were not your profession, I would have endeavored to find you in other ways,” he says with a determined look.

“Really? Even if all I did was paint penises on walls?” You laugh at your own joke.

“No matter what you paint, I would still consider myself a lucky man to have met you,” Silco says matter-of-factly. Squeezing your hands again.

With how much blushing you’re doing, you wonder if your face is as red as the tomatoes you purchased today. You look away at the fountain, contemplating throwing yourself in so you can swim away.

“If you won’t join the Children,” he continues, “please at least allow me to safeguard you while you work.”

“I don’t want you to waste your time—”

“No time spent with you is wasted. Ever,” he says sternly. “Please. If not for you, then for my own peace of mind.”

Well, when he puts it that way…The baby bird in your chest flutters again. Wings of hope and happiness filling your heart. “Alright.”

Silco’s smile is bright and lights up his whole face. His almost dopey grin revealing almost all of his chipped teeth.

You can’t help but grin back at him too.

As you stand, you put on Silco’s backpack. Reluctantly pulling your hands away as he rises to his feet. “We should get going. Don’t want the food to go bad.”

“Are you endeavoring to feed an army of some sort?” Silco asks as you both head out to the bridge, away from Piltover and towards the Promenade.

“Something like that,” you tug on the backpack straps. “Do you have plans for today?”

“Not at all. I am at your disposal for as long as you need me.” Gods, it’s like Silco is incapable of saying no to you today. You’re not going to lie, it’s pretty nice.

You approach a bathysphere ticket booth at the edge of the Promenade. After purchasing two tickets, you hand one to Silco. Soon after, the bathysphere is ready to depart.

When the two of you and your cargo are both situated inside, Silco gives you an inquisitive look. “Where are we taking all this?”

“Janna’s Hearth.” The orphanage you were raised in.

He waits for you to elaborate. You just give him an enigmatic smile and look out the window.

He doesn’t need to know. Not just yet. You just want to enjoy spending as much time with him as possible... Before you have to tell him the truth.

Chapter 9

#Arcane #Arcane fanfic #Silco #Silco x Reader #Arcane Silco #Silco Arcane #my writing #The Art in the Heart #TAITH #tw stalking #stalking tw

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Nie Huaisang is the cutest thing monsters have ever seen, they can be yao dragons or giant turtles one look at nhs and they want to feed hug or kidnapt him nmj trainning involved recovering his baby brother from every monsters nest around qinge

ao3

“I’m sorry,” Nie Mingjue said, his teeth gritted together and his arms shaking from the strain of holding Baxia up. “He’s mine.”

The massive tiger glared down at him over Baxia’s blade, currently stuck in its teeth, and growled something.

“I know,” Nie Mingjue said. His legs were shaking now, too. “I know, trust me, I know! I’m human, he’s – young, yes, yes, I know. But he’s my little brother! I’m not giving him up!”

The tiger spat out the blade, knocking Nie Mingjue backwards on his ass.

“And when you change your mind?” the tiger demanded. “Will you abandon him then?”

“No!” Nie Mingjue exclaimed. “Never! He’s my brother!”

“Mark your words,” the tiger said ominously. “Or else.”

It turned and stalked off, its tail waving arrogantly in the air, until its towering white form disappeared into the distance.

Nie Mingjue sighed in relief. “Huaisang?” he called, and a small head popped out of the nest the tiger had started building, blinking owlishly at him. “Come on, come to da-ge. It’s time to go home.”

“But Master Tiger said we were going to play…”

“Yes, well, he wanted to play for too long,” Nie Mingjue said. “Only a few centuries, give or take. Let’s go.”

It started back when Nie Huaisang was born.

No, more accurately, it started when Nie Mingjue’s father fell in love with someone he probably oughtn’t have, which according to the sect was not a terribly uncommon problem for him to have, and decided to bring home a bride.

Nie Mingjue could still remember the first time he’d seen the Second Madame Nie. They’d all been lined up to greet her, all the sect and close members of the clan in rows according to rank, Nie Mingjue fidgeting in the inside of the house proper in his first tangle with formal clothing outside of the discussion conferences. She had come sweeping in with her head held as high as a princess, seductive and bewitching.

Every movement had been perfect, the eyes of all the men fogging over in lust and the women in admiration – or visa versa, depending on their personal preferences – and a wicked smile had lit up her face when she had stepped across the threshold, officially becoming the sect leader’s wife, and maybe everything would have gone along with whatever plan she’d had back then if she hadn’t next seen him.

“Oh, look at you,” she exclaimed, rushing over to pinch Nie Mingjue’s cheeks between her hands. “What a delectable little morsel you are!”

“Uh,” Nie Mingjue said, staring up at her with big round somewhat-worried eyes.

“You charming little dumpling,” she said. “You adorable mouthful of meat! Spoonful of egg yolk!”

Nie Mingjue cast his eyes around to see if anyone would be willing to help him.

“My eldest son,” Nie Mingjue’s father said, not without pride – albeit perhaps a puzzled sort of pride. “He’s probably just about old enough to come to the forecourt, if you don’t want him to live with you –”

“Oh no,” she said. “He’s definitely living with me.”

And so she stayed, and Nie Mingjue stayed with her, and she doted on him in a way he found pleasant if mildly disconcerting. Within a year, she was pregnant, and irritated with it; six months after that, she was round and complaining, even though Nie Mingjue solemnly assured her that she was as beautiful as ever.

“This is your fault, you know,” she told him, and he blinked at her. “It is! Don’t get me wrong, your father’s a charming bull when he wants to be, and of course he fucks like a champion stud, but I stayed here for you, my little cabbage roll, my charming chunk of liver.”

She patted her belly.

“That means this here is all because of you. So you’d better take responsibility!”

Nie Mingjue considered the issue for a little. The argument seemed plausible, so he raised his hands and put them on her rounded stomach. “I will take care and watch over him for all my life,” he vowed, and the baby inside kicked his hand in response, sealing the pact.

“Oh you are so cute,” she said, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “My darling pork bun! My little fish cake! I could eat you right up, if only you were just a little bit older!”

When Nie Huaisang was born, she disappeared in a welter of blood, but Nie Mingjue’s oath remained.

The trouble started after that.

“You can’t raise a cub like that properly,” the winged lion argued, bating its wings as if that would help it make its point better.

Nie Mingjue glared at him. “Watch me!”

“It’s for your own good, little human. He needs his own kind –”

“I’m not listening to a treasure-seeker!”

The lion scowled at him. “I’ll have you know that most humans think I’m good luck!”

“You’re not trying to steal most humans’ little brothers, are you?!”

The winged lion sighed, a deep sound, so very noble and long-suffering that Nie Mingjue couldn’t resist the urge to lift his foot and kick the lion right in the paw.

“Brat!”

“Don’t care!” he shouted. “You leave my brother alone! He’s my responsibility, not yours! Piss off!”

“You can’t even feed him properly -”

“I’ll figure it out!” Nie Mingjue bared his teeth and wished he was old enough for a saber.

“You little…fine. Fine! I’ll bring you a book on how to feed a huli jing kit, and you keep to it, you hear me?”

“I will,” Nie Mingjue said. “But don’t you even think of taking him away!”

“On your own head be it,” the winged lion grumbled. “Not everyone’s as understanding as me.”

“Why are you wet?” Nie Mingjue’s father asked him.

“Water monkeys,” Nie Mingjue said shortly. “There was a nest.”

“Water monkeys? Don’t they normally stay away from people…? Or, I suppose, were these ones feral?”

“Thieves.”

“Ah. Well, nothing to be done about it, I suppose…bad luck for you to run into them here, of all places. But good experience! How many people your age can say that they fought water monkeys?”

“Can we go home?” Nie Mingjue asked, a little plaintively, and rubbed his nose. “How much can you really have to say to the Jiang sect, anyway?”

His father chuckled. “More than either of us would like, unfortunately. But if you’ve had enough of water, which no one can blame you for, maybe you and Huaisang can go shopping in the pier instead?”

That would work, Nie Mingjue thought, and nodded happily.

(Sect Leader Jiang was extremely embarrassed about the ghostly rats in the night-market – he claimed they’d never seen neither nose nor tail of them before the Nie brothers had accidentally tripped over their trap and had to flee from the swarm...)

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nie-er-gongzi,” the white-clad cultivator from the mountain said, smiling broadly and saluting deeply.

Xiao Xingchen had made himself famous during his first half-dozen night-hunts alone for his extraordinary grace, bearing and strength, and he said he was on a mission to help the world. He was beautiful, virtuous, and matched each ideal of gentlemanly arts.

Sects throughout the cultivation world were drooling at the thought of enticing him to join them, fighting for the opportunity to put in a good word with him.

Not all sects.

Nie Mingjue stepped forward, purposely putting Nie Huaisang behind him.

“Don’t you even think about it,” he said, hand on the hilt of his saber. “Buzz off, birdbrain.”

Xiao Xingchen might wear white, but Nie Mingjue knew a zhuque chick when he saw one.

“I found something for my aviary, da-ge!” Nie Huaisang, seven years old and delighted with his clumsy autonomy, announced.

Nie Mingjue, less than a full year into his new role as sect leader, rubbed his eyes. “Oh?” he asked, only somewhat wanting to scream endlessly into the void, which was better than usual. “That’s nice, Huaisang…”

“Come look! It’s so pretty!”

“I’m a bit busy –”

“But da-ge!”

Nie Mingjue sighed and got up, following Nie Huaisang to the door only to come to a complete stop.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he said to the fenghuang currently pretending to be a rooster in a cage, as if anyone would actually mistake phoenix flames for regular feathers. “Do you have no dignity left?!”

“You can’t adopt the bashe,” Nie Mingjue said to Nie Huaisang, who pouted. “It eats elephants; we’d be broke within three months.”

He turned to the giant python.

“You can’t adopt Huaisang,” he said. “I will literally murder you.”

“Why can’t I go watch the eclipse?” Nie Huaisang complained. “Everyone else is going!”

“I’m not risking a tiangou.”

“The…dog that eats the sun? Really, da-ge, is that even real?”

“You know what,” Nie Mingjue said, “you’re grounded just for saying that.”

Nie Huaisang grinned.

“Maybe I want to go and live among the qilin!” Nie Huaisang screamed, fourteen and hormonal about it.

“Well you don’t get a choice!” Nie Mingjue bellowed back.

“You’re not my father! I don’t have to listen to what you say!”

“I’m your fucking sect leader and yes you do!”

“I hate you!”

“I don’t care if you hate me! You still aren’t going to go live in a field with some magic pointy deer and that’s final!”

The qilin herd wisely chose to withdraw.

“Da-ge,” Jin Guangyao hissed, and Nie Mingjue looked up from his work at him – he hadn’t heard Meng Yao this upset since he’d shoved him into a closet to get him out of way during the whole dangkang boar hunt debacle. “Da-ge, there’s a dragon outside.”

“Again?” Nie Mingjue said, standing up to stretch and feeling oddly unbalanced. They’d just finished another session with the song of Clarity, so he really shouldn’t be feeling like this; he would need to write to Lan Xichen again about his fears that the treatment really wasn’t working. Lan Xichen would probably only say to give it more time, another chance, but still… “Let me go talk to them. Dragons are the worst.”

“No, da-ge, you don’t understand,” Jin Guangyao said. “It’s not a water-serpent or – or even a jiaolong – it’s a dragon.”

“A flood-dragon is a type of dragon,” Nie Mingjue said, following Jin Guangyao outside. “You know that, it’s in the name, what’s the big – oh, I see. It’s a celestial dragon.”

Jin Guangyao glared at him with an expression suggesting that he was under-reacting, but Nie Mingjue really didn’t have the capacity in him to reach with appropriate fervor at the moment. He and Nie Huaisang had been fighting a lot recently, every little thing escalating into a giant argument, and he was no longer sure if he was doing the right thing in trying to force Nie Huaisang onto the path of his ancestors. After all, unlike Nie Mingjue, Nie Huaisang had – somewhat different ancestors, on his maternal side.

And, he supposed, Nie Huaisang was old enough to decide otherwise, if he truly wished…

Still, Nie Mingjue was as stubborn as a mule and had no intention of giving up his baby brother without a fight, so he braced himself and went over to the frankly massive creature draped over the entrance gateway and much of the training yard that the entirety of the Nie sect was doing its utmost best to pretend that they weren’t seeing.

Nie Huaisang was sitting on the thing’s five claws – an imperial celestial dragon, apparently – because of course he was.

“Excuse me,” Nie Mingjue called up to the dragon, which turned its head to regard him, an entire production that took nearly a quarter ké to accomplish. “The brat there is mine, please return him.”

“Da-ge!” Jin Guangyao hissed again, but Nie Mingjue waved him away.

“You have raised him well,” the dragon said, which was…a good deal nicer than most of these interactions usually went.

“…thanks?” Nie Mingjue said suspiciously, ignoring Jin Guangyao’s splutters of “It talks?!” “I think?”

“I have chosen to grant you a boon,” the dragon announced.

“…right,” Nie Mingjue said. “If this ‘boon’ is that you’ll take him off my hands, I’m afraid I’m going to have to refuse. He may be trouble, but he’s still my brother.”

“Da-ge!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, indignant. “Don’t be rude. I asked him for this!”

Nie Mingjue frowned at him, unable to resist the feeling of hurt even though he’d already told himself to expect something like this. “…you want to leave?”

“No, da-ge, don’t be ridiculous. I asked him to improve your health!”

Ah.

“Huaisang –” he started to say.

“Don’t you ‘Huaisang’ me!” his little brother shouted. “I know you’re trying to hide it, but it’s getting worse, isn’t it? San-ge told me so! He said I should get ready!”

Nie Mingjue made a mental note to strangle Jin Guangyao, who had no right to say something like that to Nie Huaisang even if maybe it wasn’t the worst idea in the world to emotionally prepare Nie Huaisang for the upcoming bereavement and inheritance he would need to face.

“Anyway, he said to get ready, so I did!”

“You can’t just ask a divine dragon to fix me, Huaisang. That’s not how this works.”

“Uh, it totally does, and I did, and he agreed. So there!”

Nie Mingjue crossed his arms and glared. “And what did he want in return?”

“The boon is a reward for your past merit, not a trade for the deeds of the future,” the dragon said, not even slightly hiding how its whiskers were shaking with suppressed laughter. “You have travelled a difficult road, and borne the weight of it well. And besides…”

“Besides?”

“If you were to die, he would undoubtedly petition the creatures of the underworld to return you.”

“Well, fuck,” Nie Mingjue said, having not considered that. “Fine. Whatever. Heal me and I’ll try to keep an eye on my health going forward.”

Maybe more Clarity? He could try to free up his schedule, get in a few more sessions…

“I just give up,” Jin Guangyao said behind him. “I just fucking give up.”

Nie Mingjue, assuming that he was talking about Nie Huaisang’s nonsense, agreed whole-heartedly.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #nie huaisang's mom #my fic #my fics #child development #same headcanons as three times the charm #Anonymous

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real-fanta-sea · 3 years

Note

Hello!!💚😊 do you still write kiss requests?? For Trevor/Mike ship and can I request something for 'bury the hatchet' mission with 11 or 57 number? I really love to see how Trevor saves Michael so😍😱

Thank you!💗

Hi sweetie! I'm sorry it took me so long, but it's finally here! Find it under "keep reading". If you prefer AO3, click here to read the fic. tw mentions of violence, kissing, kinky old men

"Get the boyfriend!"

"The WHAT?" Michael huffed out, along with a small puff of fog, as he crouched behind a thumb stone that felt too small to shield him. Of all things, why would they think they were dating? Like, that were the signs? Can't two guys share a trailer, a bed, a shower, a coffee mug, cigarettes, whiskey bottles and take-out receipts without arising suspicion? Can't two consenting adults watch each other read a porn magazine while relieving stress? Is it a sign of marital status to carry someone over a threshold while high on... whatever was Trevor high on? Michael cringed inwardly as a bullet grazed the top of the stone and made the falling snowflakes find refuge on the back of his neck. There was no time to mull that over. The crunch of footsteps and angry commands closed in, and he had to act fast.

He did the math frantically. His pistol still had 16 bullets ready to be planted into the brains of whoever he aimed at. There was another full magazine in his jacket pocket. Good. Michael peered above the top of the stone, now chipped into a monstrous row of teeth. The silence has been ruptured by the sound of breaks. Judging by the urgent stomping, there were far more than 33 men to bury that night. Michael ducked and ran towards a statue of an angel reclining over another piece of stone, big enough to hide him under its sorrowful wings. Finally able to stretch out, he took a deep breath and cracked his neck. He remembered the last time he had to fight off so many people and cursed when he shot a look back towards Brad's grave. At that time, there was no blanket and a cup of hot coffee waiting for him. At that time, dance macabre was all too real for comfort. But it was not a time to die; he convinced himself. Not in the freezy shithole called North Yankton. Not without a fight.

Just when he peered over the side of the sculpture, the world around him slowed down into a strange state of blue trance. He shot four men in a matter of seconds, retreated to his cover, and resurfaced again behind a different piece of stone. All he could feel was a stinging sensation on his face as he collapsed with snowflakes, a soft crunch of virgin snow below his feet mixed with the recoil of the gun in his hand, going off in time with the rhythm of his heart. He wouldn't have minded if the state of focus and tranquillity remained his primary state of being. To be faster than others, not feeling the bullets licking skin and flesh off of his body, killing without remorse - he missed such balance in his retired life.

Not many voices filled the graveyard when Michael finally threw his pistol away and snatched a gun from a random unlucky henchman whose blood was rapidly cooling on the ground. The relative silence unnerved him. The math didn't add up, and even when he cracked his neck again to relieve some of the pressure, the popping sound didn't fill the space enough to be comfortable again. Only when he ascended from the aisle, ducking, eyes darting all over the dark place, he noticed how fast he was breathing and that his hands were shaking.

Fuck it, he thought to himself, that one extra burger, coke and pizza every now and then, when he couldn't sleep, did hurt after all. Maybe Mandy was right to nag at him for smoking too. Before he could make an oath to himself to start exercising once he got away from the situation. Before he could even turn around in awe, the bushes behind his back rustled and gave birth to a furious Chinese man. The newborn didn't spare a second to hit the back of Michael's head with something Mike later identified as the butt of his gun and knocked the dumbfounded Michael unconscious.

It didn't take long for Michael to wake up, but the world was swirling around him into a smudged black-eye blue mush, and it reeked of puke. There was a horrible echo of voices nagging in his throbbing head, and it took a lot of him to recognize two twitching shadows dragging him through the muddy snow. For a split second, he felt weightless as the shadows threw him inside a gaping black space and the thunder of the van door being shut made him shriek in pain.

For what felt like an eternity, his existence was reduced to watching a streak of orange light running towards his chest and vanishing before it reached his head. Michael scrutinized the small cut out in the wall that divided his dark cell and the cockpit of the van and marvelled at the sounds emerging with every blink of the orange light. The slight rocking of the vehicle only served to make him more nauseated in between his scattered thoughts. Why haven't they killed him was among the first coherent questions his brain was capable of producing. Why would they want him alive? The light blinked away rapidly and brought about the noise of radio static and two voices fighting over what frequency to tune in. Get the boyfriend. Why was the question coming back then?

Michael groaned as the deafening sound of Channel X pinned him to the ground again. Boyfriend. He recognized the music. He remembered. They thought Trevor would pay whatever price they demanded in exchange for his safety. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, and he didn't try to stop it for a change. How they could still think that after witnessing their bickering at Brad's grave, Michael wasn't entirely sure. What he knew with paralyzing certainty was that no one was coming to save him, and it was Trevor's fault. In between the blinks of light and throbbing pain, his memories ran back to the moment Brad unknowingly shielded Trevor as it often did in the past ten years and wished once again Dave either pulled the trigger a second later or aimed for Michael's head.

He didn't know whether to be annoyed or thankful when screeching breaks interrupted his daydreaming session. Judging by the high-pitched angry Chinese, they either had some very unfortunate flat tyre, or they ran into trouble. Or, which was something Michael didn't want to think about, they arrived at their lair and discussed the best way to make a chop suey from his guts. He shifted slightly, shaking off the inappropriate thoughts his mind offered him. It did him no good to think about alternate universes where all his problems were gone, and he was roasting under Los Santos sun by his pool.

The sliding door opened, and Michael was immediately hit into the face with a sluggish white light and smell of iron. Just one glance at the tiles plastered all over the walls, hooks idly clinging in the draft, and he knew exactly where they were. A shiny tray with a handsaw grinned right back at him from the centre of silhouettes of men. Oh god, he was so screwed. So fucked over. He made a mental note to kick Trevor in the balls when... IF... he sees him again. A pair of hands grabbed his ankles and pulled him out of the car, his head bouncing off the ground when it hit ice-cold concrete. Michael shivered. Was it really all there was for him? Would the famous Michael Townley, the phantom of the north, end up minced into Flormart burgers? A curse escaped his lips when he imagined the limp, tasteless slice of pickle and an unnaturally orange slice of cheese tiredly melting on his flesh in someone's microwave. He could withstand any torture but that.

"Hey you, you are awake, aren't you?"

Michael winced inwardly and squinted his eyes against the bright light. "Oh, am I? I didn't know! Are you a doctor or something?"

There was a prompt leathern shoe planted into his face. Michael hissed upon contact, the smell of cheap shoe glue imprinting into his memory. So much for a well-meant, friendly sarcasm.

"Ok, I got it. I'll shut up."

"You better should, pig!" There were several snorts around him, obscured by the bright light. Michael's cheek throbbed. If he was a pig about to be made into bacon strips, he swore to take them with him. The guy who kicked him circled around like a shark.

"Now, tell me. Where does your boyfriend keep the drugs?"

Michael just snickered and shrugged as best as his tied arms allowed. The shadows stepped closer, towering above him. He felt another kick; this time, the shoe bit into his ribs, making him hiss.

"ANSWER!"

A pair of hands yanked him onto his knees. The floor crushed into them, a painful reminder he should have picked up yoga when his wife told him so.

"I DON'T KNOW!"

The sole of the shoe pushed into the middle of his back, stretching his muscles to their capacity. Michael's forehead was pearled with sweat. He could barely breathe. Any further, and he was sure he would throw up.

"Do you think we are stupid?"

The pressure worsened. Michael gasped for air.

"We've seen him carry you over the threshold, and we know from a reliable source you share the bed with him,"

A picture of Ron shaking in the middle of a hostile office, surrounded by the same shadows, flashed through Michael's mind before he blinked it away. Another mental note was taken. Kick Ron's balls right after kicking Trevor's.

"AND YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO CLAIM YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHERE HE KEEPS HIS ASSETS WHEN WE KNOW YOU SQUAT ON HIS DICK EVERY NIGHT???"

"Believe it or not," Michael gasped and tried to turn just enough to look the bastard who stepped on him in the eye, "I don't know anything. Oh, and it's not me who squats; I am more of the top kind of guy."

It occurred to Michael the Chinese guy who led the interrogation had a strange sense of symmetry because before he knew it, he had another pulsating bruise spread over the other side of his ribs. He wanted to think the remark was worth it, even though his body told him otherwise.

"Hang that fag on a hook - let's see if he remembers with more blood in his brain."

For a second, Michael panicked. There were too many hands grabbing and groping him, turning him, and he remembered how he, as a little boy watched spiders do just that with flies in their webs, both horrified and fascinated. He has always considered himself a spider in such situations. Oh, how the turntables! He now was the fly, and the spider was walking away.

"HEY, WAIT!"

The hands kept him floating in the air, and the man stopped in his path, turning around.

"Hm? What is it?"

Michael's eyes rounded, even though he desperately tried to fight the trepidation. "You are terribly wrong about this. I am not his boyfriend, just an acquaintance. I have no idea how you guys are affiliated, but whatever this is about, it all runs down to money, right?"

The man folded his arms on his chest slowly, visibly taking pride in Michael's panic, but his thin lips kept shut.

"I'll pay you if you release me. Generous money, actually. That's what you guys want, right? That's what everybody wants."

The man took a few steps closer, right under one of the beaming tube lights. Michael gulped when he saw the grin on his handsome face. It took him a surprisingly low effort to come close to Michael and grab his jaw in a vice grip.

"Have your whining ever worked on anyone?"

Michael shook his head ever so slightly. He got a shark-like grin in response.

"What we want is to know where your lover, Trevor Phillips, keeps his merchandise and take what is contractually, thus rightfully ours. Tell us, and maybe we will let you go."

His eyes were as black as Trevor's when Michael last saw them, yet there was no shadow of affection in these. The man who looked at him was by all means already dead inside. The hand slipped away from his jaw, but Michael could still feel where his new friend left purple imprints.

"I thought so. Never mind, after the night spent upside down, I hope your point of view will change. HANG HIM!"

All of a sudden, there was a roar of an engine from somewhere above. Michael tried to locate the sound, but it glided away, much to his captors' disdain. There was a cacophony of stomping and foreign words bouncing off the walls, mixing in with the cry of sliding door and hum of the engine coming back.

"HEY!"

His voice was too weak against the noise. No one noticed him twitching; no one cared he was still there.

"HEY, MOTHERFUCKERS, WHAT'S GOING ON!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" was the answer from one of the men, along with a sting of a gunstock on his eye. Michael didn't need answers anymore, though, as the barking of shots and cries of mowed down men crept through the open door. Not so silently, he cursed Trevor for dragging him right into the middle of mafia wars, something he had no desire to see up close. Leaving him in the graveyard alone with a mob? One kick in the balls. Letting them kidnap him and hang him like a piece of ham? Two kicks in the balls. Letting the mafia kill him in a shoot out? Thousands of years of haunting Trevor and another kick in the balls as soon as they both reincarnate. Gunshots from outside closed in on him.

Michael tried to break free from the ropes but only managed to swing back and forth.

"Oh FUCK, I'm going to KILL HIM! YOU'RE SO DEAD, TREVOR!"

"MICHAEL!"

At first, Michael thought he was hearing things. In his state of panic, his brain couldn't get a grip of how the hell Trevor knew where to find him, let alone come and rescue him after he almost shot him. Then he thought that some kind of vessel must have busted in his head, for the familiar voice was accompanied by an even more familiar tall outline topped by a crown of ruffled dark brown hair. He couldn't help but blink rapidly a couple of times, dumbfounded in the middle of the slaughterhouse.

"JESUS, MIKEY!!!"

There were rushed steps, a sound of a gun falling to the ground, followed by two trembling hands cupping his face. Michael closed his eyes and relied on other senses to confirm his suspicion. First, there was a smell of late-night coffees, morning cigarettes, diesel fuel and cheap soap he bought for Trevor not so long ago. Second, there were two big hands, fingers brushing around the edges of his bruises in a way they did years ago when they both were different people, but somehow they did remember how to soothe him. Third, there was a deep-set voice trembling with worry whispering his name. And finally, when Michael opened his eyes again, there were the amber eyes, glazed, terrified and hurt. There was no doubt anymore. Trevor came back for him.

"Oh god, I was so fucking afraid!"

Michael couldn't keep angry when faced with the first shy tears welling in Trevor's eyes, but his ability to speak left him as they fell down and disappeared into the blackness of Trevor's shirt. So instead, he let Trevor's hands caress him, oddly at peace with the gentle touch on his face.

"To think I almost lost you again!" Trevor bit his lip. Something about the droplet of blood blooming under his teeth left Michael breathless. "I was so angry, infuriated much, yes, but then I imagined you laying there with Brad and..."

Trevor gazed into Michael's eyes with such urgency it immediately reminded him of their first kill. The fear mixed in with the red gleam in his eyes, the sense of irreparable, coming back from the past to haunt them. Lost in thought, Michael didn't register the swift movement right in front of him and was caught by surprise by a feeling of having his lips pressed against Trevor's.

They were hot, trembling, and tasted of cigarettes and blood, a mixture Michael desperately tried to forget about. Where they first gently touched his, as if they couldn't believe he was still alive and well, they pressed harder in mere seconds, making Michael's eyes flutter shut. It was difficult for him to admit, but Trevor's lips were the only drug Michael craved for long and lonely ten years. For once, he let his nagging reason get hushed by the shy movement of Trevor's lips, and all the hatred slipped his mind momentarily.

At length, Trevor broke the kiss, and still holding onto Michael's cheeks, he gently propped his forehead against Michael's. Michael let him take a break, listening to his shallow breathing, and their thoughts were buzzing almost audibly where their skin touched.

"Oh god, to think I almost lost you..."

"It's ok, T; I'm still hanging on."

"Yeah, but what if I didn't turn around and follow that convoy? What if they killed you?"

"You could say I would hang around for a bit, and then they would kick me out."

Trevor raised his head and furrowed a bit. "What's that with you and emphasize on hanging?"

Michael raised eyebrows at him and waited till the realization would dawn on Trevor. It took three seconds for Trevor's eyes to round and his mouth to form a perfect 'o'.

"Oh, yeah, uh, I see. Wait a moment, sugar."

Michael's feelings on Trevor holding a knife were usually on the border between panic and deep fucking rooted urge to run for the hills. When Trevor approached him and swung it around his face, Michael was momentarily inclined to the second option, twitching nervously under the cold gleam of the knife. Trevor eyed him with palpable exhaustion.

"Stop wiggling goddammit, do you want to get cut?"

Michael pouted at him.

"Hey, don't give me THAT face, pork chop! It wasn't MY idea to tie you up and hook you here!"

Trevor's knife slowly cut through ropes, murmuring as it bit through thick threads. The very tip brushed against Michael's leg, leaving goosebumps in the wake of its cold touch.

"But I have to say this is kinda hot, eh?" Trevor's grin was back, the brightest light in the room. "How about we try it again when we get back home?"

"What the FUCK are you talking about, Trevor?"

Trevor leant in, still grinning, his knife gliding against Michael's waist.

"I mean, I will send Patricia shopping,"

The knife dipped lower, slipping under Michael's shirt. He gasped, inwardly cursing for giving Trevor the tiniest bit of gratification.

"then I'll take some nice silk rope,"

The dull side of the blade ran through chest hair lush between trembling peaks of his nipples.

"tie you up and make some sweet, sweet love to you, cupcake!"

Trevor's lips were so close, his breath on Michael's lips again, who was petrified with anticipation. His heart hammered against the patch of goosebumps on his chest, and if the last bit of rope didn't snap and let him slide off the hook, Michael would have leaned in himself and stole that kiss. But, instead of the sweet release, he was sent to the cold ground head first, folding like a rag doll upon impact.

Not only Michael sustained another hit on his head, swearing and kicking around, not unlike the turtle Amanda bought for the kids and that he and Jimmy used to torture by putting it on its back, laughing about the way it tried to turn over, but it was Trevor who was laughing his lungs out, folded in half. Michael tried to stab him with a menacing glare, but it didn't help in the slightest. Gathering the last shred of strength, Michael scraped to his feet and balling fists full of Trevor's jacket, he threw them both against deadly green tiles.

Trevor's laugh died out soon after the impact, but the grin remained despite Michael pinning him down. At first, Michael's intention was to beat him up, partially to let the frustration out, partially to get revenge for the stolen kiss, but he was taken aback when Trevor's hands closed over his fists and squeezed gently.

"Whatcha gonna do, Mikey?" Trevor uttered in an irresistibly husky voice that sent shivers of excitement to all the wrong places, "Beat me for saving your life?" Michael growled.

"You fucking..." but the words he wanted to say got sucked back into the vortex of emotion running free in his ribcage. No, beating wasn't what Michael's mind supplied him with when it came to what to do with Trevor. He could barely resist the vivid pictures of Trevor, hair running down his slender back, undressing in front of him, leaving marks on his neck and long scratches speaking volumes about how Michael liked to celebrate their victories. And then, on that day, Trevor was there. Older, but just as tempting, daring, enclosing Michael in the smell of both freedom and slavery with each exhale. Michael took a deep breath. He couldn't help but give in to the craving.

Trevor yelped when Michael crashed his lips with his so hard their teeth clinked together. That was the thrill he wanted to relive, and as soon as Trevor's hands rested against his lower back, pulling him closer, Michael surged deeper and dared to brush his tongue against Trevor's. The choked moan he managed to draw out fueled his fingers in their haste, letting go of fabric and instead bury themselves into Trevor's hair, pulling him closer. Trevor's skin could have combusted any second with the heat it emitted, and Michael couldn't resist yanking him closer, eager to get burned once again.

"Mikey... Jesus Christ!"

Trevor could barely breathe, so much Michael could tell by the heaving of chest caught between the wall and his own body. He was proud of the trembling in Trevor's touch, of shallow breaths and flushed cheeks right in front of him. He still got it.

"What?" Michael grinned impishly and let one of his hands slide down Trevor's back and squeeze him. Trevor yelped in surprise but didn't try to wriggle out of the embrace and even giggled when Michael let his hand rest there. Trevor leaned in closer, his breath sending shivers down Michael's spine as it touched his ear.

"Let's go home, cupcake."

#trikey #gta 5 #trevor philips #michael de santa #real_fanta_sea.fic #kiss prompts

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theoldgaylion · 3 years

Note

For the doriax prompts 👀 "seeking each others hands while sleeping" or "dancing together".

Whichever sounds more fun :))

Read it on ao3

"That was kind of Mr. Gilmore to invite us, don't you think?" Fearne asked in her usual hushed tone as she finished braiding Opal's long silky hair, who was sitting on a velvety dormeuse adorned with golden details and attentively following her movements.

"Especially after the troubles we caused him." Orym gloomily mused as he leant against the wall next to where the faun and the girl stood, one hand reflexively resting on his hip as if ready to act on whatever upcoming threat, despite not carrying any kind of weapons on his person.

Sitting, too, but in a little, uncomfortable armchair, though as luxurious as the dormeuse, in the farthest corner of the room, was Dorian. As he was trying to not have a panic attack and thus ruin everybody's feisty mood, he barely registered his friends chatting in the background. He was overwhelmed, the rooms and the main hall outside brimmed with people, from enriched nobles to foreign merchants to powerful wizards, and that feeling of inadequacy struck him as fiercely as ever. Although the possibilities were close to none, he was also afraid to come across his relatives, whether distant or not. He didn't want to meet them, he didn't want his friends to meet them, not when he left that life behind his back.

His mind was spiraling as he stared at a blank spot outside the wide window on the opposite wall, nervously twisting his fingers.

"Free food and alcohol are always appreciated." Dariax commented somewhere near his right, he could see him in his peripheral vision as he stubbornly tried to keep his unruly tuft behind his ear with poor results, standing in front of a wall length mirror, his tongue sticking out between his lips and his brow furrowed in concentration.

"We really owe him a gift, though." the halfling sighed and Fearne giggled amusedly as she wrapped a beautiful, bright pink ribbon around the end of Opal's braid.

"Maybe next time we're on an adventure, we can bring something back for him." she suggested, her face lighting up as a soft smile curled up her lips.

"That's a good idea. But!" and the girl stood up from the dormeuse before declaring, hands on her hips and chest puffing out, "But now we must party and enjoy free alcohol and food, as our winged boy here suggested.".

"Yes!" the dwarf exclaimed and winked at her through the mirror, before returning to his previous task.

"Hey, do you need a hand with that?" Opal asked him as she walked over to his side. "I have some wax that'd do the work." she wiggled her eyebrows as she fished out a vial out of her high-heeled opalescent boots.

Dariax gasped as he eyed the vial, then nodded. "You're a lifesaver." he thanked her before Opal uncorked the vial and let him get some wax to do his hair properly.

The genasi jumped a little in his seat when Fearne craned her neck to look him in the eyes, then heaved out a relieved breath. He didn't even hear her approach, so lost in his thoughts as he was.

"Sorry, I didn't want to scare you, Dorian, but I was wondering…" she tapped her lower lip with a finger as she studied him. "Would you like a ponytail, perhaps? You'd look great in it." she smiled down at him as she unwrapped another ribbon from her own hair.

Dorian blinked in confusion, caught by surprise, before his gaze bounced back and forth between Fearne and the ribbon she was now holding.

"W-why not?" the genasi accepted in a weak tone as he shrugged his shoulders.

Fearne just chuckled at that, then waited for him to scoot forward with the armchair before positioning herself behind him. First, she began brushing and carding his hair with her fingers, letting some loose strands down to frame his sharp features. Afterwards, she carefully gathered lock by lock in her hands before lifting them up at the top of Dorian's head.

"You and Opal have the most beautiful hair, so soft." she admitted, her voice cheerful as she proceeded to secure the ponytail with the ribbon, and Dorian skeptically glanced at her, or tried to at that weird angle. Not that he didn't trust her friend's opinion, but it really never occurred to him before.

Fearne's milky white organza gown rustled softly as she clopped right in front of Dorian. "One last detail." she explained when Dorian frowned at her, not understanding why the faun was vigorously rubbing her palms, a sly grin playing on her lips as sparks of fire flickered at the friction.

Dorian was getting anxious, but that feeling was short lived, leaving room for wonder as soon as realization clicked in. Fearne's hands moved to the sides of his face, then curled the loose strands with her heated fingers and Dorian noticed that it wasn't hot at all. Magic was truly something.

Once she was finished, the faun clapped her hands, satisfied with her work. "You look amazing, my friend." she assured him, her smile softening.

"Wow." a raspy whisper caught Dorian's attention before he could reply to that and he darted his eyes in the direction of it, to his right. Dariax was watching him mouth agape and cheeks flushed, and Dorian wasn't even sure the dwarf was aware he was doing that in all honesty.

Dorian turned incredibly frustrated under that scrutiny and fidgeted in his seat as a suffocating heat spread across chest and down his belly.

"Go look for yourself." Fearne prompted him to stand up with a gentle pat on his shoulder.

Dorian slowly rose up on shaky legs and moved to stand before the wall length mirror. Okay, maybe he should've trusted his friends more, because he looked fine as fuck. He never considered himself a vain person, but, as he stared at his own reflection now, he must've admitted that that outfit highlighted his best body traits, starting with the dark blue high-waisted lace pants he was wearing, not much see-through per se but open to the sides in two slits and with incorporated shorts that ran down to his mid thighs. On his upper body, the loose peach gold chiffon top that wrapped at his middle in a silver waistband with some rhinestones and left his chest exposed, the massive flowy sleeves clung at his sides and made him look so dreamy. At his feet, his beloved winged boots.

Opal helped him with his makeup earlier but he had the chance to evaluate her work just then. She used a silver eyeliner on his eyelids, the ends as sharp as her knives, while she dusted some moonshine highlighter on his cheekbones, the tip of his nose, his pecs and under his eyebrows, following their natural curve.

After a long time spent admiring himself, he felt very observed and turned his head towards Fearne, who was still looking at him, her hands clasped together against her cheek as she smiled merrily like a mother proud of her son.

"Thank you, Fearne. It looks amazing." he told her in an earnest tone.

The faun chuckled delightedly in response, before stifling a snort as her eyes glanced away from him and Dorian quirked one eyebrow at that. Then, he heard frantic fumbling and a loud snap. He spun around and found the dwarf still there, yet turned a little to his side as if he was trying to hide something, his mouth was pressed in a thin line now while tips of his ears were as red as his face as he busied himself with the laces of his vest. Dorian didn't know what to do with that notion.

Once they were all ready, the group finally exited the room, walked down the hallway and crossed the threshold of the dance hall, just to immediately get lost among the swirling of robes and skirts and cloaks, the colorful reflections of the flames that shimmered down from big crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the chattering of voices that mixed with the soft music playing in the air, the tables full of delicacies.

That combination of visuals, sounds and smells rendered the five speechless.

"Okay, this may be a little too for us." Dariax murmured to the group after a pregnant pause, his lips pursed to the side hidden behind his hand. And the genasi couldn't agree more.

"We've been lucky that Mr. Gilmore warned us and let us go on a shopping trip before coming here." Orym pointed out as his keen eyes studied the surroundings, feeling even smaller than he was already.

"Yeah, but, I feel underdressed all the same." Opal whined in a pout, crossing her arms on her chest. "And I'm wearing a fuckin dress." she added as she ran her hands down on her big puffy tulle skirt.

“Where's the wine?" the faun asked out of the blue as she looked around, her ears eagerly perking up, and the group laughed.

"Hey, look, there's Fy'ra!" Opal exclaimed as she pointed with her index finger at her, who was already in the company of Shaun Gilmore himself and a man who presumably was his husband by the way he was circling his waist with one arm.

Orym scolded her about her manners, or lack of, but his words hardly affected her since she was trotting to Fy'ra, Fearne following suit.

He sighed hopelessly, before joining them together with Dorian and Dariax.

They all greeted and complimented each other for their attires, everyone but Orym immediately falling for Gilmore's charme once again and his husband laughed whole-heartedly at their behavior, saying that he fully understood them.

As much as he really wanted to blend in and forget about his previous worries, Dorian felt anxious and uncomfortable, also regretting his choice of outfit for the night since it would've certainly drawn attention to himself, but now it was too late, he would've dealt with it.

His current mood must've been as clear as the empty glass Gilmore was holding in his hand because he noticed Dariax sliding closer to him at some point while the rest of his friends were chatting amicably, and tilting his head up to look at him.

"You okay there, bud?" he asked him in a lower tone, his warm hues regarding him with concern.

Dorian wanted to lie, although it would've been useless. The dwarf could be... slow on the uptake sometimes, that was true, but he always understood when his friends were troubled and that was one of the things he liked the most about him, he was kind and thoughtful and cared dearly for the people he held close to his heart.

So, the genasi shook his head and bit the inner part of his cheek.

Dariax’s mouth twisted in a sad grimace upon his non-committal reply. "Alrighty, let's go grab some food, yeah?" he proposed, nudging him playfully on the thigh while showing a toothy smile.

Dorian quickly warned Orym before walking away with the dwarf to find something to eat among the many, almost too many set tables.

Dorian's uneasiness gradually dissipated thanks to the dwarf's presence. Since that moment he stayed with him the whole time, trying to draw a smile out of him and the genasi really appreciated his efforts.

The two were now standing at a table with any type of meat Dorian could imagine, Dariax was trying his hard to catch a chicken leg with a fork but it kept rolling and rolling and squishing away as oily and dripping with sauce as it was, so he gave up in the end and grabbed it by the bone. Dorian wanted to be grossed out by that, but honestly after what they've been through in the last months that was the least disgusting thing the dwarf had done involving food, or anything else really.

The genasi had to admit that Dariax really stood out in those clothes. As if he was just seeing him for the first time that night, he ranked him up and down with his gaze, taking advantage of his current distraction. The dwarf had chose a white blouse with puffed sleeves and flounce collar, his broad shoulders emphasized by.. now that he took a better look at it, Dorian noticed that it wasn't a vest, more like a corset garment that made him waist look slimmer, the velvety burgundy texture complementing his auburn hair while the golden embroideries on the hems made him look princely, somehow. On his lower half, he wore black tight trousers with a detachable wrap pleated skirt on its left side, at his feet a simple pair of dark brown leather boots.

Dariax was so… dashing.

"Want some?" the dwarf's voice brought him back to the present and Dorian felt himself blush guiltily upon being caught staring so openly. Or maybe Dariax didn't notice him at all, too focused on eating his well-earned chicken leg. The genasi really hoped it was the latter.

"Uhm, no. Actually, I'm not that hungry." he admitted in a sigh and saw Dariax's joyful mood shift a bit. Even though the dwarf was helping him a lot, anxiety was still swirling in his stomach, clutching at it, making him feel nauseous.

"But if you don't eat, you can't drink." Dariax reasoned, his half smirk slotting back on his face, and those words earned him an amused snort from Dorian. As if that ever stopped the dwarf, or anyone in their group, from getting smashed, yet Dorian knew what he was trying to do and was grateful for his patience and consistency.

"I know, but I don't think I can drink either, sorry." the genasi admitted, another sigh falling from his lips, and Dariax gazed up at him, slowly lowering the chicken leg.

Clearing his throat, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then his free hand reached out for Dorian's and that gesture made his heart skip a bit, or a few.

"I don't know what you're going through, but I think we should enjoy ourselves tonight, we deserve some funny time, don't we?" the dwarf squeezed his hand oh-so-gently as his eyes bored into his as he spoke. "You should enjoy yourself, relax, unwind, relieve some stress." another squeeze of hand and Dorian's heart quivered in his chest. "Nothing's gonna happen, and in any case, I'm here for you. You got a healer in heels next to you." he winked at him as he tapped one boot's heel against the other.

Dorian's whole face was flushed deep purple by the end of his speech and, albeit his frantic heartbeat echoing in his head, he nodded and smiled down at him. The dwarf's hand was so warm around his and his mind quickly drifted back to all those time they slept together on his bed roll, so close yet so far, as Dorian wanted to touch him and hold him and-

Dorian shook his head vehemently and swallowed around a lump in his throat.

At that distance, Dorian noticed that there was eyeshadow on Dariax's eyelids, smudged, of the color of charcoal, in strict contrast to the amber of his hues, making them shine even brighter under the lights of the chandeliers. In the inner part of the eye, a glint of gold that recalled his corset, while a bronze highlighter gleamed on his cheeks. Opal must've done his makeup, too.

The genasi found himself staring at Dariax a lot that night, clearly unable to stop himself as if magnetically drawn to him.

"And honestly, you're really missing out because this stuff is delicious. I don't know when another banquet like this will happen to us in the near future." Dariax added a few moments later, emphasizing his words by swinging the chicken leg he was still holding.

Dorian heaved out a breathy chuckle, rolling his eyes at the ceiling, more for the sake of tearing his gaze away from him than being actually annoyed by what he just told him. "Alright, you got me. No more convincing." he gave up in the end as he picked a clean plate and a fork, before wandering around the table with his look.

"That's my man!" Dariax grinned victoriously, then joined him in the food hunt.

As simple as it was, that praise made Dorian’s chest fill with warmth and affection.

"Thank you, buddy. You're amazing." the genasi said after a while, his voice soft now, and shot a glance at his side to catch Dariax's cheeks turning as red as his corset as he murmured something under his breath that Dorian couldn't quite catch. In that moment, he realized it was the second time that he inadvertently made the dwarf blush and he stopped in his movements as that thought crossed his mind. What did that mean?

Anyway, the two kept circling around the table while chatting and, since Dorian's stomach finally loosened up, he was able to eat something, too. When the genasi lifted his head in a heartfelt fit of laughter after that Dariax told one of his dumb jokes about the turkey wearing socks, his attention was caught by Opal who stood some feet away at another table, watching them with a cocky grin and an arched eyebrow.

His laughter quickly ended up in an awkward coughing as he blushed from his neck to the tips of his ears and the fact that Dariax hurriedly came to his help didn't help his situation. At all.

Two glasses of wine later that embarrassing accident, glasses that Dorian gulped down like a drowning man in the desert, eventually they split up because Dariax decided it was the right time to go and grab some stronger alcohol that wasn't just wine; in the meantime, Dorian found interest in the instruments the band was playing. Despite his eagerness, the dwarf didn't leave him until Dorian assured him he was feeling better so he could go without worrying about him.

When Dorian noticed that it was taking the dwarf a little too long to get their drinks, he searched for him with his eyes, just to find him standing between two individuals, who possibly were courting him if he didn't mistaken the way they both leaned close to him, offering him drinks as they smiled flirty down at him.

He felt a strange pang of.. jealousy awfully twisting his guts as his jaw tensed at that sight.

"Are you going to ask him or not?" Opal's face suddenly appeared in front of his eyes.

Blanking out for a solid second, Dorian almost choked on his own tongue. "W-what?!" he cried in a shrill voice and immediately slapped a hand on his mouth.

The girl sighed deeply as she slowly shook her head in disappointment.

"To dance." Fearne replied from his other side on Opal's behalf and Dorian felt suddenly very cornered. "I bet he's dying to. Waiting for you to make a move. Can't you tell?" she tipped her head in a quizzical way as she eyed him.

The genasi's gaze frantically darted back and forth between the two. "I-I don't think that-" he then started babbling out, anxiety coming back at full force, but Opal cut him short with a huffy tsch.

"Please, you two have been circling around this for months, honestly. Now it's your chance to go get it." the girl pointed out as she nudged him with her hip and Dorian's heart started hammering erratically against his ribcage. What were they talking about just now?!

"Get what?!" he croaked out in a squeal and the faun's laugh only made him more miserable than he already felt.

Opal loudly gasped at that question as if she couldn't believe what she just heard. "Dorian, how oblivious can you be?!" she looked like she was that close to rip her own hair off her head for desperation or to choke him with her bare hands in an act of mercy and the genasi thought that he really didn't want to find out.

Thankfully, Fearne intervened once again. As she grabbed Opal's hand to soothe her outburst of anger, she smiled her benevolent smile at Dorian. "Dariax's been over the heels for you for like.. well, pretty much since we met I think?" she confessed in a pensive frown, then had to stifle an amused giggle when Dorian's mouth slacked open.

His head was spinning dizzily as his heart jumped up in his throat, his hands were shaking as he brought one of them to scratch at his neck in a foolish attempt to calm his nerves. He was pretty much freaking out at that point, he'd never actually noticed anything that-

Wait.

Oh gods.

"I'm a fucking idiot!" he yelled as he smacked both his hands on his forehead, and the two girls tried to not make fun of him, just to fail miserably.

"Now that you're caught up, do yourself a favor and <i>go</i>." and with Opal's words ringing in his ears, he was being pushed by Fearne and the girl herself toward the dwarf, still at the same table.

And suddenly, he was in the middle of the dance hall, his knees wobbling as his heart was trying so desperately to break free from his chest. He wanted to hide. He felt.. irremediably stupid. How could he be so blind?!

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. In retrospect, above all the things that had happened between them in the past months, Dorian realized that the dwarf had been looking at him the whole night with such a look in his eyes, something deeper concealed behind his usual fondness that he reserved for his friends.

He was getting itchy. If he wanted to act, he needed to do it now.

Mustering every ounce of courage he had in his body, the genasi walked the last steps that separated him from Dariax at last.

He cleared his throat way too loudly to be spontaneous, interrupting whatever was happening between the dwarf and those two strangers. He didn't even spare them a single glance as he stared at Dariax, who was visibly surprised by his antics.

Dorian straightened up, before bowing a little with his upper body, his left arm folded behind, as he outstretched his other, unsteady hand towards him.

"Dariax, m-may I have this dance?" the genasi asked in a solemn voice that cracked a little at the end, feeling heat rising up on his cheeks the longer he hoped for an answer. He gulped as a bead of sweat glided down his temple, his heart beating so fast right now that Dorian felt like it could stop at any moment.

And Dariax was looking at him like he held the entire world in his hands and the genasi felt himself burn from the inside out under that intensity, his hazel hues gone wide and round in complete shock, his thick eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

There was a moment of terrible, utter silence. Then, the dwarf let go of his drink, which fell and spilled on the floor, and that noise made a few heads turn in their direction while the two individuals jumped back from him. But Dorian couldn't care less as Dariax's trembling hand clutched tight around his as a happy, dazzling smile bloomed on his lips.

"Of course." he replied in a whisper, hesitant yet fast, like he'd been waiting for that question all night but couldn't believe he just got asked.

Fingers intertwined, they sauntered over the center of the dance hall to stand in front of each other like the rest of the people didn't exist.

Dorian's yearning turned out to be pretty much useless since Dariax shared his feelings and he could plainly see it now, written all over the dwarf's face as he hadn't stopped beaming up at him since he accepted his invite.

The genasi had never danced with someone that much shorter than him, or had much experience with balls in general, but they would've managed nonetheless.

They were holding hands, both their arms stretched outward in the liminal space between them as they looked into each other's eyes, full of emotions. Dorian thought he was going to faint here and there from how tense he felt, he was anxious for a totally different reason now.

Then, their feet started moving on their own and the music grew louder and louder, their bodies following the rhythm as they met halfway, their hands locking in the right positions as much as their heights would allow.

"I didn't know you could dance." Dorian said, genuinely delighted by that discovery, as they turned and spinned, completely lost in the music, in each other.

Dariax chuckled, his cheeks flushing again upon that compliment and the genasi had to stop himself from acting on the thoughts that image elicited in his mind. "Me neither." the dwarf admitted as he shrugged his shoulders.

Dorian snorted amusedly, before tightening his grasp on Dariax.

They kept waltzing, staring at each other, smiling brightly, moving freely. They kept waltzing, fingertips brushing on clothes, hands grasping, wanting for more. They kept waltzing, their looks promising.

And Dorian never felt so happy in his life.

#critfic #doriax #lionwrites #critical role #exandria unlimited #dorian storm #dariax zaveon #exu dorian #exu dariax #my writing #THIS TOOK AGES WTF #hope it’s worth the wait

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whenimaunicorn · 4 years

Text

Playing House - Part 6

The madness continues as the Reader wakes up Sunday morning, ready to figure out how to find balance in the new facts of her love life!

Catch up: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 (you can also find the whole thing on ao3)

Words: 4974 and most of them explicit

Would it really be like Ivar said? Now that the thrall game is in full effect, will these boys really be giving it to you at all hours of the day? A montage of images flash through your mind: you’re sweeping the floor until Ubbe drags you to the couch. You’ve just gotten back up on shaky legs when Ivar appears, handcuffs dangling from his finger. Ubbe soothing your wrists later while slipping himself inside one more time. The chores keep getting done, barely, but your clothes are never fully on anymore.

Just thinking about it, the warmth between your legs makes you shift positions. How can you be this wet again already? In the past two days, you’ve gotten more action than you’d had in . . . well . . . longer than you want to say. Your pussy shouldn’t be throbbing with need like this. It’s not neglected at all. You should be overwhelmed, really, given everything that’s happened. Instead, here you are, like a sailor on shore leave, horny as fuck at nine in the morning just dreaming of which of these two Lothbroks is going to put their hands on you next.

You’ve always been the first one up in the morning, at least on weekends. Especially since you’ve got brunch with your family today. You slipped out from under Ivar’s arm when your alarm went off, not wanting to disturb him by hitting the snooze. Your morning routine starts with a cup of coffee on the couch while you finish waking up. You’ve got your knees curled up under a blanket, phone in hand, although you’re mostly just daydreaming. You’ve probably already sat here just a little bit too long. You’re trying to make yourself get up and get ready for the day when Ubbe lumbers into the room.

“Morning, beautiful.” Sporting an adorable bedhead and a sleepy grin when he sees you curled up against the arm of the couch, Ubbe makes himself right at home under the other end of your blanket. You’re about to move your legs and give him room, but he spoons himself around your hip and stops your retreat with a strong hand on your thigh. “Is that coffee?” He wraps his fingers around the mug in your hand.

“There’s more in the pot.”

“But this is right here.” He takes a long sip from your mug, with your fingers trapped underneath his. Icy blue eyes sparkle at you from behind the rim. He makes a satisfied sound when he releases it.

You huff and pull it away from him. Ivar is hard to talk back to; you feel more of an urge for it with Ubbe. “This one’s mine, get your own!”

Ubbe just smiles and scoots in closer. “Fine by me. I like a different kind of pick-me-up in the morning, anyway.” He drops his head and nuzzles into your neck, his close-cropped beard tickling pleasantly as he mouths over your skin.

Oh. His body scoops even closer around the back of yours, his hands running up and down your pajama-clad form. You set the coffee cup down.

This may have started out with a lazy Sunday vibe, but Ubbe’s stroking hands find their way quite quickly underneath your clothing. With one hand scooping around your breast and the other diving between your thighs, he his not wasting time this morning. When you part your legs his finger slides so, so easily through your swollen folds. You’re so wet it’s almost embarrassing. “You needed me, didn’t you,” he murmurs in your ear. “You’ve got a pussy that always wants to be filled.”

He plunges in, finding his way so fast and slick that he immediately switches to two fingers, pressing as deep as he can before pulling out more slowly, teasing at your g-spot while you writhe back against him.

There’s mischief in his eyes when you look up. He’s still in control of himself, while you are devolving into a panting mess already. He stares down at you while his fingers piston and you squirm underneath him.

“How much trouble would you be in if he came out right now.”

Your eyes roll over to the dim hallway. As far as you know, Ivar’s not awake yet.

Ubbe twists his fingers, hitting you deeper, more deliciously. “Hm?”

“I—I don’t know,” you gasp, closing your eyes and focusing on cumming before you have to find out.

“Think he’d mark you up again?” Something in Ubbe’s voice makes you look up; his gaze is heated, blazing with that icy fire only his pale eyes can get. “I like thinking about that. More welts in your perfect skin because of me.”

“You want to put some there yourself?” You can barely believe you said it, but you’re just dying to know how kinky Ubbe can really get.

His fingers slow. His other hand curls into your hair. “How much time before you have to go to that brunch?”

“Shit.”

His chuckle is deep and rich. “Is being late an option?”

Disappointment loosens the coil that’s been winding up at your center. “Not really.”

His heavenly fingers retreat. Your pussy is still as needy as ever. “Then you’d better get that sweet ass up. We keep going right now, I’m gonna make your legs stop working.” He gives your butt a lazy, dismissive slap. “But I’m coming for this thing as soon as you get back. I hope you don’t have any plans the rest of the day.”

* * *

You fumble the keys a little on your way back into the apartment. Ubbe’s more than likely to follow through on his promise, and you’ve got the distinct feeling of entering a predator’s lair now, rather than your own apartment. The only thing that might stop him would be if Ivar were also in there, but then he’d probably be the one taking you back to his room to do something even more intense. It’s enough to soak a girl’s panties before anyone’s even touched her.

Everything looks normal when you open the door. No one in sight. You laugh at yourself a little for the apprehension. What, did you think that Ubbe was waiting in the living room to pounce on you? You set your purse down and grab a glass of water from the kitchen.

“Is that you, Y/N?” Ubbe calls from his bedroom.

“Yeah, hey.”

“Hey,” he says back, matching your casual tone. “Bring me a beer when you get a chance?”

You grab two. The first room down the hallway is Ivar’s. A little thrill creeps up the back of your neck as you pass his open door, but he doesn’t seem to be inside. While you love the ways he’s been claiming you, it’s equally exciting to think that he won’t be stopping you from going to Ubbe this time. On a sudden impulse, you duck into your own room before making it all the way to the last door. From the look of the flickering lights reflecting through the Ubbe’s doorway, he’s playing a video game in there. You decide there’s no rush to join him, and maybe you want to be wearing something a little sexier when you do.

You’ve got this red bra with a matching thong. Satin, with lacy edgings. Not really something you’d want to wear all day, but perfect to slip into now, when there’s basically a 99.9% possibility that they’re going to be peeled off your body within a few minutes. You consider strutting into Ubbe’s room wearing nothing but that, see what kind of cartoon wolf face he makes, but ultimately decide that you’re not going to make this so easy on him. You’ll go in casual, in your regular t-shirt and shorts, and let him make the first move.

When you open your door, Ubbe’s already looming in his, one arm up against the doorframe like he was prepared to be waiting a long time for you. His eyes are wolfish indeed, even without any lingerie to look at. He reaches out one hand. “That mine?”

You’re still carrying two beers. You hand him one, and he brings it to his lips without moving from the doorway.

He looks you up and down. “I thought you were changing in there.”

You shift your weight. “I did.”

“Isn’t that what you were wearing when you left?”

You just nod.

His eyes flick down your body again. He steps forward, reaches his hand up to your shoulder. You stay still, watching his face as he hooks one finger in your collar and pulls the shirt to the side until he can see the bright red, lacy strap hiding underneath. He smiles. “Alright, Little Red.”

You cock an eyebrow. “What does that make you, the Big Bad Wolf?”

Ubbe’s smile is dark. “Oh, Ubbe. What a big dick you have.”

You suppress a giggle. Definitely can’t argue with that. You look back down the hallway. “Ivar’s not here?”

He shakes his head. “Shopping. Said he’d be gone for a while.”

“Oh.”

Ubbe angles his body a little further into the room. “Wanna come in?”

“What happens if I do?”

His smile is dark and full of promises. “I’ll show you what I can do when I actually have room to work.”

The assault you had been expecting earlier comes just about as soon as you set foot across his threshold. You get a brief glimpse of rumpled bed, soda cans stacked around a glowing monitor on a racing game’s menu screen, and clothes littering the floor before Ubbe grasps you by the back of the neck, slams the door shut behind you, and presses your back into it.

“What is it about you,” he murmurs between kisses. “Last night was one of the hottest things I’ve ever done.” His teeth scrape against the bottom of your jaw. “And yet here I am, still as fucking hot for you as if I hadn’t been laid in months.”

He’s tugging your shirt off already. Your heart is racing like crazy; you let him take the bottle out of your hands, lift your arms, and give into it. So much for making him work for anything.

A guttural sound comes out of his throat when he sees the way your tits are served up in red lace. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you up against the wall.

You squeeze your legs around him tight as he hitches you up high enough to balance that way for a while. He buries his face in your chest. Lips drag across skin and lace, sloppy and wild. He shifts the angle of his hips and something hard is digging right into the center of your needy pussy. It might just be his belt buckle but whatever it is feels fucking good. You buck your hips against it, clutching at the back of his neck, scraping your fingers through his close-cropped hair.

With another rich, low groan, Ubbe pulls you tight against him and rotates away from the wall, carrying you several steps to his bed before throwing you down. He’s definitely intent on showing off. His knees press between your legs as you recline back and envelop yourself in the scent of his sheets.

One arm flexing quickly behind his head snaps his t-shirt off, revealing the broad chest he works so hard on at the gym. A light dusting of hair adds interest to his chiseled pecs. The action has pulled a fringe of his perpetually messy, dirty blonde hair down toward his eyes as he takes a half a second just to gaze at you on your back beneath him in his bed. His smile is proud and hungry, and then he drops down to cover you.

Not that the car sex wasn’t hot. Or the wild makeout sesh up against the brick wall outside that party. But there’s really nothing better than being able to stretch out and entwine your limbs like this, to feel the weight of his body on top of yours as he embraces you in devouring need.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket with a text message notification. Your first thought is Ivar, and you wriggle under Ubbe to get it out before you’ve even fully made the decision to do so. You break your lips away from his face just far enough to check out the screen.

It’s a message from Lauren. I can’t believe you haven’t called me yet. Ubbe?! You owe me the tea!

Your lips quirk in a quick smile.

“Who’s that,” Ubbe asks.

“Just my friend Lauren.” Pushing the button to turn the screen off, you twist up to set the phone on the nightstand.

“From last night?”

“Yeah. She wants to know what happened after I went home with you.”

Ubbe smirks. “Not going to be able to explain that in a text message.”

“No.”

“Well,” he says, running one hand up your thigh, heading for the waistband of your shorts, “since you haven’t released any reviews on me yet, how about I give you a little bit more to talk about.” He slides down your body, taking your shorts down with him.

You take a deep breath as he strips your legs bare and settles in between them. His fingers curl around the straps of the red thong, his breath hot against your lower belly as he teases the top of your panty line.

“Can’t do this in a car,” he murmurs, and rubs his nose along the crease of your thigh, nudging your legs wider apart for him. His fingers dance along the satin, tracing over your mound and following the strip of fabric as it narrows down and down between your thighs. “You put this on just for me?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan as he loops a finger under the side strap and snaps it.

“Did you soak the first pair through just thinking about what I was going to do to you when you got home?”

You say yes, of course you do.

Ubbe’s fingertip sneaks under the elastic hem right at your center, dragging moisture up from your core and around your swollen clit. “Now where did I leave off this morning…?”

“Two fingers in,” you recall helpfully.

Ubbe obliges. You weren’t quite as wet as you thought, but the friction feels good, the slight forcing of his way erotic as you give yourself over to this beast for the fourth time in . . . fuck, less than 24 hours. How is it that you still don’t feel like you’ve had enough? He drags in and out slowly, then uses his other hand to pull the fabric of the panties as far to the side as they’ll go. His warm breath hits your exposed clit as he repositions his body, then his lips close over you and everything is hot and slick and entirely his.

Ubbe clearly loves the pussy. He licks you broad and firm and thoroughly, and when you look down his eyes are closed like he’s savoring his favorite meal. Two fingers are still inside you and he works them in perfect tandem with his tongue. His pace is unhurried, somehow exuding a confidence that’s tightening the coil inside you faster than if he had actually been trying to get you off quickly. He makes happy little sounds as he eats you, and pushes his fingers in deeper.

You clutch at his hair, your legs twitching and writhing oddly as you try and control the uncontrollable. His tongue settles into a steady rhythm, batting across your clit in time with the curling of his fingers from the inside.

“Ubbe,” you wail, voice tight with the coming storm.

“Already?” he laughs, but his fingers don’t miss a beat. “I love it, princess, don’t hold back. I’m gonna make you cum so many times that you can’t think straight anymore.”

Then he latches back onto your clit and sends you spiraling up to the heavens. You can actually feel your body clenching and pulsing around his fingers as you come wailing through clenched teeth. His rhythm slows to gentle rocking as your consciousness floats back down, but he never entirely stops. Dreamy, you chase aftershock after aftershock, fucking yourself softly over his hand, until you realize you’re actually revving up to come a second time.

This seems to be his plan. “You close enough to cum again now,” he lifts his head from your clit to ask softly, “or do I have time to get in there first?”

Fuck. The very idea of Ubbe’s big dick pressing in between your still-shuddering walls is almost enough to make you blow again right now, but you manage to breathe out a quick “give it to me” as you try to hold on for him.

He climbs up the bed to the nightstand, fishing for a condom. You scoot yourself up a little higher too, getting comfy against the pillows and slipping off the twisted thong with shaky limbs. He tears the wrapper with his teeth and smooths the rubber down over his bobbing erection.

Your phone starts to ring. Ivar’s face appears on the glowing screen, and you both just stare at it for a moment.

Ubbe reaches out.

“What are you doing?”

His eyes are sparkling as he scoops up your phone. “If Ivar needs something, you should answer him.” He drags his thumb across the green icon to accept the call.

You suppress an outraged gasp as the naked, condomed Ubbe kneels between your legs while reaching up to press the phone against your ear. “H-hey Ivar.” You hold it up with both hands and do your best to sound completely normal.

“I was thinking of picking up Thai food on my way home,” Ivar says without preamble. Ubbe wraps one big hand under each of your thighs, spreading you wider. “Do you want me to get something for you?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say, realizing too late that you’d probably have to talk less if you had said no.

Ubbe’s got one hand on his dick, and you watch almost in horror as he lines that thing up to slide into your soaked and throbbing pussy right the fuck now.

No way in hell you’re stopping him, though. Walking the line like this is turning you on as much as him.

“Whaaat do you want me to get you?” Ivar asks, dragging out the first syllable in unspoken query about your prolonged silence.

You desperately try and remember the name of any dish they might serve at a Thai restaurant as you feel Ubbe’s blunt head prodding against your entrance. “Pad—pad see… the one with the thin little noodles.”

“Pad Wun Sen,” Ivar corrects you, right as Ubbe presses on home.

It wouldn’t be so difficult to sound normal if Ubbe just weren’t so damned thick. The stretch of him all at once takes the breath out of you, so as you try to answer Ivar in the affirmative you end up sounding way too much like a porn actress with the high-pitched “yeah!” that squeals out of your lungs. You fake a cough to cover it, also an unconvincing sound as Ubbe grinds his hips tightly against yours, and try again. “Yeah, that’s the one.” He slides out slowly. The thick, dark, self-satisfied grin spreading across his face is making Ubbe Lothbrok look like evil incarnate above you as he shoves himself back in with a second merciless thrust. At least you kept your mouth closed for that one, only trying to speak once he’s sunken in to the hilt. “I never seem to remember that name.” The deep, aching stretch of him makes it so hard not to moan, but you think your voice sounds more normal that time.

“What are you doing right now, pet?” You wish you could see Ivar’s face, because he sounds like he’s laughing at you while trying to pretend that he’s not.

“Um, nothing. I just slipped a little.”

Ubbe slips himself out of you, chuckling silently.

“Slipped how?”

You try to close your legs before he can slam into you again, but Ubbe catches your knee and you can’t quite lock him out. “I’m, uh,” you grunt at the struggle, “just mopping the floor.”

“Ah. Yes. You must have found something absolutely filthy, I can hear how hard you’re working. Did you get a little bit too wet?”

You don’t fight Ubbe very hard, but it’s fun to make him pry your legs apart before he can sink himself in again. Besides, feeling the strength of his arms is turning you on, and you’ll take any excuse to get it a little rough. “Yeah, think so.” Ubbe’s cock proves unescapable, jamming back into you again before you can think of anything more clever to say back to Ivar. With that many puns, he has to know exactly what’s going on. And teasing you mercilessly. But if you drop the façade, does it count as Ivar “catching you?” You’d better play it safe and keep pretending, no matter how poor a job you’re doing of it.

“Meat?” Ivar says.

“What?” You feel like you’re really starting to lose the battle as Ubbe pulls your legs up around his hips and starts fucking you deep, with a steady, sensuous rhythm.

“What’s your choice of meat.”

“Oh, uh, chicken.” Each one of those breathy words was punctuated by a thrust that fills you achingly to the brim.

“Alright.” Is that rich, thick amusement you’re hearing in Ivar’s voice? You hold your breath and try to listen. “Anything else? Maybe something for Ubbe?”

You meet those icy blue eyes, helplessly torn between your need to get this conversation over with, and the submissive desire to make sure your man isn’t left without any dinner. What would a good little thrall do? “Hey Ubbe,” you say, trying to make it sound like you’re talking to someone across the room and not inches away from your face. “Want something from the Thai restaurant?”

Ubbe shakes his head, grinning before he bites his lip and thrusts into you deeper.

“Nope,” you chirp to Ivar. You think about the heavenly treatment your pussy got so recently and add: “He already ate.” You feel yourself clench around him as another wave of arousal hits you at the memory.

“Ah,” Ivar says. “Enjoy the rest of your cleaning, then. Make sure you do it nice and deep, for me. And I expect you to be finished by the time I return. I’m ordering now, and I’ll be home with hot food as soon as it’s ready.”

Ubbe’s stuffing you so good you want to screech through your teeth, but you manage to keep your voice sounding human enough to end the call. “Thanks!”

You turn off the phone and resist the urge to throw it across the room. You let yourself have one long, loud, lusty groan to blow off the tension, then you start slapping at Ubbe with both hands. “Bastard! What the fuck was that?”

His cock slides out of you in the struggle, but he catches your arms quickly enough, grinning down into your face. “Super fucking hot, is what it was.”

You just might happen to agree, but you still want to fight. You shove him away from you, getting up onto your knees for more leverage to slap at him some more.

Ubbe detects the playfulness in your aggression and meets it with a growl and a grappler’s grip on your upper arms. You wiggle and struggle and even pretend to bite him until he’s had enough. Suddenly he’s got you flipped around on your stomach, face pressing into the mattress as he climbs onto your back. “Biting me? You think you can get away with that?” His jaws close over the fleshy part of your shoulder.

It’s a love bite, really, not anything meant to hurt, but the savage edge to his voice really sold it and you squirm in excitement underneath him.

“Like that, do you? Dirty girl.” He keeps you held down with one hand in the center of your back and slides down to close his teeth over your flank. Much harder this time. “You’re too fucking wild.” He growls like a beast when you try to squirm away. “Oh no I’m not done with you.” His lips travel to the swell of your ass, where he bites down so hard that you squeal.

When he releases his jaws you almost get away from him. He has to swing most of his body back over yours to ride you back down to the mattress.

He nips at your ear in a primal signal to stay still. “You want it rough, I can give you rough.” You feel his erection against the back of your thigh, waiting, and you realize that was actually a consent question.

“Fuck, yeah,” you say eagerly. “If you think you can claim me, then claim me.”

He prods at you from behind; it’s a little hard to find his mark when you’re not making it easy for him. With a swipe of his knee he opens your legs wider, and then fuck, he pushes right in. It feels impossibly deep from this angle, like he’s about to come out through your bellybutton. You were joking about the claiming thing, it just seemed to fit the animalistic vibe, but it sure is a hot fucking thought as he slams into your helpless, immobilized hips.

You can’t do much besides arch your back and take it. Every thrust has him grinding against your g-spot from this angle; heat builds quickly behind it until you’re keening, wild sounds that fill the room.

The filthy words keep spilling out between Ubbe’s gritted teeth. “Take it – you fucking glorious – ah – so fucking good – take it just like that.” He takes a fistful of hair to pull your face up from the mattress. “I wanna see, how you –”

There’s probably more coming out of his mouth but you can’t hear it anymore as another orgasm rips through your body, the pressure on your g-spot hitting just right at the new angle that Ubbe forced into your back.

Once you’re conscious of anything besides the roaring pleasure inside your own body, Ubbe’s not capable of words anymore. He’s fucking into you hard and fast and with a long, guttural groan that has to mean he’s coming too. His pace sputters, then he buries himself to the hilt and just stays there, holding his breath for a bliss-filled moment. He exhales with everything he has left and then collapses on top of you.

You make a happy little sound. You don’t mind his weight. It’s cozy, and somehow flattering to feel so thoroughly and freely used for his comfort. He shifts just enough to wrap an arm around your shoulder, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck. He doesn’t move again until he’s caught his breath.

When he finally pulls his softening cock out of you, he sighs a little at his own sensitivity. He rolls back on his hip to strip the condom off and flings it across his room. “Wow,” he says, voice light and giddy. “That was—wow.” He settles back down beside you, making sure you’re facing him. “Um, was all that ok?”

You smile. “What do you mean?”

His eyebrows go up. “That got pretty wild by the end there. I hope I didn’t, like, hurt you.”

Stroking your fingers down the side of his face, you try not to look like you’re laughing at him. Boy really is a total newbie to kinks like yours. Although he certainly seems to share them. “I’m fine. Loved every minute of it. If it wasn’t working for me, really, I’d have stopped you.”

His brows furrow down, listening carefully.

“I’ll say ‘red light’ if I ever need you to stop what you’re doing.”

Ubbe nods.

“But I love it rough like that. That was hot as hell.” You rub your palm over the places where he bit you. The one on your ass is still sensitive.

“It was, wasn’t it.” Ubbe looks like a kid who’s discovered a new candy store has opened right on his street. “Fuck. I just like . . . you seemed like you were into it and I just went for it. It was just . . .” he closes his eyes, trailing off with an adorable crease between his brows as he remembers some tantalizing detail. “You like it like that all the time?”

You nod, shyly, but a nervous laugh slips out too. “I mean, I’d probably get sore after a while but, yeah. Fuckin’ throw me around.” Your eyes trail down to his chest, unable to be quite this honest under full eye contact. “Chase me, push me, pull me… I like to be forced to submit.”

An entirely pleased sound rumbles in his throat. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He pulls you in close, tucking your head under his chin. “You’re not like any of the girls I’ve known,” he sighs.

You kind of want to say maybe you’ve been dating the wrong girls. But then the uncomfortable topic of dating would be hanging between the two of you, and you don’t want to talk about that until things are more clear with Ivar. He’s the one you always saw yourself getting serious with. Ubbe’s just, well, fun. Although he’s been surprising you lately. Like right now. You know you can’t stay long, you have to be dressed and out of this bed before Ivar gets home as per his instructions, but for just a few more minutes, you snuggle deeper into Ubbe’s arms.

A/N: I know Ubbe’s been getting a lot of spotlight lately, but Ivar’s back with a vengeance next!!! Read On

Taglist is open: @walkxthexmoon @swagmonstertoes @hanhanxx @xxdearlybeloved@littledeadrottinghood @persephone-is-here-omg @rekdreams247 @what-the-heart-desires @inforapound @creepshowzombae @tomarisela @youbloodymadgenius @walkxthexmoon@funmadnessandbadassvikings @trashqueenbitch @justlovelifeblog @earl-aive @supernaturalvikingwhore @equalstrashflavoredtrash @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen @ceridwenofwales @grungyblonde @pokeasleepingsmaug @hvittysmutanon @honestsycrets @wuxiesalt @thorins-queen-of-erebor @writingfromasgard @tootie-fruity @lordsexmachine @ uncomfortable-writers @sadbutatleastsassy @sweatstreatz01 @ritual-unions-gotme @likealostkiss @thehangedmanandthehoneybee

#ubbe imagine #ubbe x reader #vikings smut #ubbe lothbrok #ivar x reader #playing house fic

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redrobinfection · 3 years

Text

Alfred’s Favorite Barbara

Babs & Alfred || Read on Ao3 || Happy Birthday, Barbara Gordon! ❤

<< A sequel to last year’s “Batgirls’ Favorite Mentor”

~*~

Barbara leaned forward and spit out the toothpaste Cass had let her use, on one of the many spare toothbrushes Alfred kept in the guest toiletries stockpile, then leaned back in her chair with a sigh and considered her mostly-put-together-again reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Wow, that had certainly been a party of a night, she mused, ruefully lifting a strand of her sleep-mussed auburn locks before deciding that pulling it back in a bun was really the only dignified solution.

Steph and Cass had kept her up all night--not like that was all that much different from her usual schedule, but mani, pedi, facials, horrible (great) superhero movies, and gossip until dawn had worn her out more than she would have expected. Although, the wine that had snuck into the mix right when the mani-pedis were left to dry and the third movie went in might have had something to do with it, she conceded with a smirk at herself in the mirror. It wasn't a bad sort of tired, she admitted as she tucked few stray hairs into her messy bun, but she was more than ready for a day to rest, recover and recharge.

Just after dawn, Alfred had invaded the sanctum of their home theater encampment to invite them up to the kitchen for a hearty breakfast. There he had laid out toast, eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit, juices, teas, coffee, pancakes and even some of the real cake from the night before--a rare breach of protocol from the prim and proper butler that Barbara took as a one-time gesture of affectionate indulgence of their whims--which eventually drew out the other occupants of the house, turning breakfast the morning after into as much of a party as dinner the night before had been.

After that, Alfred had shooed Steph and Cass off to bed and shown Barbara up to her regular guest room where the bed had already been turned down, the pillows fluffed and the blackest of blackout curtains tightly drawn, bless that man. After a few hours of much needed sleep, it was now just past noon, most of the manor's occupants were either still sleeping or out living their daylight personas, and Alfred had offered to drive her back to the Clocktower after she had "freshened up a bit".

Satisfied that she had done as much as she could to make herself decent for the drive of shame, Barbara gathered her things and made her way down the hall to the elevator. Alfred was waiting for her when the doors opened on the civilian garage.

"Ah, Miss Barbara, I take it you're ready to depart?"

"Yes. Thank you for driving me back, Alfred."

"Of course, it's my pleasure."

He led the way toward their several limousines, opened the door to one very special vehicle and began extending and lowering a long ramp. Barbara pressed her lips together to hide a smile as Alfred stepped to one side and let her wheel herself up the shallow incline. He retracted the ramp, closed the door and slid into the driver's seat while she positioned herself in the sleek interior and locked the wheels of her chair.

"Thanks again, Alfred. For everything," Barbara added as they pulled out of the garage. "Last night, this morning...it was all amazing and it must have been so much work--extra work--for you. I really appreciate it."

She saw his eyebrows rise in the rear-view mirror as he replied, "Of course. It was no trouble; I would hardly label hosting a small dinner in honor of and giving accommodations to one of my favorite persons "work". It was a pleasure, Miss Barbara."

She raised an eyebrow in turn. "Oh really? A fairly large dinner, putting up with the mess we all made in the theater afterwards, and putting together a big breakfast in the morning--and driving me back after letting me stay over, even when I'm sure you've got plenty of cleaning up to do? 'Favorite person' huh? If I didn't know better I'd think you were buttering me up for something, Alfred Pennyworth," she teased, sharing a knowing look with him in the mirror.

He didn't laugh out loud, but his eyes twinkled in that way Barbara knew meant he was amused rather than offended. "My word! Is it so hard to believe that an old man would take pleasure in doing what little he could to celebrate the birthday of his favorite Barbara."

Barbara did laugh out loud. "Your favorite...huh! First Jason calls me his favorite, then Tim and Dick, then Steph and Cass... and now you? All of you in less than twenty-four hours? Did you all have a meeting to discuss the topic or am I about to go home to one of the hardest cases of all time and you're all buttering me up to it?"

"I believe the subject had come up recently," Alfred replied evenly. "You do so much for this family and receive so little appreciation..."

"That's my line," Barbara muttered incredulously with a minute shake of her head.

"...and I'll have you know that of all the Barbaras I've had the pleasure of knowing, you most certainly rank supreme."

Barbara huffed a laugh through her nose. "And how many Barbaras is that exactly?"

Alfred met her eyes in the mirror and fixed her with an impressive look. "When you've lived as long as I have, served as long as I have, you come to know a great many people. Among all of those... you are rare soul indeed, Barbara. Surely one to celebrate and to venerate."

That gave her pause. What are you supposed to say to something like that? She didn't know, so she let the silence stretch and turned her gaze to the traffic speeding past her window while her true focus turned to beating down the bloom of color that had flooded her cheeks at Alfred's unexpected pronouncement.

They rode in silence--not an uncomfortable silence, but Barbara still felt the weight of those words still hanging heavy between them--for the rest of the drive. They'd caught the lull between the lunch-hour jam and afternoon rush-hour traffic--likely a strategic choice on Alfred's part--so it only took about twenty minutes to make the trip into the city.

Alfred graciously helped her disembark, escorted her to the ground level door to the tower, and--to her surprise--asked to walk her in, pulling a cooler bag from somewhere with leftovers from the revelries. Barbara invited him in, sending him ahead of her with repeated thanks, but the words of appreciation died in her throat as she rolled over the threshold and took in the interior of her homebase.

She wasn't a slob, per se, but Barbara knew she didn't tidy up around the Tower quite as often as she should, and she cleaned the place even less frequently. It was a lot of real estate for one person--a person with certain mobility issues, at that--and a small army of specially programmed Roombas and some casual dusting here and there could only do so much.

But today, her foyer was spotless. All the coats, umbrellas and other detritus were neatly hung or stacked in their places. The tile was a shade lighter than she remembered and the grout was actually white--she'd actually thought it was tan up until now.

Moving into her apartment showed the same story. Shelves of books and knick-knacks were freshly dusted, the rugs had been deeply vaccuumed, and personal items had been put away or neatly arranged. Every surface gleamed.

She turned to Alfred with an accusing look. "Alfred... did you...?" One look at his quietly pleased expression was answer enough. "When did you even find the time to come over here and do this? Did you clean the whole Tower?" She wouldn't doubt it. She didn't bother to ask him how he got into her super-secure, high-tech lair--this is the ex-MI6 agent who raised Bruce, after all--but given the timeline of events, it shouldn't have been possible for him to clean all this by himself and do everything he did for them while she was at the manor.

"We did, in fact, clean the entire tower--and we took great care not to disturb any of your things in the command center, mind you--but it hardly took any time at all with Masters Damian and Timothy along to help. In fact, we were in and out well before you rose from your nap this morning."

Barbara's eyebrow rose into her hair. Alfred had wrangled Tim and Damian--in the morning, of all times--into cleaning? Together? Without killing each other?

"Wow, Alfred, you got Tim and Damian to work together to do all of this...? At eight in the morning? You're a miracle worker, for sure. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this.

"Really, Alfred...this--" she gestured to rooms around them "--the party, the sleepover, and then breakfast... you've done so much. Thank you. It means a lot to me, but, really, you didn't need to do all this. It's... it’s too much..."

Alfred looked away for a moment, his expression uncharacteristically sheepish. "Ah, well. Yes. I admit, I may have gone a bit overboard..."

They entered the kitchen and Barbara came to a complete stop. The appliances shone, the stove was spotless, and, for once, the sink was completely free of dishes. But that wasn't what stopped her dead in her tracks.

On the polished kitchen table, laid out elegantly on a freshly washed and pressed table cloth that Barbara had forgotten she even owned, was a handsome tea set in lustrous lavender and gold--one pot, saucers, cups, sugar cellar and creamer. To one side sat a few varieties of Alfred's favorite teas, and on the other a plate piled high with Alfred’s signature tea cakes, one of her favorite things about visiting the manor for pre-patrol briefings or post-patrol debriefings, back in the day. A recipe card stuck out under the plate.

Barbara turned to Alfred, her vision going misty. "Alfred..."

Alfred graced her with a rare smile, beaming down at her, his expression fond, but his voice was quiet, "For when you need a break from Master Tim's gift of espresso or a moment of peace after along night."

Barbara broke out into a teary smile of her own and raised her arms, reaching out for a hug before she thought it through. Alfred surprised her yet again, leaning down to accept her embrace.

"Really, thank you, Alfred. For everything," Barbara murmured into his shoulder before he could pull away again.

He didn't. Instead, he replied, so quietly Barbara almost missed it,

"Anything for one of my favorite granddaughters."

#my writing #mine #christmasriverswrites #barbara gordon #happy birthday babs #babs and alfred #real life might have killed the rest of my writing ambitions and all of my time to participate in fandom but this series lives on!#this is the sloppiest thing I've ever posted. editing? what's that?

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nbrook29 · 3 years

Text

but baby, it’s cold outside

So, I might have written a thing 🤭 Robbe’s photo related thing to be more specific.

Also on ao3!

----

“Wow, who knew making a fire could be so sexy?”

Robbe heaves a long-suffering sigh and looks at the sky above him in hopes it gives him strength to deal with the dork also known as his boyfriend.

“Don’t you sigh at me, Robin, you’d agree with me if you could see yourself right now.”

The tone of his voice is enough to let Robbe know Sander is currently in his teasing mood and lives to rile him up.

He looks very pleased with himself when Robbe turns his head to give him an eyeroll, even more so when he notices the smile tugging at the corners of Robbe’s mouth. At the eyebrow wiggle he then receives Robbe stops fighting the smile altogether and laughs quietly at Sander’s antics, his chapped from cold lips cracking a little.

“Will you help me or you’re just gonna stand there looking pretty, huh?” he lights another match but it’s immediately blown out by the wind and he lets out a small whine in frustration.

“But you’re doing so good on your own! I can cheer for you though?” Sander’s offer sounds almost genuine but the blossoming smirk acts like a tattletale and yes, Sander is definitely in the mood.

And Robbe can’t even be mad that he’s a little shit because he’s a sucker for him and that smile and they both know it. So he just shakes his head in feigned resignation, giggling when Sander actually does start cheering for him, whooping and clapping his hands, and just being embarrassing in general.

It’s getting noticeably colder with the temperature dropping significantly since they left Sander’s house over an hour ago. There has been a warning of a blizzard coming to Antwerp this evening but it feels like it may come sooner than anticipated.

They went for a long walk in the afternoon to get a bit of fresh air and to enjoy the dearly missed for years snow after being cooped up in their respective bedrooms for days and days on end, cramming for finals (Robbe) and finishing up projects (Sander). The sound of fresh snow crunching under their shoes felt like freedom at last, both of them instantly turning into 8 year olds, threatening each other with snowballs and making snow angels, soaking half of their clothes in the process.

For the artist inside of Sander, the winter wonderland-like scenery was like a wet dream, his fingers clicking away on his vintage camera every two minutes or so, making their walk extra slow. Robbe didn’t mind though, being long acquainted with Sander’s artistic habits and indulging him every time he turned his big eyes on him to request them getting off their track a bit to take a photo of yet another thing looking awesome covered in snow. And then after every picture taking his hands into his own to rub his freezing fingers in order to warm them up because Sander refused to wear gloves. Granted, they weren’t very practical for operating a camera but still. Robbe had a very personal relationship with these beautiful hands so it’s not like he could just let them freeze off. It was basically his duty. The sweet smile Sander shot him every time he did it was an additional bonus.

They grabbed a coffee from their favorite coffee shop at the corner of Sander’s street but the wonders that the warm liquid did to warm them up has been long gone by now. Robbe is pretty sure the sound that’s coming from his left side is actually Sander’s chattering teeth so he doubles his efforts and after a few attempts he finally manages to make fire pit lit up. His boyfriend lets out a loud whoop and then immediately comes closer, wrapping himself around Robbe’s small body from behind and holding his palms above the new source of warm.

“You know,” he starts as Robbe pokes at the fire a few times and throws a piece of wood in it and letting it burn before melting into Sander’s embrace and warming his own hands over the flames. “I already knew I’m dating a skater boy but I had no idea I’m also dating a scout boy.”

Robbe snorts. “Lucky you because otherwise you’d freeze to death. I’m expecting your gratitude anytime now.”

Hey, he can be a little shit too if he puts his mind to it.

“Well thank you, baby,” Sander purrs sweetly into his ear, placing a kiss on the spot on the side of his neck currently not covered with scarf causing a shiver go through Robbe’s body, only partially due to his cold as ice lips.

He tilts his head to the left and presses a lingering kiss to his mouth, his eyes closing and knees buckling a little within seconds when Sander licks into him, his hands landing on Robbe’s hips to steady himself. It’s slow and unhurried, a bit uncomfortable given the position they’re standing in but it’s not like either of them actually cares.

They do care though when the darkish grey clouds over them decide it’s high time for some snow so they’re forced to separate, Sander letting out a sorrowful sigh, burying his face in Robbe’s neck and circling his waist with his arms, refusing to let go.

“Come on, let’s go before it gets really bad,” he laughs quietly when Sander shakes his head petulantly, his fringe tickling Robbe’s cheek in the process.

“I don’t want to,” he groans but after a few minutes he lifts his head slowly, surrendering. But then he dips his head again under Robbe’s jaw as if to test something. “Hey, you smell nice. Is that a new aftershave?”

“Yeah, you like it?” Robbe asks expectantly.

Sander pretends to think for a second. “Wait, I think I need to check again,” he replies before burying his cold nose in the hinge of his jaw. Robbe lets out a high-pitched squeak at the sudden coldness and tries to squirm away, giggling as Sander instead of letting him go places little (cold) kisses along his jawline. Once he manages to kiss every square of it he backs out with a triumphant smile, barely dodging Robbe’s incoming elbow.

“After a closer inspection, yes, I do like it, I like it a lot.”

“Cool.”

Robbe tries to hide his smile, pleased with Sander’s reaction because he wants to actually keep his cool but he fails and Sander sees right through him, chuckling when he realizes the slight blush on Robbe’s cheeks has little to do with cold. Surprisingly, he decides to let it go and not tease him about it which Robbe is lowkey grateful for because it’s embarrassing how gone he is for him.

Before they leave the lakeside, they both take a picture with their phones of the now extinguished fire, or actually what’s left of it. Robbe is first to post it but Sander’s photo is better, obviously, his skills at tweaking it to look just right far more superior than Robbe’s. Once Sander’s done, he puts away his phone with a tongue-in-cheek smile and Robbe is already dreading what he’s going to find in the caption. He taps on the app icon and groans.

Fire made by my firebreather 🌬️🥶❄️☃️💙 #scoutboy

“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

Sander blows him a kiss, ignoring his scoffing as he entwines their fingers and pulling Robbe along to finally get them moving, the snow getting stronger the longer they stall.

Robbe forgets all about Sander’s embarrassing caption when he realizes they are still about 20 minutes away from his house and he’s almost soaked to his underwear. Sander’s in a better state than him, his leather jacket despite not giving much warmth keeping the snow from getting through, and so are his ankle reaching shoes.

They can’t exactly take a tram because the snow caused a huge gridlock, people honking at each other left and right with trams stuck in between. They try to run for a while but the pavement is too icy and it quickly turns out that one wrong move is going to cost them a broken bone. But Sander looks determined to get them to his house as quickly as possible once he notices Robbe’s soaked through clothes and his violently shivering body so they end up getting there in under 15 minutes.

Thankfully, his parents had left the heat in the house turned on before they went to the movies so once they cross the threshold they are bathed in a delightful warmth. They take off their shoes and jackets, but then Robbe lingers in the entry, aware of his dripping clothes and not wanting to make a mess at which Sander just rolls his eyes and drags him to the upstairs bathroom.

Robbe has troubles to keep his teeth from chattering and when he sees himself in the mirror, his lips are slowly turning a weird shade of blue so he peels off all the soaked layers while Sander turns the shower on, making sure the water is hot enough to stop Robbe from turning into a smurf. He has that deep wrinkle between his furrowed eyebrows and he’s acting like a man on a mission helping Robbe get off the soaked clothes and collecting a fresh share of his own for him to put later on.

“He-ey, calm down, I-I-I’m f-iiii-ne,” Robbe stutters out because when Sander gets all worried about him like this it’s best to squash that seed right away.

“Tell that to your lips,” he scoffs, worrying his own lip between his teeth. “Come on, get in.”

Robbe sighs and decides it’s probably best to just let him fret a little. He lets himself be maneuvered into the shower and then snorts at Sander’s unsure look on his face as he hovers near the shower door, clearly wanting to join in but not wanting to intrude.

“Ar-rre you seriii-oouus?” he asks, groaning in relief when the hot water hits his back. “What are you wai-iii-ting for, get in, you’re all wet too!”

That puts him in motion and Robbe laughs when he sees him shedding his clothes off in record speed, jumping on one leg when he tries to get off his wet skinny jeans, before joining him and pushing his face directly under the stream.

“Fuck, it feels so good.” Sander turns his head back and forth, letting the water wet his hair before he takes a good look at Robbe. “You’re feeling better?”

He delicately thumbs at his lower lip and the sweet gesture makes Robbe smile and give his finger a side kiss, then turning his head slightly to place another on the center of his palm.

“Yeah, I think circulation is back,” he jokes, wiggling his toes.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s my fault, if I hadn’t been fooling around we would have gotten home before it got so bad-”

“Sander, shut up, it’s not your fault it snowed harder we anticipated,” Robbe looks at him with disbelief.

Of course Sander would blame himself.

“But-”

“No buts. Period.”

Sander doesn’t look convinced so to avoid any further doubts, Robbe stands on his tiptoes, looping his arms around his neck and shuts him up with a kiss. It definitely helps to warm him up faster.

“So like... no butts at all?”

Robbe blames it on the almost-hypothermia that it takes him a few seconds to get the joke.

“Oh my god you’re unbelieveable,” he laughs into his finally smiling mouth and deepens the kiss, Sander’s wandering hands effectively erasing any cold-related feeling from his mind.

#wtfock

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since0202 · 3 years

Text

A monster lives here

Summary: Grace Alo is exiled to Forks, Washington after being kicked out of high school right before senior year. The recent passing of her father mixed with moving into a shared bedroom with her cousin was enough to shake up any teenager's life. But upon her return, a inevitable meeting forces her to confront who she's destined to become to protect the home and people she loves.

Status: Ongoing

Ao3; Fanfiction.net

Chapter 1: Move

July

The summer before her senior year was when Principal Beeter officially signed off on Grace Alo's expulsion from Westmoore Highschool.

Probably for the best if she's being honest.

"Maybe I'll just get my GED and bounce off to the west coast and find something cool...there," Grace told her friend Margot between demolishing her second cherry slurpie.

"Right, because that totally works out for everyone," she mumbled back. "Imean, you didn't even do anything really. So what, one tiny trailer–"

"Can we not?" Grace interjected.

"Yeah, sorry." Margot cleared her throat and her eyes rolled up toward the sky.

"Mom's gonna kill me." Grace's eyes ran over the length of the highway. From below, she could just see the cars skirting the top of the overpass. She wished she was in one of those cars headed far from here.

Grace took one big deep breath and shook the nervous pain from her hands before grasping the handle and pushing open the front door.

Her mom was in the front hall, phone to her ear and back turned. This ought to be good. She could only make out the last bit of what she was saying:

"No, yeah, I really appreciate it. Thanks again, Charlie." Grace's mother hung up and held a hand to her eyes.

"Everything okay?"

She jumped and spun around to face her daughter, one hand still resting up on her forehead. At first, Grace thought she wasn't actually mad at her, but her body posture quickly tensed up, hackles raised, hands coming to rest firmly on her hips. Here it came.

"Grace, I have..no words," her anger was palpable. Grace had always been a little sensitive to those things, but this was new-her anger was rolling off of her in waves and making its way down the hall to crash over Grace.

"Mom, honestly, truly, I am so so sorry. I never thought-"

"No. You didn't. You never think." Harsh. Was she shaking or was that just a trick of the light?

"Mom, please. What can I do?" Grace was trembling now and a ringing sound was growing in her head. She could feel her fight or flight kicking in but had nowhere to run to. This was home.

She'd been in trouble before, but never like this. Sure, she'd never been kicked out of school before, but she was familiar with not having a plan. Not like this.

"Who was that on the phone?" she asked suddenly. Grace hadn't moved from her position from the door. The light backlit her mother's frame, the gold light washed over her, illuminating her auburn hair and pale skin. Her green eyes flashed up at me every so often with a look of determination and fatigue fazing through them. Her eyes were the only thing Grace inherited from her mother that she could place. her warm complexion, broad face, and silky black hair was reminiscent of her father. Every time her mom looked at her, she could see it and Grace would feel pain sweep through her all over again, even if it had lessened over time.

"That was your Uncle Charlie. You're moving to Forks." Her eyes were stern, but her lip quivered and she looked at Grace like it was the last time. They both knew it wasn't but her mom felt things harder than any person she'd known other than her dad. But, Grace could tell by the look on her face that she meant it.

"Wait, what?"

Charlie slammed the trunk shut as Grace settled into the front seat of his police cruiser. Sea-Tac was a bustling airport, but where she was headed was nowhere near this level of hopping. Even Oklahoma City blew Forks, Washington out of the water when it came to city centers.

Charlie settled into the driver seat and gave her a quick grin, which she tried to reciprocate quickly but it may have turned into a grimace. Grace turned her attention out the window as Charlie accelerated onto the road connecting to the highway.

"Bells is excited to see you." Charlie suddenly quipped. "And I got your registration at Forks High all squared away."

"Great, thanks." Grace kept her eyes on the deepening green protruding from the sidewalks, around bends, and over railings. They drove in uninterrupted silence for which she was thankful. Charlie was good that way-not too overbearing, didn't really hover, or force conversation. It was nice and she enjoyed the peace.

"Billy was asking about you." And just like that, the silence was gone. Grace cringed. "Billy Black. You remember him right?" A lump caught in her throat as she tried to keep her breathing even. Charlie waited a minute before continuing. "You know, he stopped by the house the day after I talked to your mom. Brought his son Jake with him, too. He's real excited that you're back in town."

Grace could feel him glance her way, mostly by the sound that his police blazer made as he looked over his extended right arm, but she didn't meet his gaze.

Billy Black.

She hadn't been back to the Quileute reservation in La Push in years. Even before dad died, Grace hadn't seen the familiar beach or sat in the quiet, dated homes, or sat around the communal fire at council meetings for awhile. But after her dad died, it became harder to go back. And once they moved to Oklahoma for his new job, her old life seemed to fade away. The reservation was always the same in her mind, like an old friend, waiting for her inevitable return. But it made her sad more than anything at this point. The comfort she once found there evaporated with her father's spirit. Going back now felt too hard.

Billy had called the house a bunch after we moved away. He was her dad's best friend. And then after her dad died, the cracks in his voice were too much to handle. So, she stopped picking up or taking the phone from her mom when he called and just let things dissipate-distance again, quiet.

The rain slicked roads sounded like a hushed whisper as we whizzed over the bridge and broke into the town of Forks. The small town was familiar too, but not home.

Charlie hadn't said much else on the drive in and once they pulled into the driveway of the Swan house, she breathed a sigh of relief and pushed the passenger door open, gulping in damp, warm air. The air was so much different here. It didn't feel like freedom, but possibility hung in the air more than in the dust of Oklahoma.

Grace hitched her backpack over her shoulder and trudged up the front steps—Charlie was close behind lugging her two heavy suitcases. She tried to reach for one but he shrugged her off with a chuckle and ushered her into the house.

When the door creaked open, Bella peeked her head around the corner in the kitchen, a warm smile breaking across her face.

"Grace!" she beamed and walked briskly across the small landing, lightly tripping over the threshold from the kitchen with a soft 'oh'. She wrapped her in a hug and Grace breathed a sigh of relief. This felt a little more like home. She smelled like soft lavender and some kind of sweet spice.

Bella and Grace grew close when she would visit the reservation and Charlie's during her two-week summers with him. When they weren't together, they wrote letters sporadically which evolved into weekly phone calls. Bella and Grace's mothers were still pretty close—they even road tripped through Oklahoma a few years ago and took them to the Phillbrooke Museum of Art. Grace hasn't laughed that much since then.

Grace had heard through her mom that Bella was moving to Forks so Renee could take off with Phil but Grace hadn't heard much aside from the occasional email here and there. Bella told her that she had met a guy and that things were "intense" but good. Grace had raised her eyebrows at that and vaguely remembered sending back something short in response. She did that a lot lately.

When they pulled back from the hug, Bella held onto the bottoms of Grace's elbows and smiled. Grace's thick plait had loosened on the flight and she felt scrubby.

"Come on, come upstairs." She clasped her hand in hers. Grace couldn't help but give a small smile as Bella tugged her up the narrow staircase and across the short hallway to her bedroom. Well, their shared bedroom now.

The size of the room wasn't bad. She had pushed her full bed up closer to the far window to make space and pushed her low dresser across from the foot of her bed. The small desk was shoved on the short wall directly to the right and Grace's bed sat under the large bay window that looked over the side yard and into the woods.

Her bed was covered in a soft, plush light green duvet with two fluffy pillows. her eyes rested on the black and white patterned blanket at the foot of the bed and her mouth drew into a hard line. Grace couldn't speak for a moment. "Is that…?"

"Yeah, Billy had Jake drop it off the last time he was here. A welcome home present, I guess. Hey, are you okay?" Bella pulled her hands from her back pockets and rested one on Grace's arm which prompted her to pull her face up and give a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, of course! This is great Bells, thanks." Charlie had been leaning against the doorframe, chaperoning her suitcases as Bella gave the tour.

She pulled open a little side closet that rested next to her bed. It held a small white chest of drawers that had little purple flowers painted on it.

"You can put your clothes in there." Bella gestured. Grace shot a look at Charlie.

"You painted those purple flowers yourself Charlie?" she teased. He held his hands up in surrender.

"Guilty." Bella and Grace laughed. She sat on the edge of her bed, fingers curling around the loose threads at the end of the blanket. Warmth rushed over her as she traced her fingers along the familiar pattern from her childhood.

This can work. She thought.

The next few days, Grace spent her time settling in, drawing, reading, and unpacking. Bella and Grace actually settled well into a routine together, sharing bathroom space, one showering while the other brushed their teeth, maximizing the bathroom space efficiently. Bella was a quiet sleeper, but Grace couldn't find it in her to sleep just yet, so she would stare up and above her head out the window trying to catch a side of the moon just waning out of sight.

Her third afternoon in Forks, Bella called from the bottom of the stairs.

"Come meet Edward!" she yelled. Grace skipped out of bed and shuffled down the steps, running a hand through her dark hair to try and tame it away from her face.

Bella had told her about Edward on her first night there. They'd stayed up too late, cross-legged on Bella's bed as she picked at pilling on her pajama pants and spoke in a hurried but elated voice about the Edward.

She had been right though, it sounded intense. While she winded her way through the last eight months, Grace couldn't help but feel bad that she hadn't been more engaged in her emails with her. Grace must have sounded pretty switched off to Bella. Faraway. She had picked up on none of this information about Edward in their email exchanges.

"He's really great. Unlike anyone I've ever met, honestly." she laughed a little at this and Grace tilted her head curiously.

"Oh yeah?" her eyes flitted onto her bed and back up toward Grace a couple times. She opened and closed her mouth as if to say something and landed on an exasperated sigh before smiling.

"Yeah, you're just going to have to meet him for yourself."

Color me interested, Bells. Grace thought.

When she landed on the bottom step, Grace looked to Bella who was standing next to a tall, pale, but generally handsome guy. Her brain hesitated over the word 'guy'. He seemed—felt—otherworldly somehow.

"Hey." she gave a tight lipped, but friendly smile. "I'm Grace, I've heard so much about you."

His eyes seemed incredibly kind and their golden hue was captivating but she still found herself tilting her head, as if she was trying to see around his eyes, golden orbs that wouldn't quite turn and reveal a hidden side. His eyes stayed focused on intently on Grace, undisturbed.

He dipped his head in response to her head tilt and smiled warmly (a hint of menace?) and held out a leather gloved hand.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Edward as Bella said. She's been very excited to have you here, so I've been really excited to meet you." Grace extended her hand to meet his.

As his hand closed around hers—light, but firm—Grace heard a low rumble, like thunder, building behind her left ear. The sound grew rapidly and felt like a building rush from a broken river coming up behind her to sweep her away. She was frozen in place thought and felt that rumble crowd into her head and start to vibrate violently.

From the top of her head, the rumble gained in speed and sound, pounding and pulling at her chest in a downward wave, crashing through her feet and rippling out around her. As the thunder left out of the bottom of her feet, the ripple manifested in a rolling wave under the floorboards, silent but moving away.

Grace audibly gasped but didn't pull her hand back, her eyes quickly scanning the floor for that outward ripple. The feeling had lasted less than 2 seconds.

"Did you see that?" her eyes shot up from the floor and landed on Edward. Grace thought she saw his lip curl ever so slightly. Bella looked unperturbed but her eyes widened in surprise.

"See what?" she looked around her. Grace took a beat and felt her heart settle as the aftershock of the ripple left her body, small vibrations smoothing into nothing.

"Nothing." she said shaking her head and letting her hand fall from Edwards. He looked nonplussed and raised his eyebrows comically at Bella.

"Well, Edward was gonna take me on a hike. Did you want to come?" Bella asked. Edward's face looked measured but somewhat surprised.

Something in Grace told her not to go.

"Nah, I'm going to check in with her mom and get some reading done." she replied, tucking some stray strands of hair behind her ear.

"Another bookworm. The likeness is growing." Edward said smoothly, a small smile peeling his mouth open and a glittering chuckle rolled out. Grace shrugged and wished them well and headed back upstairs to her room.

When she was safely behind the closed bedroom door, she let go of a full breath that caused her heart rate to spike. Her breathing became ragged and she felt an icy tingle snake slowly up her back. It felt like panic, but she wasn't sure why. Could it be what she felt when she shook Edward's hand? That was pretty weird, but it hadn't been followed by a sense of rising panic.

She put a hand over her chest and one on her stomach trying to take slow, smooth breaths like the counselor had told her. The one she'd seen when her dad died.

Focus on something still, calm your breath, calm your mind. In and out. In and out.

But every exhale came out as shuddering, then gasping breaths. Grace could feel her pulse quicken, beating against the skin of her wrist as if the blood was trying to burst through.

She collapsed onto her bed and her vision started to blur and go dark. It was over, this life, it had to be. This was it. But as the ceiling blurred in and out of focus, Grace wasn't upset or scared. As her vision faded, a warm coppery hand shimmered and reached out to her.

So she let go and reached back, relieved.

#twilight #twilight fanfic #jacob black #new mooon #bella swan #edward cullen #a monster lives here #chapter 1 #thepack #la push #fanfiction #smeyers #the pack

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chrysalispen · 3 years

Text

a dream in flight (cid/wol)

for @smitten-miqitten. thank you so much <3 i hope you enjoy!

AO3 HERE

fic under the cut, as always.

===

The morning was a rare one, having dawned clear and cloudless - albeit every ilm as cold and bracing as the one that preceded it. The overbright sparkle of a sun with no warmth bit as strongly as any blizzard, but the crystal and stained glass windows of the great cathedral seemed to filter the merciless glare of eternal winter into something gentle and cheerful.

Although a bone-deep chill lingered without the doors as ever, it was stiflingly warm in the nave. Folk large and small had gathered beneath the roof of Saint Reymanaud’s, brought together by the common threads that bound them to the Warrior of Light -- she who had ended the Dragonsong War alongside Ishgard’s greatest knights and heroes. The union was an occasion to celebrate as much as any feast-day, and to that end all present had turned out in their finest: city-state leaders in ceremonial dress, various personages of the High Houses using the occasion as an opportunity to display themselves and their sons and daughters to advantage, Brume folk in their best attire.

Cid Garlond had long since grown weary of observing the still-gathering crowd and now contented himself with staring through a small pane of glass into the body of the sanctuary. Light streamed through the massive arches like golden prayer-ribbons, weaving their way along marble walls and ancient buttresses. The floral wreaths that bookended the hefty spruce pews were a donation from the Gridanian Botanists’ Guild, sprays of color and scent and life (some alterations had been made; he doubted the artichoke flowers lining the steps to the altar dais had been Era’s notion, or Fufucha’s for that matter).

“Hells, you even let them deck the pews,” the sardonic drawl echoed slightly from old stones. “I suppose you really are serious about this.”

That was a voice he knew, and normally one that was wont to cause his hackles to rise- but in this instance the unsettled flutter in his gut left him more inclined to look favorably upon its owner, if for naught else other than long familiarity.

He let his shoulders roll back as he glanced up at the taller Garlean out of the corner of his eyes, then shook his head. “I’m not sure what gave you the impression I would do anything like this on a lark. Goodness knows there were other venues. More discreet, at the very least.”

“Well, I daresay there’s still some time before the festivities commence.” Nero Scaeva’s shameless grin was all teeth and no small amount of mirth; Cid thought to himself with a sort of sour amusement that his colleague and erstwhile rival was quite enjoying his predicament. “You could always abscond with your lady as soon as she arrives. Make for the Dravanian hills. Biggs and Wedge would cover your escape, no doubt.”

“While you simply sit back and watch, I suppose? Or would you help them?”

Nero offered only a lazy shrug of his shoulders, a lift and a drop and spread hands.

“Perhaps, Garlond. Perhaps. I find myself feeling oddly magnanimous this morning, as it happens.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to curtail these passing generous impulses of yours, Nero.” Cid’s lips tilted in a wry half-smile of his own. “I suspect Era would be cross if I let you assault the guests.”

“Spoilsport,” he said. Cid scoffed, though it was without rancor. “In that case, I suppose you are determined to endure, come what may. Stand still, your collar’s gone askew.”

As the other man cast a critical eye on his neckwear Cid fought not to fidget in place. His eyes strayed frequently to the doors of the cathedral, and in the back of his mind he could feel Marques fluttering about like a trapped bird buffeting its wings against an invisible cage. Strange, how the most significant sennight of his life had begun much like any other, and even stranger that he felt so anxious, knowing how long he had felt ready for this very day. He supposed it was public speaking jitters- there were quite a lot of people here, after all: many of them faces he knew as well as Era did.

But then, he told himself, that was the point, wasn’t it? The other ceremony - the real ceremony, as far as Cid was concerned - was somewhere else. This was a sort of… test run, one might say.

Just a test run, he repeated to himself, and he couldn’t say why it was that which served to ground him, but it did. Some of the tension in his muscles seemed to flow out of his limbs, like icemelt into a mountain stream. It hadn’t entirely fled him, and he was sure the second the doors opened and all eyes were upon him it would return. But the fluttering in his head had subsided, and that was what mattered.

He exhaled softly as Nero stepped back to give him space. A frown knitted the other Garlean’s brow: an emotion that looked almost like concern.

“Jests aside, you’re looking a bit pale, old friend. Are you quite sure you’ve not changed your mind?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll be fine,” Cid assured him. He glanced towards the entrance to the vestibule. “Once she’s arrived, I’ll be better than fine.”

He didn’t have to wait very long. Three turns about the space later there was a flurry of activity at the doors and a vision in white stepped across the threshold, the long and lacy train of her dress draping the floor at her back like spun frost.

Era looked as stunning as she always did to his eyes, of course, regardless of what she wore. But as lovely and intricate as it was, Cid took little more than cursory notice of her dress. His attention caught itself upon other, smaller details: the shine of her eyes - just slightly too bright - and the tight curve of her smile, and the white-knuckled way she clutched the bouquet of white lilies in her hands. She was as outwardly composed as ever but he knew her tells well enough by now to see that in truth, she was no less unsettled about the prospect of a very public display than Cid himself.

So, he thought, it appears I won’t be alone in this either.

He nudged his companion in the ribs with one elbow. “You see?” he said. “Better than fine.”

“Well then, Garlond, let me be the first to offer my congratulations-”

“Jumping the gun rather, aren’t you? The ceremony hasn’t started yet.”

“-upon your miraculous recovery from stage fright,” the engineer finished. His lips tilted in something that was either a sneer or a smirk, and knowing Nero as he did, it could well have been both. “As amusing as it is to entertain the notion of watching you faint away upon your approach to the altar like some dewy-eyed Coerthan virgin afflicted with the vapors, I suspect the timely arrival of your fellow aspirant to matrimony has just saved me a good deal of trouble.”

“You would actually give up the opportunity to watch me embarrass myself in front of what must be half the realm sitting in those pews? Seven hells, Nero, you are getting soft.”

A derisive snort. “Spoken as if your lovely and more than somewhat terrifying bride wouldn’t simply pluck you from the floor and princess-carry you to the altar herself should it come to that. He'll not escape you that easily, eh, Era?”

The neutral set of her soft lips barely twitched, but the flash of good humor in her eyes was all the answer Cid needed. Her smile took a genuine turn at last - a soft and slight thing that would have been imperceptible to anyone else - and the cloud-like softness of her tail twitched, nearly hidden in the layers of snowy lace and satin. At the same moment, he watched the tilt of her shoulders relax. Just the barest hint, really, but he suspected it to be a reflection of his own selfsame thought process.

“He'll be fine, and so will I,” she said at last. She was responding to Nero but her eyes, luminous and wide, were fixed upon Cid's. "We go together."

“Right. Well. Upon that note, I believe I’ll be finding my seat. Away from the aisles, if it please you,” the tall blond shrugged, making a show of turning his back as he strode towards the exit to the sanctuary. “Do make an attempt to remain vertical for the duration, Garlond.”

Cid managed to suppress a mirthful grin of his own until Nero had quit their presence before turning it upon a lily and lace-bedecked Era.

“He suggested we take the opportunity to elope, but I think that would be a touch impolite- tempting as it might be.”

“Besides which, everyone is already here and waiting,” she said. “It would be a bit rude to elope now. We might as well get on with it.”

He laughed and it would have gone unnoticed were she not looking at him; the sound was swallowed in the ringing swell of a tolling cathedral bell. The sound crashed against stone like an invisible wave, once, twice: the final call for their gathering to take seats.

Era’s ears swiveled forward at the sudden sound before relaxing back into the wreath of flowers woven into her hair, and lifted one hand midair while juggling her bouquet into her right. He tucked her elbow about his much girthier forearm so that her hand rested just above the back of his wrist. The small ring she wore caught the light with a tiny, delicate sparkle -- a mote of light with a deep blue center.

“I suppose that’s our cue. You will catch me if I fall, won’t you, love?”

“Always. Even if I tear my dress doing it.” Smile steady, her soft eyes flickered towards the nave entrance. The slight weight of her hand resting upon his was warm and secure, a silent comfort. “Shall we?”

Cid took the hint for what it was.

“Let’s,” he said, and reached for the heavy wooden doors.

~*~

“Era? Sweetheart?”

By ilms the ache began to subside and with it, the Echo vision faded and passed. Her fingertips fell away from the spot where they had lain pressed to her temple.

The sight that awaited her when she opened her eyes was of quite a different venue indeed: no massive flying buttresses or walls of cold and heavy granite to be found here. The tiny chapel of Saint Adama Landama sat on a high point as did the Holy See’s grand cathedral, but that was where the similarities between the two locations ended. The view afforded here was not that of majestic snow-capped mountains, but a small and dusty lichyard. Beyond the box canyon that housed the old Sunroad waystation of Camp Drybone lay malms of flat scrublands and shallow watering holes, populated only by tuco-tucos and herds of wild aldgoats that had taken advantage of cooler hours to graze and water.

At last the day had dawned upon what she considered the real ceremony.

Today she would in truth marry the man she had loved for so long, in this place which meant so much to the both of them. Of course she had wanted their friends to share in their happiness, and Cid had in turn agreed for her sake. But here, the difference was as stark as night and day. Looking upon the well-worn pews strewn with laurel and desert saffron, the anxiety that had so plagued her in the great cathedral was… well, not what she could call ‘nonexistent,’ not exactly, but there was far more of excitement in it than aught else.

How long had it been, in truth, since they had met? The first time it had been wholly incidental. They had been little more than ships passing in the night -- albeit those ships were ghost-ships, left unanchored and unmoored and empty to drift slow and wide upon deep currents. Newly recruited to the Scions and looking for information, she had instead found him, half-concealed in a solitary corner of the lichyard draped in his borrowed robes and weeding an aged plot. He had been too shy to even look her full in the face while he stammered out a frightened response to her question.

Then, he had only known himself as Marques. Sometimes she wondered about the part of him that they both knew was still Marques, looking upon the world as it was now: the world that Cid Garlond had helped to shape. Be it for weal or woe.

She had forgotten for a moment that he was still watching her. When she glanced at him after the sound of his clearing throat caught her attention she saw his brow knotted with concern, eyes cast in brief shadow.

“Era, is aught amiss?”

“Hmm? No, I’m fine.” Era punctuated her words with a faint smile, hoping it would reassure him. The small bouquet of baby’s breath she clutched in one hand was warm, the simple ribbon that bound it ever so slightly damp where moisture from her palm had started to sink into the fibers. “I was just thinking about the day we met.”

“Mmm.” The furrowed crease that had extended nearly down to the bridge of his nose relaxed. “Good old Marques. I’ll wager he never would have dreamed of a day like this.”

(Sometimes she wondered if he wished he could still be Marques. She would hardly blame him.)

“On a day like this, where would he have been?” she wanted to know.

“Well away from the churchyard.” Cid reached for her, his broad, rough mechanic’s fingers lacing through hers. It was already hot and his hand was as warm as hers, but it was a gentle warmth- one that enfolded her hand much like his steadfast presence had enfolded her heart. His grin seemed to stretch from ear to ear. “Tending some of those newer plots on the high road, methinks.”

Before she could think about it she had voiced the question.

“You don’t miss it overmuch, do you?”

“What? Being ‘Marques’?” At her nod, that grin turned somewhat wry. “Aye, well... were I to be completely honest, I think I do miss that daft old bugger on occasion. He was a tabula rasa, after all, and that sort of existence does have a certain appeal. Fewer responsibilities, for one.”

“But?” Era squeezed his hand, and his focus caught upon their laced fingers.

“But all other matters aside, I know full well what I would have missed. There are times… well, I have my bad days, and sometimes being Cid Garlond feels a terrible beast of a burden. I’ll not deny it. But days like this? I can’t say I would wish to be anyone else." He paused. "Or anywhere else, for that matter.”

Cid's eyes were the precise grey-blue of cornflower blossoms, as guileless and open to the sun as the Thanalan sky. She had always loved his eyes: windows which afforded her a glimpse into a soul that was both noble and incessantly kind, even in those early days when he had not known himself. The worry she had glimpsed was gone, passed across their surface and moved on like a cloud drifting away from the sun. It left them as lovely as ever, and brighter to her own loving gaze than any crystal would ever be.

Like a crystal, he reflected the light she bore in truth.

Her throat felt suddenly tight, as though there were a lump she couldn’t swallow past, and she blinked furiously to clear the uncomfortable burning sensation that pricked her eyes.

“Come now, darling,” Cid chided her with a soft laugh. “Save your tears for the ceremony, eh? The good Father’s waiting on us, and so are the crew.”

She almost held out through the entire ceremony. Almost.

Motes of dust billowed in the shafts of sunlight that slanted through the windows of the chapel - in truth, little more than a meeting-house - as if in benediction upon the small gathering. Small as it was, Era clutched her bouquet until her knuckles turned white as she tried to ignore the small handful of people in the pews. Her free hand, held in his- it all felt so seen, and fame or no, she had never liked to put herself on display.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught the movement of Cid’s lips, though there was no sound. She blinked at him, wondering if he had said something and she had merely missed it, until they moved again:

Relax. Look at me.

That message was unmistakable, followed as it was by a very slow and deliberate wink and the mischievous tilt of a half-smile. She felt her own lips stretch in response and her grip on his hand relaxed ever so slightly - and she caught his faint grimace and felt the flex of tendon and muscle, and realized she must have been squeezing his fingers more tightly than she had intended.

If old Father Iliud had noticed any of that silent exchange, he gave no outward sign, bless him. He merely looked from the bride to her groom, both in their modest attire, Era in her lace, then out upon the few witnesses sitting upon the weathered and somewhat rickety benches that passed for pews. The smile he bestowed upon them all was very much like the sunlight slanting through the dusty windows, gentle and ever-present.

“My dear friends,” he said, his voice quiet and warm and intimate, as if he addressed only the two of them in the comfort of a private parlor, “words cannot well express what a wonder it is, to see all of you who have gathered here today. To share in a day like this, to celebrate love, is to celebrate joy itself.

“We have all weathered many a storm these past five summers. Yet those who endure hardship and emerge wiser and kinder for the experience are the strongest of us- and the secret to their strength so very often lies in the company they keep on their journey.”

As she listened, she remembered.

There had been another time he had clasped her hand like this. The rift, beautiful chaos, an endless sea of stars and a cold to numb the very soul as they were cast adrift in the vast and unfolding eternity of interdimensional space: her only anchor the softness of chocobo down and the warmth of Cid’s hand, fingers intertwined and grasping like tapestry threads. Era had forgotten many things, some more important than others. It was a circumstance she had accepted long ago; for better or worse, a not-insignificant part of her time had been spent trying to assemble the disparate pieces of her life before and after the shipwreck.

But that she would hold in her heart until she cast away her mortal coil, for the memory of that warmth was also the moment Era had realized she was in love with him. It had been exhilarating and wonderful, that quiet awareness of something that had waited with such patience for her to see it, like the petals of a morning glory unfolding to bask in the full brilliance of the sun.

The company we keep--

Such a long and strange journey it had been, all of it. And Cid had been there with her from the first step.

“Era,” a voice murmured. “The rings.”

She’d been lost in so much reflection she had nearly missed her own ceremony, she thought with a sort of rueful embarrassment. Cheeks coloring slightly, she set the bouquet aside just in time for Iliud to take her emptied hand and fold her fingers into those of her groom.

Iliud stretched his other hand first towards Cid, his palm open and facing upward as the engineer reached for the bauble that lay in his hand and lifted Era’s hand with a reverent touch. They faced each other now; the pews were visible from the corner of her eye if she chose to perceive them, but she barely noticed. Her focus lay upon the delicate white gold ring and the tiny jewel settings, blue as his eyes, as he slid it onto her finger with painstaking care.

“Let this be my promise to you,” Cid murmured. He held her hand high, close to his mouth, and she could feel the damp warmth of each soft exhale as he bent over his work. “Be they clear skies or the darkest storms, I would navigate them all with you at my side.”

He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them, grave and earnest, a pilgrim paying homage.

“And Era.”

Thus prompted, she reached for the remaining band. It was a simple piece: the metal brushed and polished to a precise sheen, pleasing to the eye but sturdy enough to withstand much of its owner’s heavy manual labor. Her hands felt clammy with sweat. There was a sort of… no, lightheadedness wasn’t the right word. Giddy, she amended. Reality was asserting itself bit by bit, wondrous and overwhelming-- it wasn’t a fever dream or an Echo vision.

She could blink once, twice, a hundred times, and this day - the fact of her marriage - it would all still be real.

He held his own hand aloft, awaiting her next move in patient silence and an unwavering smile. Era’s fingers trembled slightly, albeit not from any particular apprehension, as she positioned the ring to slide into place. It caught on the wide point of his finger for the space of a heartbeat before moving downward once more.

The chapel seemed terribly hot, or perhaps that heat in her cheeks was self-consciousness-- Era had never been one for grandiose speeches or noble vows. Nevertheless, she bowed her head studiously over the much larger hand she cradled, his fingers curled with delicate care about hers, to seal her words with a kiss of her own.

“Let this be my promise to you,” her words echoed his, a statement bold and simple in equal measure. “No matter the adventure or the quest that leads my steps, you will always be at my side, in word and in deed. We go together.”

The ring shone with the reflected light of the afternoon sun, and she shut her eyes against it just long enough to brush her lips against roughened knuckles. She lowered his hand, still held securely in her own, to see her emotions mirrored in his face. He was still smiling, but his eyes were suspiciously bright and by the knowing tilt to his lips, Era rather suspected she was in the same state.

Iliud’s hands cast small shadows over theirs as he raised each palm to place upon the crowns of their hands, then their backs, in light and careful benediction. Just as Cid had received foreknowledge of this part of the ceremony so had she; her ears flickered back and then forward again in a small, tight swivel. Still, her fingers tightened their grip ever so briefly, and with silent determination she kept her gaze firmly set even as her vision went dim and she blinked furiously.

“What the fates have seen fit to join,” he intoned, “neither man nor nature may cast asunder. By those powers granted to me and the immeasurable privilege to preside over this union, I bid you take your first steps in life across the threshold of this holy house.”

Heedless in truth of the emotion between them - or mayhap perfectly aware of it - the old priest’s hands raised aloft as the pair turned at last to face the pews.

“Era and Cid Garlond, I pronounce you husband and wife, and alongside my fellow celebrants in your shared joy wish long life and happiness upon you both. May you go forth in peace-- and may the Twelve smile upon you now and forevermore.”

Her joyful laugh, thin and shaking and half-tearful, was muffled beneath her husband’s kiss. She tasted salt, but almost as soon as the impression was there it was gone and he was grinning at her, the Cid she knew and loved. Sunlight glittered in bright blue, the tears in them fading like a receding rainfall to be replaced once more with eternally fair skies.

“Let’s get out of here,” Cid whispered, taking her elbow in his. They took their first step down the aisle in tandem. “The airship’s waiting.”

“Airship? I thought we weren't-"

“Aye, you heard right. It's all been arranged. We’ve the whole of the next sennight to ourselves and an open sky ahead.” His wink was all boyish mischief, ceremonial solemnity fled in the wake of what Era saw now was suppressed excitement. “So you just tell me where to go, and I’ll take us there. Just like always, Missus Garlond.”

“But the Ironworks-”

“There’s no less than a dozen folk who have offered to take up projects in our stead,” he kissed her cheek, and she squirmed at the tickling scratch of his beard, “on both ends. This will be just the two of us.” “Not even Biggs and Wedge?”

“Not even Biggs and Wedge.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, then: “...Oh dear. That... wasn’t quite how I meant that to sound.”

Unfazed, Cid tossed his head and laughed. His hair, that beautiful silver-streaked white-blond, shimmered like his wedding ring band in the filtered sunlight and with that single peal of sound she fancied she could nearly see his soul. He was happier than she had ever seen him, and it had made of itself something tangible and incandescent. Radiant.

And reflected light or not, she couldn’t help but find him the most beautiful man she had ever seen. My husband. She thought her way around those two words, testing them.

“I’m sure they’d understand,” he said, smiling. “Right! Well then, my fellow navigator, I believe we’ve a course to chart. Let’s be about it. To the Excelsior?”

Era beamed at him. This, too, was the happiest day she could remember, and it would end with a shared dream, borne aloft and bound for adventure.

“To the Excelsior.”

The chapel doors flew open on their weathered hinges, and with hearts and hands joined, Era and Cid Garlond set forth into the light of a new day.

#cid x wol #era hess #cid garlond #chrysalispen writes

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dp-marvel94 · 3 years

Text

Face to Face- Chapter 32

Summary: When Danny went through the ghost catcher, he expected to be cured of the ghostliness that had haunted him since the accident, not to wake up on the lab floor with his parents saying he’d been overshadowed but everything’s back to normal now. But why does Danny Fenton cry himself to sleep to then dream of flying? Why does Phantom, the ghost who was supposedly possessing Danny remember a life that wasn’t his? Most of all, why do both the human and the ghost feel that something vital is missing, in their very soul? Or: Trying to cure himself of his powers one month after the accident, Danny accidentally splits himself but neither his ghost nor his human half know that that is what they did

First -> Last -> Next

Word Count: 6,098

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net

Note:What is this?! Another Face to Face update. I'm still struggling through my first phic phight story and hoping some comments on this will encourage me. Thanks for reading as always!

Phantom stayed still for a long moment, looking out over the Ghost Zone. He took a deep breath and watched the floating rocks, the swirling clouds, and the purple doors. He braced himself and slowly floated to his feet. He needed to head out there. Tentatively, he reached out with his mind and plucked at the line. Like Fenton said, it was there, the link between him and his other half. And….a moment later, he received a tug in kind. His confidence grew. Yes, he could do this. He could find his way home.

With that, the ghost flew. He carefully followed the line, over islands and past doors. He slipped between rocks and paused, looking upward to what looked like a river suspended in mid-air and flowing downward. Phantom’s eyes widened in awe at the sight but he kept going. All the while, he looked around with keen attention. It wouldn’t do, to be attacked by another ghost again. Luckily, he didn’t see or sense anything large or notable. Instead, his brow wrinkled as he flew past a small group of what looked like globs of ectoplasm with eyes. One of the little ghosts (at least he thought they were ghosts) looked at Danny. It blinked slowly before letting out a chirp and darting away with the others.

Phantom watched for a moment as the small creatures flew away. Then He sloped downward, below a tree covered island. He gaped at the sight. Trees?! There were actually trees here, even though there didn’t appear to be any sun, moon, or stars. So...wait...where did the light come from? And were those the ghosts of dead trees or-

The ghost shook his head, clearing the questions about his surroundings from his mind. It really was incredible being here, even if the circumstances were...not so great. He might just have to come back, after everything was sorted...assuming that things could be fixed with Mom. The boy bit his lip. He couldn’t worry about that, not right now.

“Focus, Phantom.” He chided himself. He had to follow the line, get back to the real world.

The ghost boy’s brow then furrowed, eyes falling on something in the distance. A rectangular shape. White, standing out in stark contrast against the green atmosphere. And…. he tugged the line again….the way home was in that direction.

Less than five minutes later, the object became clear in his view. “It’s...Casper High?” Phantom muttered.

There in front of him was a black and white version of the school, complete with the American flag and the name plastered above the door in big letters. It was strange, bizarre. Why would there be a version of his high school in the ghost zone? And….he frowned, feeling his tether. Why did the path he was following back to Fenton lead him here? Phantom furrowed his brow. He hadn’t come this way before; he would have remembered seeing this weird building. But…. yep, the line was leading him here and...he could feel he was really close.

The ghost straightened, bracing himself. Cautiously but with forced confidence, he floated up to the doors and slowly pushed them open to find…. an empty hallway, identical to the front hall at Casper, even if it was in monochrome.

“Hello?” He called quietly as he crossed the threshold.

No reply came as Phantom continued onward. His core pulsed nervously at the silence of the eerily familiar space. It was strange, seeing it so empty and quiet. And it was fittingly haunting for a ghostly double of his school. But why was this here? Why did it look like Casper High? And why was it in black and white?

The ghost boy swallowed, pushing the questions away and floating down the hallways. He looked side to side, watching for any movement. His ghost sense hadn’t gone off, but being in an enclosed space was making him anxious. But at the same time….he was so close to….something. Something that would lead him home. But what?

Suddenly, the doors he’d come through slammed shut, earning a gasp from Phantom. “Who’s...who’s there?”

Something flickered at the edge of his vision. Head jerking to the side, he turned to find...nothing. The boy frowned, opening his mouth to call out. Then there was a bang behind him. Startled, Phantom wiped back around to find locker doors banging open and closed on their own.

“I don’t want any trouble.” The ghost boy started, voice wavering with fear.

Again, something flickered beside him. There was a staticy laugh. Phantom turned again and…. His heart would have skipped a beat, if it was in his chest. There was a monochrome teenager, a buff looking guy with slicked back hair and a leather jacket. He reminded Ghost Danny uncanningly of Dash. The figure opened his mouth, static exiting. Then he pushed the ghost boy.

Phantom stumbled, letting out a surprised cry as his back hit something solid. He turned, looking up at a scowling girl in a poodle shirt. She turned up her nose, pushing the ghost boy away. “Wait! Stop!” His eyes widened as he fell forward again, this time hitting another jock. “I don’t wanna fight!” The other teen, in a letterman, grabbed Phantom’s arm and shoved him to the floor.

The ghost boy hit the ground with a start, the impact knocking the air from his only semi-illusionary lungs. He rolled onto his back, paling at what was around him. A crowd of black-and-white teenagers, all wearing retro clothing, maybe from the fifties? They towered over him, scowling and jeering down at him.

“Stop! Please!” Phantom covered his ears, wincing in pain at the sound. It was static, hundreds of voices speaking over each other. And they were laughing, mocking. It was years of insults. Freak, coward, geek, nerd, weak, worthless, dead, wrong, unnatural, monster.

The ghost boy curled in on himself. “Please! I’m lost...I’m sorry I…”

Don’t belong here...Don’t belong. Invader.

“I don’t….”

Trespasser. Invader. Leave! Leave, freak!

“I… I know I’m not supposed to be here. I’m lost..I…”

Leave! Dead! Go! The voices hissed. Don’t belong, monster!

“Please! Stop!” Phantom begged.

The words pressed down on him and his chest heaved with panic. He whimpered as the volume rose, growing into a roar. Phantom bit back a cry as he pressed his hands to his ears, like he could block out the noise, keep out the words. He wanted to move, like the voices were demanding but he couldn’t, too frozen in fear. Instead he sobbed. “I just wanna go home.”

“Enough!” A single voice shouted. There was a whirl, a sound like gall forces winds. And then silence. “You can’t just barge into someone’s lair!”

“I...I..I’m sorry.” Phantom fixed his head down, whole body shaking. “I just...I got lost and was trying to get home but I ended up here ‘cause-” His words cut off as his ghost sense billowed out of his mouth and he coughed.

The ghost boy paled, looking cross eyed at the mist. He slowly looked up, eyes falling on the speaker. Like the other teens, he was monochrome but looked like a stereotypical nerd, with coke bottle glasses, a bowler haircut, a polo, and a bowtie. He fit the same fifties aesthetic yet somehow...there was something different about him compared to the other. He was more vivid, more solid than the others, almost like….

“Are you gonna say anything buster?” The crowd around them was still and silent even as the nerd floated half a foot closer, his fists balled.

“Yeah..Umm...Sorry, I..” Phantom stuttered. His eyes then widened as his ghost sense billowed out of his mouth again. That had only happened once this singular figure showed up, not before and not by the others. The others that had stopped when the nerd told them too. “You’re a ghost.” Ghost Danny whispered, meeting the glasses-covered eyes.

The other ghost scowled. “You don’t say.”

Phantom averted his eyes again, blushing. “No...sorry...I..I mean..you’re not...you’re not like…whatever these are.” The ghost boy motioned to the crowd around them, shivering. “You’re an actual ghost.” He whispered the last part, before glancing up, at the other, now confused looking ghost.

The other ghost’s brow furrowed behind his glasses. He raised his hand, making Phantom flinch. But instead of swinging his arm to punch or lighting his fist with ectoenergy like Ghost Danny expected, the nerd snapped his fingers and commanded. “Leave us.”

With that, the teenagers around the ghost boy seemed to flicker, their outlines wavering. Without any movement, the crowd disappeared, leaving Phantom and the other ghost alone. The nerd lowered his arm, his fist relaxing.

That did little to comfort Phantom. His pulse pounded in his head as he wrung his hands. “So...okay...we’re alone now. And...you said this was your lair? I...uh...don’t know what that means but...I can leave...I can leave now since those guys didn’t seem to want me here-”

“Sorry about that.” The quiet words interrupted the ramble.

“What?” Phantom blinked, looking up at the other ghost.

The nerd didn’t look angry anymore but instead almost….bashful, holding his hand out. “My shadows got out of hand. They aren’t supposed to be that cruel.”

The ghost boy just gapped, looking between the offered hand and the other ghost’s face. His mind raced, wondering what was going on. What was with the sudden change in attitude? He bit his lip. The other ghost wasn’t attacking him or...using those not-ghosts (he called them shadows?) to attack him. Maybe that apology was authentic.

Phantom took a deep breath and chose to be brave. Tentatively, he took the offered hand and allowed the other ghost to pull him up.

Then there was silence. The ghost Danny shifted nervously in the air as he studied the other ghost. And the other ghost studied him, his expression curious yet vaguely sad.

Phantom finally coughed, pointing back the way he came. “I’ll just...I’ll leave now. Sorry again for barraging in. And uh…bye.” Slowly, he floated backward, keeping one eye on the other ghost.

“Wait.” The nerd reached forward. “You’re new, aren’t ya?” The ghost boy stopped, turning more fully towards the other ghost as he continued. “You haven’t been a ghost for a long time.”

Phantom’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing. “Um..uhh...yeah… I haven’t been...like this very long.” He swallowed. “How did you...how did you know?”

The other ghost’s expression softened. “You’re still trying to breath.” At the words, Phantom reflectively stopped, holding his breath with wide eyes. “It’s alright. That’s a tough habit to break.” The other ghost held out of hand, as if to shake. “I’m Sidney Pointdexter, by the way.”

The other ghost blinked at the hand. After a long pause, he grasped it. “I’m Danny….Danny Phantom.”

“Phantom.” The nerd nodded. “So you already picked a name.”

“Yeah?” So apparently, that was a thing? Phantom rubbed the back of his neck. “You can call me Danny though.”

“Danny.” The other ghost half-smile. “You can call me Sidney then.” Sidney’s expression then turned more serious. “Obviously you didn’t know but... if you want to go inside someone’s lair, you need to announce yourself and ask permission to enter.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry” Phantom blushed. “I’ll...I’ll do that next time.”

“Good.” Sidney crossed his arms. “You’re lucky you barged in on me, mister. If it’d been Skulker, he would have skinned you.”

The ghost boy swallowed, suddenly anxious. His eyes bulged. “Really?!”

The other ghost nodded. “That hunter can be very possessive and mean.” Sidney then scowled. “But I’d never do that. I’m not a bully.” The other ghost then shook his head. “Anyway...why did you come here?”

Phantom’s core pulsed awkwardly at the question. “I..uh…” It wasn’t said with any anger or accusation, but innocently curious. But still, the ghost boy struggled to explain why he’d come inside. The line connecting him to his other self had led here but...how could he explain that? He swallowed. “This looks like my school, Casper High.”

Sidney blinked, eyes widening. “You went to Casper?” The corner of his lip turned up.

“Yeah.” The ghost boy bit his lip, not knowing what to say. Instead, he turned towards the door and pointed. “Yeah...thanks for the advice but...I should go so…”

“You don’t have to yet.” The other ghost’s eyes were slightly pleading. “Why don’t you rest for a bit? And I get you something to eat and drink? You look like you need it.”

Phantom blinked. “Ghosts eat?”

Sidney frowned, slightly alarmed. “Yes? Come on.” He grabbed the other boy’s arm. “That’s it. I’m making you some tea and a sandwich. I think I still have some cookies too.”

The ghost boy didn’t resist, instead gawking as the other ghost pulled him down the hallway and towards the cafeteria. His mind sputtered, trying to overcome the emotional whiplash. Seconds later, the pair floated in the cafeteria’s kitchen. Sidney grabbed a tea kettle off the stove, filled it with what looked like water from the sink, and placed it on the burner. Then he opened the fridge and pulled out what looked like slices of cheese and luncheon meat.

Phantom just stared in disbelief. Sidney turned back towards him. “I have some tiger fruit too. I grow it in the courtyard. Do you want to try some?” He held up a round, stripped fruit, the orange and black standing out in bright contrast to the monochrome environment.

The ghost boy wrinkled his nose. “What is it?”

Sidney looked down at the fruit. “It kind of tastes like an apple. It’s native to the Infinite Realms though. I don’t think it has a Material World counterpart.” He smiled. “It’s really delicious.”

“Alright?” Phantom shook his head. There was a lot of information there. Then he shrugged. “Sure.”

The other ghost nodded, quickly preparing a plate and two cups of tea. He turned back to ghost Danny. “Let’s sit in the cafeteria.”

Without question, Phantom followed. Nervously tapping his hand on his leg, he sat down and took the steaming cup offered to him. The ghost blinked, studying the liquid. It actually felt warm in his hands. He moved the cup, closing watching the liquid sloshing in the cup like water. It did actually look like tea. Tentatively, Phantom looked up, glancing at the other ghost who was sitting across from him. Sidney was blowing his own cup before taking a small sip.

It was only then that where he was and what he was doing actually hit the boy. He was sitting in a ghostly version of his school cafeteria, with the ghost of a teenage boy who died in the fifties, based on his appearance. Phantom looked down at his plate again. And there was weird, slightly glowing ghost-food in front of him.

Sidney’s words drew his attention. “Go ahead. Try the tea. It’s not poison” The nerd half smiled at Danny with a nod.

Phantom looked down at his cup again, doubtfully. His stomach flopped as he considered. He was wary of trying the beverage. What actually was it? It couldn’t be actually tea, like his sister liked to drink. Could it hurt him? Weren’t there myths or something about how if you eat something in the land of the dead you can’t leave? Or was that fairies? Or...wait...did that only apply to humans? He wasn’t exactly human right now; he was a ghost. And this was food meant for ghosts. And….

“It won’t hurt you. And it’s good. I promise you’ll love it.” The other ghost encouraged patiently.

Phantom picked up the cup, again noticing the comforting warmth. It was still softly billowing steam. And it smelled so good, sweet and citrusy. Tentatively, he blew on the cup to cool it. He really did want to try it. Ignoring his doubts, ghost Danny finally took a small sip.

Phantom blinked rapidly, taking another sip. “I can taste this.” He muttered numbly before taking another sip of the fresh, lemony liquid.

Excitement grew at the realization. He then looked down at his sandwich. Putting the cup down, he took a small bit. The savory taste of bread, cheese, ham. He took a larger bit. “I can taste this!”

“Of course you can.” Across from him, Sidney said in disbelief.

Phantom looked up, talking through his full mouth. “No I...I haven’t eaten in weeks.” He swallowed. “I mean...I tried but I couldn’t taste anything so I gave up.”

“Gave… up?” The other ghost blinked.

“Yeah. But-” Phantom stuffed a cookie in his mouth, groaning in pleasure at the taste. “But how?”

“How?” Sidney held out his hands. “It’s just lair made food.”

“Lair made?”

“Yeah, as in the lair made it?” The other ghost’s mouth fell open at the lack of recognition. “The lair basically took free ectoplasm and shaped it into food that we can eat.”

Phantom dropped the sandwich. “Ectoplasm?”

“Yes. Everything here is made of ectoplasm, even us.” Sidney answered like it was obvious. “Why wouldn’t the food be?”

At that, the ghost boy looked down at the meal with new realization. “That makes sense.”

The ghostly nerd nodded. “Yes. How don’t you know that? And why couldn’t you taste anything earlier?” His brow furrowed in deep confusion. “You said you tried food. But….you didn’t know that ghosts can eat….or need to eat?”

Phantom picked up the sandwich again, taking a few more bits to finish it. His mind whirled. “We need to eat? But we’re dead so….” He took another cookie, smiling at the taste.

Sidney gapped. “Of course we need to eat! Haven’t you been hungry?”

“Hungry?” Phantom put a hand over his stomach. No, he hadn’t been hungry in that way but...he moved his hand over his core. He’d gotten tired from overusing his powers and...he’d felt the Zone calling to him, like...like he needed to go to it for nourishment. “I have been.” He whispered.

“But you hadn’t realized?” The nerd face palmed. “No wonder you look so sickly.”

The other ghost looked up, mouth falling open. “What?”

“You’re barely glowing. And you’re so pale. They’re no color in your skin.”

Phantom pointed. “You’re likely in black and white?!”

Sidney raised a brow, motioning down his body. “This is an intentional aesthetic.” His image wavered briefly, before the other ghost was in full color. His skin was a pale green and his eyes a glowing silver.

“Oh.” The ghost boy muttered.

“Yes.” The other boy nodded, motioning to the plate. “Go ahead and finish. You’re lookin’ better already.”

Phantom didn’t need to be told twice. He finished the sandwich and the cookies.

Sidney crossed his arms. “I don’t understand how you didn’t realize. You should have at least been passively absorbing ectoplasm through your skin.” So apparently, that was something else ghosts could do.

The ghost boy shrugged, taking a bite of the fruit. He paused, staring down at it. “This is really good.”

The other ghost smiled. “Isn’t it? I can give you some seeds. The bushes grow very well in lairs, if you want to plant some.” He tapped his chin. “Is your lair near here? You were trying to get back there, right? You did say that you were lost earlier.”

“I did say I was lost.” Phantom said, swallowing a bit of his tiger fruit. He then bit his lip nervously. “But...I’m not trying to get back to my….lair? I don’t have one of those, I don’t think…..Not that I’m that clear on what exactly a lair is.”

Sidney again furrowed his brow, looking bewildered. “This is a lair.” He motioned around them.

“No, I get that.” Phantom sighed. “But...what is this? Why does it look like a high school? Where did that food come from? And those people...you called them, shadows? What are those?” The other ghost was still looking at him in confusion as an idea suddenly hit the ghost Danny. “Wait...is this like your house? Like you live here. Or...err...I guess that’s not the right word. Afterlive?” His speech quickened. “If it is, I’m so sorry for barging into your house. I get why you’d be mad about that but I swear I didn’t mean-”

“Danny.” The other ghost said pointedly, making Phantom’s mouth snap shut. “It’s fine. I understand. Just…” Sidney pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me explain?”

Phantom nodded, blushing in embarrassment.

“A lair is like a ghost’s house but...It’s more personalized. It might reflect somewhere from your life or a place you’ve always wanted to see. It’s different for every ghost but based on your subconscious desires and your obsession.”

“Alright.” The ghost boy glanced around. “So this is your school from when you were alive. But still...who were those people that...attacked me?”

“Those weren’t people. They were shadows. They’re part of the lair.”

“So you do control them.”

“Somewhat?” Sidney waved his hand in a so-so motion. “As I said, your subconscious is what molds the lair.” He balled his fists. “So those shadows are reflections of people, bullies, I knew when I was alive.”

Phantom bit his lip, nervous at the anger in the statement. And he wondered. Obviously the shadows were something of a security system. But there must be more as well. There was the anger that the other ghost had shown twice now when talking about bullies. And what was that he said about obsessions having a role?

“Alright, okay.” Ghost Danny bit his lip. “But...what about your obsession? How does that-”

“Don’t.” Sidney suddenly snapped, his eyes flashing. “Never, ever ask another ghost about their obsession.”

Phantom shrunk in on himself, his shoulders falling. “Sorry.”

The other ghost’s expression softened. “You didn’t know. It’s okay. But...that’s personal to me. I don’t like to think about it, much less talk about it to someone I just met. So...don’t ask unless someone brings it up first, okay? Other ghosts aren’t as nice as me. If you asked Ember, she would fry you.”

“Okay.” The ghost boy paled, nodding furiously.

Sidney also nodded, taking a sip of his tea. Phantom finished his fruit, while his mind struggled to process all he’d learned. About how ghosts had to eat and about ghostly food. About lairs and shadows and not asking about obsessions. It was a lot, and there were so many more questions he could ask. But he had no idea what to ask now.

And again, the reality hit Phantom. He was sitting in a ghost’s lair, having a genial conversation like he was just a new neighbor. Not one half of a human-ghost hybrid who was trying to get back to his other half in the real world. With that, there was a small push in the back of Phantom’s mind. Yes, right. He needed to get back to following his tether to Fenton. But again...why had the line led him here?

The ghost boy put down the core of his tiger fruit once he’d finished. That got Sidney’s attention. “You’re done. Do you want anything else to eat?”

“No, thank you.” Phantom shook his head. “Actually...I need to go home.”

“Back to your lair?” Sidney questioned.

“No, I don’t have one of those.”

“Oh that’s right.” The other ghost said, frowning. “So where are you going?”

Ghost Danny bit his lip, considering. “The...the human world or...err...I think you called it the Material Realm?”

Sidney blinked, a strange mixture of shock, confusion, and worry on his face. “What? Why?”

Phantom sighed, rubbing his head. How to explain this. Guess he’d have to start at the beginning...and keep it simple. “That’s where I’ve been ever since I…..you know…” He motioned up and down his body. “About a month and a half.”

The other ghost’s mouth fell open, his eyes bulging. “You’ve been...In the living realm?”

“Yep.” Ghost Danny nodded.

“In the living realm?” Sidney put his hands on his head. “The material realm? Really, the living realm? And….” His voice pitched up in disbelief. “For a month and a half? Since you died? Wait...you’ve only been dead for a month and a half? And...that’s where you were...the whole time...but...how? And…” He waved his arms. “No wonder you look so starved!”

“Starved?” Phantom muttered, even as the other ghost continued.

“And how did you even form in the material realm?” Sidney exclaimed. “That just doesn’t happen, ever! And then how did you get here? Portals are so rare!”

“Sidney!” Ghost Danny interrupted, causing the other ghost’s mouth to snap shut. Knowing he’d gotten his host's attention, he continued. “So...long story short. My parents are ghosts hunters and researchers. They’re scientists who made a portal to...this place. They call it the Ghost Zone. And well...I went inside their portal, turned it on, and...umm...it..well...it killed me.” Phantom looked down, his core clenching at the words and the pitying look on the other ghost’s face.

“But...I walked out of the portal. I’m still here...even if I’m different now.” He paused for a moment, considering the words. He’d said as much to Mom earlier. And he believed them. But…

“I did...I did try to act like nothing was different for a month after that accident, like I hadn’t changed. But….it’s really obvious now. Mom and Dad know what happened and…” He shivered, recent memories hitting him. “Mom and I had a fight. I wanted to talk to her about...some very hurtful stuff she’d said but….”

Phantom bit his lip. “It went bad. We were both yelling and Mom got really upset and said...she said…” The words sputtered to a stop as what Mom had said repeated in his head. He was supposed to be normal, human, alive. He wasn’t supposed to be a ghost. He swallowed. “I started crying….and…” Mom’s shocked and distressed face flashed in his mind, her desperate expression as she reached towards him. “I ran away. I didn’t even think. I just flew through the portal ‘cause I just couldn’t be in the same room as her. I just had to get away but…” He put his head in his hands.

“Now I’m lost somewhere in the Ghost Zone and Mom is probably freaking out. Dad and Jazz too if she told them.” Phantom then shivered, looking up. “I need to get back to them.” He balled his fists in determination. “I need to get back to my parents, my sister, my friends, and my hum-”

Phantom snapped his mouth shut on the last word as doubt suddenly flickered through him. Human half, he was going to say. But...he hadn’t mentioned that little fact at all. And the idea of explaining was daunting. His insides squirmed. What would a real, actual proper ghost think of that, of him? Both human and a ghost, living and dead, at the same time. Or...half of each, somewhere in the middle. Or maybe even neither, something else entirely. He didn’t know and he was suddenly terrified to find out.

So instead, ghost Danny kept his mouth shut as he slowly looked up. He blushed. “I can’t believe I told you all that.” His shoulders fell. “I must sound so pathetic.”

“No, of course not.” Sidney said kindly. He was studying Phantom curiously, yet also oddly sad. He raised a brow, looking like he still wanted to ask about the other’s near slip up. But he didn’t. Maybe he sensed it was personal, maybe he thought Phantom would refuse to answer if asked. Either way, Sidney didn’t press. Instead, after a long pause he finally said. “But I know why you came here now.”

Phantom blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You’re looking for a portal to the living world.” The other ghost stood. “I might have something to help you. Follow me.”

Ghost Danny’s eyes widened at the statement but he obeyed without question. He floated out of his seat and took his place behind Sidney as he flew out of the cafeteria. The pair hovered down a familiar hallway. Soon enough, they stopped in front of a rusty looking locker numbered 724. Phantom looked at the door curiously.

Across from him, Sidney asked. “Did another ghost tell you about my portal?”

Ghost Danny turned to face the other ghost, brow furrowing. “Your portal?” He shook his head. “No one told me.” He blushed. “You’re actually the first ghost I’ve ever talked to.”

The other ghost frowned. “Then how did you know this was here?”

“I didn’t.” Phantom glanced at the door again, reaching out with his mind. He tugged on the tether connecting him to Fenton and the line grew taunt. His eyes widened. There, behind the door, he sensed...something. “But...I sensed something. It...the line...it was leading me here.”

“Line?” Sidney asked.

The ghost boy glanced back at his host, eyes widening. “Yeah..I’m...uh..I’m” He bit his lip nervously. “I’m….connected to someone in the material world...like mentally.”

The other ghost raised a brow, clearly wanting to know more.

Phantom coughed, changing the subject. “So...uh...how does this work? How do I get through?”

Sidney frowned but answered the question anyway as he opened the locker door. “The mirror is the portal. It leads to the real Casper High.”

Ghost Danny blinked, studying the mirror. “That? But it’s so small and… where’s the swirling green light?” His brow furrowed as he remembered his parents’ portal.

The ghostly nerd shook his head. “It’s not always active. It’s only open for a few minutes during the witching hour of the full moon...and on the equinoxes and solstices. But” He raised a finger seriously. “There is a full moon tonight.”

Phantom raised a brow, wondering how exactly the other ghost knew that. But he didn’t ask. Instead, he looked at the mirror again. Was it really through there, his way home? Closing his eyes, the ghost boy reached out with his mind once again. Yep, yes. He was sensing something. Fenton...Fenton was through there but…. He glanced back down the hallway, towards the way he’d come. Theoretically, he could try to find his parents’ portal or he could stay here and go through when the portal opened in a little over 12 hours….and leave his loved ones worrying for longer.

Then there was a gentle tug on the line. Something tickled in the back of his mind. The corner of Phantom’s lip turned up. He could feel Fenton’s keen interest on him. Oh yeah, he could tell or show Fenton what was happening and ask him to tell their family and friends that he was okay.

Finally, Phantom sighed. “I guess I’m waiting then.”

Sidney nodded. Then his expression turned more serious. “Make sure you’re sure you want to do this, though.”

The other ghost blinked. “Of course, I want to do this. Why wouldn’t I?”

The nerd bit his lip. “Well...I should tell you not to go through the portal. You could get trapped on the other side and ghosts that get trapped in the material realm...they starve. They get weak and desperate and angry.” He shivered. “It’s a horrible way to exist but…” He looked up. “If you think you need to do this, I’ll help you.” His eyes flickered to the floor. “If I had another chance to talk to my parents, I’d take it.”

“Your...parents?” Phantom asked quietly.

Sidney wrapped his arms around himself. “They moved away from Amity Park after I….you know.” His voice quieted. “By the time I found this portal, it was too late. They’d already moved.” He shivered. “I know it would have hurt them to see me like this but...I still wish I could have. I should have told them how much I loved them, how sorry I was that all this happened.”

That sobered Phantom. For a long moment, he stared at the other ghost and it really hit him. This was a dead teenager, a dead kid who’d had family and friends. Hopes, dreams, memories. A life...just like him. “We’re not...we’re not that different.” Ghost Danny muttered.

Sidney finally looked up. “No, I don’t think that we are. So…” The other ghost shifted nervously in the air. “I don’t know what all happened with your mom but….talk to her.” His voice pitched up, hopeful yet sad. Not demanding but a kind suggestion from someone with experience...and regrets. “Try to make things right with her if you can. Don’t give up yet.”

Phantom swallowed, considering. He didn’t really know what to think of the other ghost’s advice. Earlier, right after the fight, he might have been angry at the suggestion. He’d tried to make things right and had failed; it wasn’t his responsibility to try again if there was no fixing things but...Mom’s face flashed in his mind again. Her guilt, her desperation as he darted through the portal. And it was simple. She was his mom and he loved her, damnit. He couldn’t just turn that off, couldn’t stop wanting her to love and accept him. He couldn’t stop hoping that she would.

“Alright.” Ghost Danny wrung his hands. “I’ll...keep that in mind.” The way he saw it, another conversation was inevitable. Knowing his sister and dad, they would insist on talking about everything as a family. But he had a choice about how he would approach that conversation. Maybe he could approach it with the hope that things would get better, even if he’d be wary to trust again.

With that, Phantom pushed the thought away, focusing on the ghost in front of him, “Thank you for the advice. And for telling me stuff. I’ve learned a lot.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Man, I knew I didn’t know much but...I don’t seem actually to know anything at all.”

Sidney nodded. “No sweat, pal.” He half-smiled. “This is the most exciting day I’ve had in years. We can hang out ‘til the portal opens and I can answer more questions.”

“That would be awesome.” Phantom finally smiled. “You’re actually a really cool dude, Sidney.”

The other ghost beamed and ghost Danny was happy he’d managed to wander into this ghost’s lair. He’d be in big...err...bigger trouble if he hadn’t. He’d learned a ton about ghosts, gotten a much needed meal, and would be home in a few...hours. His thoughts trailed off at the end as he felt an excited mental nudge.

In the lair, Sidney physically nudged him. “Danny?” He questioned, pointing towards the mirror. His voice turned sad. “Is that what you looked like when you were alive?”

“When I was….alive?” Phantom turned and his eyes widened, taking in his reflection. In the mirror, he had black hair, blue eyes, and was wearing a white and red t-shirt.

Phantom! There was an excited exclamation in his head. At the same time, his reflection’s eyes widened.

“That’s not my reflection.” The ghost’s mouth stretched into a grin. He placed both hands on the mirror. “I’m here! I’m right here! I can see you.”

Across the mirror, Fenton smiled. You’re okay. The words were mouthed through the mirror and communicated in the ghost’s head.

“Yeah! I’m fine. I’m-” Phantom cut himself off as Fenton placed his own hands on the mirror, directly opposite his other half’s. Instantly, a warmth coursed into the ghost boy. His eyes widened as a wave of green passed over the mirror. “It’s open.” He muttered, sounding awed.

Phantom didn’t quite understand how but the portal was opened. And he needed to be on the other side of it, now. With little effort, he pressed his fingers out of the mirror. He curled them around the back of Fenton’s hand as if he and his other self were holding hands.

Fenton grinned and he pulled.

Behind Phantom, Sidney called. “What are you-”

Without resistance, Phantom slipped through the mirror and right into his other self’s arms.

#Danny Phantom #My fic #Face To Face #split danny #sidney poindexter #Ghost Catcher #double danny

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ruzek-halstead · 4 years

Text

midnight troubles

part one

pairing: luke patterson x julie molina

a fic all about luke and julie taking on their biggest challenge yet: parenting a baby simulator.

high school au

"we are not naming our daughter after those two doofuses."

part two || masterlist || ao3

"Time to hand out your new babies!"

Luke's face paled.

How did he manage to get himself into this situation? He deliberately missed a health credit, hoping his extracurricular activities such as sports (and singlehandedly putting together a legendary band at seventeen) would be enough. But clearly, he wasn't that lucky after being pulled into his guidance counsellor's office and being told his only other option was to take a health class specifically focused on parenting. At such late notice, it was the only class with an open spot that could count towards his requirements.

It was mostly fine.

Julie happened to be in that class and he was able to half-ass through it because his best friend (and incredible lead singer of his band) is ridiculously smart. She'd only huff when he inched over to peek at her notes but even she couldn't resist his cheeky grin.

However, this was an assignment where he couldn't use his excellent level of bullshit. It was the final project of the semester and worth 30% of their final grade. In pairs of two, they were to care for a fake baby, who in reality, acted just like a real baby. It recorded everything and if you took too long to respond to its crying, or held its neck the wrong way, it docked marks.

Luckily for Luke, Julie agreed to be his partner, because he genuinely believed he would fail without her. Unfortunately, her genius brain alone was not enough to help them excel in this project.

"Patterson, girl or boy?"

Oh, and the best part about this course? They had been short on teachers at the beginning of the school year, so somehow, Luke's lacrosse coach (who hates everything and everyone) was convinced to teach the course.��

Luke looked over at Julie in a panic, unsure of his answer. "Uh — I don't know?"

"That's not an answer, Patterson!" Coach Jacobs yelled before throwing a baby simulator, dressed in a light pink onesie, in Luke's direction. Luke fumbled a little but managed to catch it. Julie cringed when she saw his hands wrap around the baby's neck. The whole classes' eyes flickered back to Coach Jacobs. "That doesn't count," he muttered before continuing to hand out the babies in a more civilized manner.

Assuming that the simulators hadn't been turned on yet due to the way it made no noise whatsoever after being chucked halfway across the room, Luke gently placed it back on his desk. "It's a girl," Julie said softly, staring at her in admiration from her desk beside Luke.

Luke found himself staring at Julie, his heart fluttering. The way Julie was smiling at the baby, as if it was—and god forbid where his mind was dragging him, but as if it was theirs—was making his heart do all sort of weird things in his chest. Luke and Julie had always been friends, but ever since they started the band together and started senior year, he'd started to feel things.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, shooting her a nervous grin when her brown eyes moved up to his face. "What are we naming her?" Before Julie could chime in, he continued, "I promised the boys I'd consider their names as options."

"We are not naming our daughter after those two doofuses," she deadpanned with the utmost seriousness, but Luke was too busy avoiding an aneurysm at hearing 'our daughter' to focus on anything else.

"Regex?" He choked out, because when in doubt, always make a joke.

Julie shook her head. "Over my dead body."

"I've always liked the name Sophia," Luke shrugged, catching her eye to gauge her reaction.

She sent him a soft smile. "I really like that. Let's do it."

The sweet moment was cut short when Coach Jacobs clicked a few buttons on his computer with a smirk. "Alright suckers, get ready for the worst weekend of your lives!"

His statement was proven when half the babies in the room started screaming.

"Let me see it!"

"Reggie, it's a her! And I'm the godfather, I get first look."

Julie flinched as the two boys crowded around her. She had just arrived in the cafeteria where she was meeting the boys for lunch, like she always did. Today, she had a new addition and the boys were beyond ecstatic.

"Oh my god, she's adorable," Alex cooed, his eyes sparkling. "I know she's fake but wow, my heart is bursting right now."

Julie laughed. "Her name is Sophia."

Reggie instantly smirked, elbowing Alex whose face was etched in a frown. "I have literally the most common unisex name ever and you didn't name her after me?"

"Trust me," Luke chimed in, appearing out of nowhere and wrapping his arm around Julie's shoulders. "We don't need two Alex's."

"I second that!" Reggie added excitedly.

Alex rolled his eyes, angrily taking a bite from his apple. "Don't worry. I'll remember this; karma is a bitch."

"Dramatic," Reggie sang under his breath. He narrowly missed getting hit with Alex's apple.

"How was she?" Luke asked with a smile, avoiding his friend's antics. Luke and Julie had opposite classes for the rest of the day and decided they would meet in between and alternate.

Julie smiled proudly. "Not a peep. My girl knows Mr. Sanders is terrifyingly scary."

"Great," Luke groaned, "that just means I'm going to get all the action."

Julie patted his shoulder with a smirk. "I really hope so."

"Jules!" Luke whined. "You're not be a very supportive partner, you know."

The brunette rolled her eyes at his guilt tripping antics. "I'm too smart for your games, Patterson. Plus, I'm getting her for all of tonight, so this is the least you can do."

"I know," he grumbled in response, "it's just scary. She's like a tiny human. What if I break her?"

Before Julie could reply, Alex jumped back into the conversation (he had a sort of sixth sense for opportunities to tease and or make fun of Luke). "Well, in the real world, you'd probably get arrested for murder. But she's a tiny robot; I think you'll be just fine."

"Hey, why don't we leave the baby with Alex and go bowling or something?" Luke teased.

Alex frowned. "What — no —"

"Great idea, Luke!" Julie cut Alex off with a smirk. "You want to come, Reg? Alex is on baby duty!"

"I don't like this!" Alex whined.

Reggie smiled excitedly. "We're going bowling? That's when you throw the ball down the side thingies, right?"

Alex paused, patting Reggie's back with a bright smile on his lips. "Never mind. All of that was worth it for this very moment."

It was somehow decided that Julie would take baby Sophia for the first night (because she's more likely to not completely destroy the simulator than Luke), then she would make her way over to Luke's house on Saturday.

That was the plan. However, plans always change.

The first few hours went great. The baby cried but was easily soothed with a diaper change or a quick bottle. Julie was able to get the baby to sleep around 9:30 and ended up falling asleep herself after watching a movie on Netflix.

She was woken up at two in the morning with soft cries, so she blearily picked up baby Sophia and chimed her with her bracelet. She tried giving her a bottle which didn't quiet her down and neither did a diaper change. She tried cuddling her and rocking her but to no avail; Julie pulled on her curls, wondering if the cries she was hearing were hers or the baby's.

"Baby, please go back to sleep," Julie begged.

After another fifteen minutes of incessant crying, Julie decided to call in reinforcements. She shouldn't be the only one losing sleep and suffering.

She quickly dialled Luke's number and prayed he wasn't in a deep sleep where he wouldn't hear his phone. If that was the case, she had half a mind to drive over and stick him with baby Sophia so she could finally sleep for a bit. Luckily, he picked up after a few rings.

"Hello?" He mumbled sleepily.

"Lucas Patterson!" Julie hissed over the phone, so sharply that he scrambled to sit upright in his bed and hold the phone tight to his ear. "You better get your ass over here before I murder you! I am dying here!"

Luke rubbed the sleep out of his eyes; he could hear the faint crying of Sophia and sighed. "My name isn't Lucas," he muttered, "and come on Jules, it can't be that bad."

He could picture the absolutely furious and incredulous expression on her face.

"Are you kidding me, Luke? How about I abandon you with this child, and then we'll see what isn't that bad?"

"Sorry," he mumbled, nearly dozing off again.

Julie knew him too well.

"Luke!" She snapped and he flinched awake again. "I better see your face in ten minutes or you're taking care of Sophia the rest of the weekend by yourself!"

"Shit, okay," he grumbled, grabbing a random sweatshirt and joggers. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"It's been over half an hour of this, you have ten!"

Luke groaned as he hung up the phone and rand a hair through his brown hair. By the tone of Julie's voice, he knew better than to make her wait any longer. Luke arrived at Julie's house with one minute to spare and grabbed the key lodged under a rock in the garden. As soon as he walked in the door, he could hear faint cries.

At this point, he wasn't sure if the cries were baby Sophia's or Julie's.

He had barely gotten through the threshold of her bedroom before his baby was shoved into his arms. "Oh okay," he mumbled, stumbling on his feet. Julie's brown curls were tied back into a messy bun and her eyes were rimmed red.

"Thank god you're here," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. She was undoubtedly making them even more irritated. "She hasn't stopped crying, I've honestly done everything. I don't know what she—" Julie's words abruptly stopped because for the first time in over an hour, all she heard was silence. "What the hell?"

Luke looked just as confused as she did because it literally only took a few seconds before the baby quieted down once settled in his arms. Julie looked exasperated.

"You're never leaving," she replied quickly, staring at him in awe. "You can't leave me alone with her again. I think she hates me."

Luke leaned against her desk, shooting her a disgruntled look. "Relax, I'm sure that's not true. Plus, she's basically a robot. Do they even feel?"

"She definitely makes me feel," Julie huffed, sitting down on her bed. "You can probably put her back now. I think she's cried enough for the night." Luke slowly placed her back in her car seat. "Can you imagine having a baby at this age? God, I couldn't do it."

She could barely make it through an entire night with a fake baby, much less a real one.

Luke took a seat beside her, a generous amount of space between them. "I can't imagine having a baby, no. I think it's physically impossible, but I could be wrong."

Julie laughed, hitting his shoulder in response. Her action brought her a little closer to him. "Shut up. I'm still mad at you for abandoning me."

"Sorry," he smirked in response, even though this was technically the agreed upon deal. "I promise I'll spend the rest of this weekend attached at your hip. I think that's only fair after the night you've already had.

Julie sighed happily. "You always know what to say, don't you, Patterson?"

Luke shrugged his shoulders and felt his cheeks heat up slightly. "I wouldn't say that."

Julie wasn't sure what was bringing it on, but she felt the sudden need to let him know just how much she appreciated him. He was always ready to help out, regardless of the obstacles. He always seemed to know just what to say to make her feel better, and even if it didn't, he would always be the one to tell her exactly what she needed to hear. He was her biggest fan when it came to her music, and she couldn't picture anyone else by her side on the piano bench.

Luke had the biggest heart of anyone she'd ever known (except Reggie, maybe) and he needed to know that.

"Hey, I'm serious," she said softly, ducking her head down to catch his hazel eyes. "I appreciate you."

Luke chuckled nervously and before he knew it, his fingers were ringing together because he didn't know what to do with his hands. His nervousness only got worse when Julie tangled her hand into his on his lap.

"I think you're more tired than you thought," Luke responses softly. His gaze focused on their hands. There had always been a connection between them; everyone else could see it, even Luke could see it, especially when they wrote music together.

Julie smiled. "Yeah, I think I am," she leaned over and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. "We should probably get some sleep bef—"

Sophia's loud cries cut her off before she could finish and Julie groaned, burying her head into his shoulder.

"Don't worry Jules, I've got you."

this is a little something i had saved from another fandom & decided to give it a shot for jatp!!

originally written for teen wolf’s stiles and lydia. and the coach was based off coach finstock from teen wolf as well, quite arguably the best character of the show lmao (can yall tell i love teen wolf and am very salty it ended and stiles wasn't even in the last two seasons)

shameless promotion - anyway go watch teen wolf & thanks for reading!!

stay safe everyone! x

57 notes · View notes

whycraft · 2 years

Text

I posted 4,153 times in 2021

740 posts created (18%)

3413 posts reblogged (82%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 4.6 posts.

I added 4,164 tags in 2021

#my post - 639 posts

#techno - 503 posts

#video - 459 posts

#fanart - 454 posts

#q - 428 posts

#tommy - 421 posts

#ranboo - 403 posts

#uncaptioned - 368 posts

#tubbo - 284 posts

#philza - 205 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#i joked about this before but it is genuinely just like that time in the tma fandom where someone thought there was a giant crab living unde

My Top Posts in 2021

Endermen headcanons

Enderman language is called Ender or Endspeak

It’s a lot more poetic and flowery than English

Pronouns in Ender don’t refer to gender, they refer to age! Endermen put a lot of stock in age, so older Endermen are held in high esteem and treated with lots of respect

Endermen don’t really have a concept of gender the way we do, if at all

It’s really only Overworld endermen who use written Ender—written language is something they created because of influence from players, and they’re the only ones who have easy access to paper. Nether endermen sometimes make a paper-esque material out of warped wood, but it’s not especially easy to make ink

Also, enderman fingers are pretty long and not really designed for holding writing utensils

Enderman love language is gift giving <3

Hauntings are pretty much ride or die, you’ve got to seriously decide if you want to be with these people forever before joining one

End enderman have much better control over their teleporting than Nether or Overworld endermen because they eat chrorus fruit

End and Nether endermen think the Overworld is insufferably humid

They don’t need much oxygen to survive

753 notes • Posted 2021-02-07 04:28:51 GMT

DSMP citizen ask meme

name/age/pronouns?

appearance?

where do they live?

friends with any canon characters?

friends with any non-canon characters?

do they have a job?

how long have they lived in the area?

any pets?

any parents/siblings?

backstory?

hobbies?

is there a playlist for them?

a meme about them?

can they fight?

how many languages can they speak?

fight, flight, flirt, or freeze?

dnd alignment?

do they have any secrets?

most prized possession?

do they know what the end is?

1184 notes • Posted 2021-05-28 02:22:22 GMT

My cat watches minecraft videos but ONLY Skeppy's videos. He will not watch anyone else's.

[ID: A photo of a greyish brownish cat watching a video on someone's phone on the floor. The video is "Minecraft, But Lava Rises Every 10 Seconds VS Technoblade" by Skeppy. End ID.]

1238 notes • Posted 2021-01-03 19:28:07 GMT

Michael

AO3

[Ranboo whispers to you: do you have any spare blankets]

[You whisper to Ranboo: yeah why]

[Ranboo whispers to you: michael’s cold]

“Michael?” Technoblade muttered to himself. Probably another cat or something.

[You whisper to Ranboo: you want to come get them or do you need me to go over there]

[Ranboo whispers to you: can you come over here if it’s not too much trouble]

[You whisper to Ranboo: omw]

Techno grabbed a few blankets from the linen closet, one thick woolen one and some thinner ones. It was snowing lightly, so he stuffed them under his cloak as best he could and went over to Ranboo’s house.

He only had to wait a few moments after knocking before Ranboo opened the door. “Techno! Come in.”

Techno crossed the threshold and held out the blankets. “Hey, Ranboo.”

Ranboo took them dusted off the bit of snow that had managed to get on them. “Thanks, these are perfect. Do you want to come meet Michael?”

“Sure.”

Techno followed Ranboo to a pile of blankets next to the fire. Then the pile of blankets shifted, and Techno realised there was something alive under the blankets.

“Is that a baby piglin?”

“Zombie piglin, yeah. This is Michael.” Ranboo sat on the floor next to the piglin and wrapped another blanket around him. It snuggled into his side.

Techno hesitantly lowered himself to the floor as well. “Where… why do you have a baby zombie piglin in your house?”

“I found him alone in the Nether the first day I joined,” Ranboo explained. “I’ve been trying to gain his trust ever since then, and a couple days ago me and T—me and… Enderchest convinced him to come through the portal with us.”

“He must really trust you,” Techno mused. He leaned to the side a bit to see Michael’s face. “Hi,” he grunted in piglin, but Michael just watched him suspiciously.

He turned back to Ranboo. “Was he already zombified when you brought him?”

Ranboo looked affronted. “Of course. He hasn’t been doing too well with the cold, though, which is why I asked for the blankets.”

Techno grunted. Zombified for a few months, then. “Are you going to try to cure him?”

“Wh—you can cure zombie piglins?”

Techno raised his eyebrows. “Well, I’m in the Overworld and I’m not zombified, now am I?”

“I thought you were just able to be here because you were a hybrid,” Ranboo admitted.

“No, I’m not human at all. It’s not common knowledge, to be fair. Most piglins don’t know it’s possible because potion brewing isn’t usually something they practice.”

“What potions does it need?”

“Just harming and healing. And a golden apple. It gets harder to cure the longer they stay zombified, though.” He eyed the side of Michael’s head that was completely rotted away, showing his skull underneath. “If you try to heal him now, he almost definitely won’t grow his other ear back, and he probably won’t get a lot of vision back in his other eye. And it would be a very painful process.”

Ranboo curled one hand against the side of Michael’s head. “What would happen if we didn’t try to cure him?”

Techno hesitated, trying to figure out a not incredibly blunt way to say it. “He probably won’t make it to adulthood.”

Ranboo’s hand twitched. “How—how soon—”

“A year? Maybe.”

“What are… what are the risks with curing him, besides the pain?”

“There’s a chance—a very small chance—that he might not survive. I’m talking, like, one in a thousand, given we do everything right. Aside from that, he would need to be kept very warm, so you might have to take him back to the Nether during the process.”

“How long would it take for him to heal?”

“With as far along as he is? At least a week, no more than two.”

“That’s it?”

Techno shrugged. “Part of the reason it’s so painful is because of how fast the regeneration process is.”

“I… I’ll have to think about it.”

“Don’t rush yourself. But it’s probably best to decide within the month.”

“Okay,” Ranboo said, and changed the subject. Techno let it slide. “Any tips for raising a piglin?”

“Phil probably knows better than I do,” he admitted. “Uh… don’t feed him a lot of meat or salt. If he tries to chew on gold, it’s bad for his teeth but he’ll actually bite your hand off if you try to take it away, so just distract him with something else or wait til he’s bored of it.”

“Noted.”

“Oh—get him something to carry around, if you can. A comfort object or something.”

“I was thinking about making a chicken plushie for him! He had this chicken he found in the Nether that he really liked.”

“You want a chicken?” Techno asked Michael in piglin.

Michael watched him suspiciously, but nodded.

Ranboo brightened. “Wait, can you talk to him?”

“He probably won’t talk back, but yeah.”

“Why won’t he talk back?”

“He doesn’t know me. Piglins tend to be pretty suspicious of outsiders, especially non-piglins. Also, his vocal cords are probably rotted to some extent.”

Ranboo looked down at Michael. “He trusts me that much?”

“He was entirely alone and you spent literal months gaining his trust. I can’t say I’m too surprised. Once he realises that me and you are friends, he’ll probably warm right up to me. Piglets are like that.”

“Like what? Friendly?”

Techno nodded. “Clingy.”

Ranboo rubbed behind Michael’s ear and he snorted happily, pressing into it.

Techno stood up. “If he’s still cold, let me know and we’ll get some of the dogs to sit with him.”

“Thanks again for the blankets.”

“Course.”

He went back to his cabin, hanging up his cape on the hook by the door. He stretched out on the couch and texted Philza.

[You whisper to Ph1lzA: Ranboo just found a baby piglin and he’s keeping it]

[Ph1lzA whispers to you: OMG]

[Ph1lzA whispers to you: pictures please]

[You whisper to Ph1lzA: I don’t have any yet]

[Ph1lzA whispers to you: booo. I guess I’ll just have to wait a few days]

[You whisper to Ph1lzA: is that when you’ll get back?]

[Ph1lzA whispers to you: yep]

[Ph1lzA whispers to you: I’ll get out your baby photos and we can compare]

[You whisper to Ph1lzA: do not]

[Ph1lzA whispers to you: omegalul]

1615 notes • Posted 2021-03-01 12:45:46 GMT

[ID: A stronghold 3x3 doorway that is covered by an amethyst geode. The top row is amethyst, the middle row is calcite, and the bottom row is smooth basalt. End ID.]

Naturally generated ace flag spotted in Grians episode

2923 notes • Posted 2021-06-19 17:55:56 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #long post #uncaptioned #my post

6 notes · View notes

big-dong-zhong · 3 years

Text

2 - A Gleam In Eye

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

Words: 2,831

Rated [PG] - Here is an explanation of my rating system.

Pairing: ChilLumi

Summary: Childe follows Lumine to Mondstat, unaware that he is about to stumble upon an object that will set everything into motion.

Read on Ao3, or continue to read here on Tumblr under the cut.

This chapter was originally going to be much, much longer, but I had to cut it into two chapters to get it out sooner. Now it's been cut into three chapters thanks to the addition of a new scene, so there's a lot to look forward to in this "Mondstat arc" it seems! We'll get to see some more characters next chapter, too!

Apologies for any formatting errors, it doesn’t copy/paste to tumblr very well.

Tartaglia knew he had it bad before, but since he’d had a taste of normalcy with that one-day respite he couldn’t stop thinking about Lumine, calm and sleeping wrapped around him. It had been the first peaceful sleep he’d experienced in years. Saying goodbye so soon after felt wrong, so he made excuses and lied to the Fatui in order to pursue his own interests. That’s why he found himself approaching the front gate of the City of Bards.

“Mondstat, uh…welcomes you?” the nervous guard muttered, knitting his brows and curling his lips downward. The man tensed his body, gripping the hilt of his sword tighter. Tartaglia smiled and lightly waved his hand, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. It seemed to have worked because the guard loosened up just a bit, enough to convince him that he wouldn’t be accosted by The Knights of Favonius as soon as he crossed the city’s threshold.

He had been to Mondstat before, but never for long enough to get to know the city. The smell of food wafting down the main corridor was the first thing to catch his attention. Tartaglia thought perhaps he could buy something to tide him over until-

“WHAT THE-?!” That voice echoed through the main street, bouncing off of the outside walls of the shops and drawing the attention of everyone around. Tartaglia looked up the stairs, immediately catching sight of exactly who he wanted to see. Lumine’s arm was outstretched and pointed directly at him. She quickly covered her mouth when she realized the attention she had drawn to the both of them. He watched as Paimon took advantage of the distraction to steal the food of the skewer in Lumine’s other hand. Another companion peered from behind her, red ribbon headband twitching with her motions.

Two patrolling knights walked toward him from either side, alerted by the commotion. He lifted his arm into the air and waved.

“Hello Lumine, Paimon!” He called out to them in order to diffuse the situation before it began. Lumine looked at the knights approaching him and then ran down the stairs, waving them away as she approached.

“Honorary Knight,” one of them addressed her, “is this man causing trouble for you?”

“No, no!” She shook her head and laughed awkwardly. “I can take care of him, don’t worry about it.” She then leaned in close and glared up at Tartaglia.

“What are you doing here?!” she whispered through gritted teeth.

“Would you believe me if I told you it was for work?”

“I hope not,” she groaned. “Jean has enough on her plate as it is, she really doesn’t need to deal with you too.” She brought the hand holding the skewer to her forehead, now realizing that her snack had been pillaged. She turned around to her floating companion who was now making her way toward them along with their other guest.

“Paimon!”

“I was hungry!” she tried to defend herself. He laughed as Paimon dodged Lumine’s strikes with the empty skewer, apologizing profusely.

“Well if you’re still hungry, let me buy you an early dinner. I was about to grab something to eat anyway. I’ll treat the three of you.” He smiled.

“Oh!” Lumine stopped her assault on Paimon and turned back around. “Sorry Amber, this is, uh-”

“I’m Tartaglia but please, call me Childe,” he introduced himself with a smile.

“I’m Amber, Outrider for the Knights of Favonius!” She put her hands on her hops and grinned. “I’m the best guide when it comes to exploring around Mondstat!”

“Hey!” Paimon whined. “Paimon is the best guide!” Her complaints went ignored as Amber continued.

“I’m gonna have to pass on that early dinner, though. Kaeya gave me a huge list of jobs to do today and I’m only halfway done.” She rested her face in her palm and sighed.

“He’s been really piling the work on you lately,” Lumine frowned.

“I know, right? I can’t stand it!”

“Might I suggest a solution?” Tartaglia interjected. Amber turned her head and looked at him quizzically, headband bouncing in the air. Lumine grinned with her eyes narrowed and arms crossed, ready for him to announce his grand plan.

“Fight him and win! Then he won’t be able to boss you around anymore.” Paimon palmed her face while Lumine chuckled and shook her head.

“Yeah, right. Like I could beat the Cavalry Captain in a fight,” Amber sighed.

“Then train and become stronger. I know!” he clapped his hands together and smiled. “Start by sparring with me!”

“Are you crazy?!” Paimon yelled and glared at him.

“Actually that doesn’t sound like such a bad idea,” Lumine said. Paimon tried to argue, but the arrival of a man in blue grabbed everyone’s attention.

“Oh, it’s Captain Kaeya! Hi Kaeya!” Paimon stated aloud and waved to greet him.

“Picking a fight with our outrider? You Fatui do love your political scandals, don’t you?”

“I only offered to spar with her. What are you gonna do, arrest me?” Tartaglia held his hands in front of himself in surrender, giving the captain a sly wink. “Handcuffs will hurt my delicate wrists, you know. Or maybe you would prefer if I picked a fight with you instead.”

Kaeya let out a hearty chuckle in response.

“Oh you’re funny! No wonder Lumine likes you, Childe.” So this man already knew who he was. It made sense, him being a high ranking officer for the Knights of Favonius. Kaeya looked him up and down, and he could tell he was being sized up. The captain didn’t seem to have so much of a possessive aura, though. It felt more as though he had a more simple motive to protect his fellow knights. The Fatui had a tendency to cause a lot of trouble in Mondstat, so of course they would want to keep a closer watch on any Harbingers. They may have been keeping even closer tabs on their Honorary Knight as well. Either Lumine wasn’t keeping their friendship as much of a secret as he thought, or they didn’t trust her to the extent that they let on. Despite how he felt about it, it was in their rights to be suspicious of her, and especially of him.

“You’re in my city now, so step lightly,” Kaeya continued and narrowed his eyes. “We don’t want any more incidents with the Fatui. Anyway,” he turned to Lumine, “an emergency commission just came in. A ruin guard was spotted near Starsnatch Cliff. There’s something strange about this one, so Amber,” he nodded toward the other girl, “you should go with her.”

“I’m on the case!” Amber brought her fist to her chest.

“I’d be grateful if you would help them out as well, Childe,” Kaeya suggested. “It would comfort me to know that Lumine and Amber are keeping eyes on you. As for compensation though-” Tartaglia cut him off.

“Don’t worry about it. Of course I’d be happy to help Lumine out with her commission. Not that she really needs it, but it gives me an excuse to spend time with her.” He winked at Lumine, which was met by her slapping his arm in frustration. She looked cute flustered like that. Tartaglia felt his face relax into a soft smile, and in that moment he didn’t care that the others could see how he looked at her.

“You should come too, Kaeya! That ruin guard will be toast in a snap if you all go at it!” Paimon said.

“Unfortunately I have other matters to attend to, so I won’t be able to go with you this time. I’ll catch you later, then.” With that Kaeya turned and walked away waving goodbye to the four of them.

“Well let’s get going,” Lumine said. “Kaeya did say it was an emergency, so we should take care of it immediately.” She looked at the empty skewer in her hand and sighed before tossing it into a bin nearby as they all walked through the city’s front gate. Tartaglia knew she would want to take care of her commission before eating, so he didn’t push the subject of food. It was only one ruin guard anyway. If anything he figured Amber, as a Knight of Favonius, could take care of it herself. Well, with three of them fighting it should be easy to dispose of quickly, and then he could treat Lumine and her friends to a proper meal.

“So, Amber,” he started as he stepped between her and Lumine, grinning, “when’s our first sparring match?”

“You were serious about that?!” Amber averted her gaze. “I’m not really sure…” she trailed off, looking into the distance with an indecisive expression.

“Geez, Childe, stop harassing her already!” Paimon stomped into the air. “Didn’t Kaeya just warn you not to cause trouble?!” Tartaglia laughed.

“Oh? But Lumi said it was a good idea!” He side-eyed Lumine, admiring the light blush on her cheeks when he shortened her name. When she saw him staring she jabbed her elbow into his ribs and looked away without a word. “Okay, I’ll drop it,” he sighed. “You’ll just have to fight me twice as often, Lumine!”

The rest of the walk was filled with nothing more than simple talk amongst themselves until they approached what they assumed to be their target.

“Is that it?” Amber tilted her head, puzzled, and he could see why. The ruin guard looked ordinary enough to be of little concern, and it didn’t even seem to be active. They all approached the machine to get a closer look, but it still just appeared to be nothing differing from the usual specimens as it peacefully sat on the grass.

“This is supposed to be an emergency?” Tartaglia chuckled as he reached out to touch the ruin guard. “I wish my work was this laid back.”

“Hey uh, Paimon has a bad feeling about this…”

“What the-?!” he gasped as he pulled his hand back, shaking it off as he did so. The thing was scalding hot, much hotter than what would be normal for sitting in the sun all day. Was it sitting on a flaming flower? If that was the case then it was a good thing he had accompanied them as neither Lumine nor Amber had a chance of cooling this thing down with their abilities alone. Still, it didn’t make sense for the situation to be that simple, and as if on cue, the ruin guard powered up. As its core glowed he could see something inside of it: the muddy glow of an abyssal spell. Now it felt like more of an emergency.

“Watch out!” he warned. Amber leapt backwards an impressive several feet and grabbed her bow, prepared to fire. As the automaton stood up Tartaglia confirmed there was no flaming flower beneath it. He wondered if the spell somehow harnessed some kind of pyro energy. He wanted to find out, but there was no time. Amber fired rapidly on their enemy, and Tartaglia fired a hydro-charged shot at it. Steam rose from it as it hit.

Lumine ran straight up to the machine, uncomfortably close for him to witness. She tried to create a swirling reaction, but there was no elemental affliction to be seen in the result. Perhaps this thing was being shielded from elemental reactions with that spell. He couldn’t think about it too long, distracted by how close Lumine was to the burning hot ruin guard.

“Hey! Fall Back!” he called out to her. She ignored him and kept slashing at it with her sword. Now wasn’t the time for her willfulness, but he couldn’t think of how to get her to listen to him before flames erupted from the machine’s front core as she tried another swirling attack. The sudden burst caught her off guard and sent her flying.

“Lumine!” Tartaglia screamed out as he ran to the side for her to crash into him, sending them both to the ground. At least he managed to break her fall with his body.

“I’m fine,” she huffed, lifting herself from her position on top of him. He grabbed her arm to stop her from running right back to a repeat of what had happened.

“You’re reckless,” he chided. He looked her up and down but didn’t spot any obvious injuries. It was possible that he had slightly overreacted.

Amber was still firing at the machine with charged shots, its metal chassis was starting to glow with how hot it was becoming, and the grass around it steamed and withered away with each step, too hot to even catch fire. At the rate it was heating up, Tartaglia thought the automaton might even begin to melt soon. Seemed like sending a pyro user was working out for them after all. In fact, she was doing more damage than he and Lumine combined. He had to fix that.

“Lumine, do you have a large amount of anemo energy ready to use?” He let go of her and stood, offering his hand to help her to her feet which she promptly slapped away and stood on her own. She nodded in response to his question.

“Fire away,” he said. Lumine put her hand on her hip and frowned.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” The automaton approached them, ignoring the shower of flaming arrows pelting it from above.

“It’s going toward you guys!” Amber shouted. “Lumine, use your vortex!”

The corner of her mouth twitched and she let out a loud sigh, clearly irritated with their demands. She lifted her sword and readied her attack.

“I’m getting the most expensive dishes at Good Hunter after this,” she growled. “Paimon, too. You’re paying.”

“Why of course,” Tartaglia sang as he lifted his bow and prepared a charged shot. “Didn’t have it planned any other way.”

As soon as Lumine unleashed a huge burst of anemo energy he fired into it, infusing the whirlwind with hydro energy. The current crashed against the ruin guard and stopped it in its tracks. It fought against the immense pressure while the sudden coolness caused the metal to hiss and steam. It cracked and popped out bolts and metal plates as it struggled. One object in particular caught Tartaglia’s attention as it flew from the machine. As soon as the automaton collapsed he rushed over and grabbed the it from the ground, quietly pocketing it before the others noticed. He also picked up a couple of components as to not look too suspicious.

“Careful, it’s still steaming!” Amber called after him.

“Let him get hit by stray bolts if that’s what he’s into,” Lumine sneered.

“So cruel to me, Lumi,” he smiled as he approached the girls. “And even after I rushed into danger to pick these up for you two.” He handed each of them the components he had picked up; Lumine snatched the piece out of his hand while Amber smiled and thanked him politely.

“That thing was crazy! Paimon was so scared!” Paimon reappeared, excitedly bobbing in the air.

“You didn’t do anything!” Tartaglia laughed. “In fact, I’d say you made this fight even more difficult.”

“What?! How could I have possibly interfered with your battle if I was hiding?!” she argued.

“Well,” he grinned and pointed at her, “Lumi is extra grumpy and uncooperative because you stole her lunch.”

“Wha-?! I-! Ooh…” Paimon conceded. “I’m sorry,” she pouted. He had learned that she was a pushover when it came to Lumine, which made it easier to get along with her. He might have even been inclined to call it a sort of common ground between the two of them, if such a thing existed. At the very least, doting on Lumine was something that they could agree on, even if Paimon forgot sometimes.

“I forgive you,” Lumine said as she pat her on the head. “If only because Childe will be the one treating us to our next meal.” She grinned at him with a light of accomplishment in her eyes, a light he got lost in for a moment before Paimon’s cheering tore him from his emotions.

“What are we waiting for?! Let’s head back to the city and eat!” She floated toward the path to the city, Amber close behind her. When he started to follow suit, Lumine grabbed his sleeve and stood still. She waited until the others were no longer within earshot before she spoke.

“What did you take from that ruin guard?”

“Those components I gave you, of course,” Tartaglia answered.

“No,” she said. “What did you take?”

The weight of the object in his belt bag was undeniable proof that he would brand himself a liar if he didn’t tell her. He couldn’t stand even the thought of that.

“I’m not sure myself,” he admitted. “Let’s discuss it later.”

“Promise?” Her brows knitted as she frowned and gripped his shirt sleeve tighter. He smiled at her.

“I promise.”

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin childe #genshin lumine #chilumi #genshin paimon #genshin amber #genshin tartaglia #fanfic #fanfiction

15 notes · View notes

simplyshelbs16xoxo · 3 years

Text

‘This Love Came Back to Me’ Chapter 2: This is London

Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

Being in London again, amongst the bustling streets and busy lives, had Molly in a state of wistfulness. She had been homesick since the day she left and her stomach knotted with deep-seated guilt and regret. It mystified her how this city seemed to scream his name. When she thought of London, she didn’t think of the usual things—the Thames, Buckingham Palace, Trafalger Square, or even Big Ben with its comforting chimes—but she always thought of Sherlock Holmes. He was forever connected to this place much more intimately than anything or anyone else she could think of. And connected to him was the sense of home. She had felt her heart leap in joy when she stepped off the plane.

And now, looking up at the street sign, Molly let out a shaky breath. She had once promised herself she would never grace this very pavement if she ever lost him. And yet she found herself on Baker Street once more. In her hands were the results of their findings, and she sincerely hoped he would be cordial with her, though she knew she didn’t deserve such a kindness. 221B stared down at her as if daring her to cross the threshold, to recall her memories here, to once again face the man who lived in it, and at one time with her.

Molly took each step with trepidation. She wished to not upset him any further, but it couldn’t be helped. Never did she think her actions would have hurt him, for she hadn’t thought he truly felt for her what she felt for him. Her presence was difficult for him and Molly hadn’t a clue how to steer clear. Being put on a case together had made matters complicated. One deep breath and she knocked lightly against the worn wood. She made out a couple of voices including his own. He must have been with a client. Turning on her foot to leave, the door was yanked open, causing her to turn back towards it, towards him.

“Oh,” he frowned, disappointment clear on his face. “It’s just you.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. His callousness tore at her rapidly beating heart. “I brought some of the results for you to look over. You’ll find that there is a particular feature of interest that may turn out to be a lead.”

Sherlock studied her with curious eyes that narrowed when he met hers. He removed the report from her hands and looked it over. “Very good, then. It looks like Mike is no longer in need of your services.”

Molly opened her mouth to protest, stepping forward to follow him inside, but he had quite firmly slammed the door in her face before she could utter a syllable.

When Sherlock turned his back to the slamming door, he was met with Mary Watson’s chiding expression, an eyebrow raised high. “Was it really necessary to do that?”

“She’s the one who decided to leave,” he replied like a five year old.

“Yes, well, that may be true, Sherlock, but I thought you wanted an explanation from her, hmm?” Mary crossed her arms, tapping her foot with impatience. “I don’t agree with how she handled things, but I hardly think it necessary to act like children.” She briefly recalled hearing about their argument in the morgue the day before.

“I’ll stop when she does.” Sherlock was in no mood. He hadn’t seen her in years until yesterday. Molly Hooper broke his heart, betrayed his trust. He told her he loved her, and she ran away. “I once thought she loved me—but, I see now that I was wrong.”

“She did love you, Sherlock,” Mary argued.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he huffed. It wasn’t as if she had said the words back.

“I think you and Molly can work things out—you’re both stubborn, and that causes a lot of damage with situations like yours. One of you needs to be the bigger person,” Mary advised. “I know you’re hurting, but this week could change things. Try to make the best of it.”

Sherlock sighed. “I won’t make any promises, but I’ll try.”

It was official: Molly Hooper hated herself for what she did to Sherlock. If she could, she knew she would go back when things were okay and do things right. Instead of listening to her doubts and allowing herself to be persuaded into leaving, Molly would have said the words back. She would have told him what she had feared. They would have talked through it and they would still be together now. She was sure of it. He could no longer stand the sight of her. The man who held high disregard of emotions—and for good reason—gave her his heart, and she ruined him.

The next five days in London would be torture, but she had it coming to her. This was the universe biting her back in the arse for what she had done. Molly, upon returning to her hotel room, decided to take a soak in a bubble bath to calm her nerves. Hair up in a messy bun, she sank down into the warm sudsy water, leaning her head back with her eyes closed, unable to keep herself from remembering how it used to be.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered in his ear. Sherlock had drifted off, but he still held her tightly in his arms. It was as if he was afraid to let go. Molly could still feel the ghost of his love all over her body, through her, inside her. In truth, she had never been so happy. But then, why did she feel so scared?

If he were to ever wake up one day and realise this wasn’t what he wanted, Molly promised herself she’d never walk Baker Street again. Hell, she probably wouldn’t be able to stomach staying in London if he ever walked away. Or if, God forbid, she ever did. She couldn’t keep her eyes off him, his expression one of complete serenity. It made him look ten years younger. Molly pressed her lips to his neck, leaving a trail of soft, warm kisses for him. She heard him moan quietly in his sleep, and it made her smile. God, she loved him so much, her heart ached. What was it about those eight letters that were so overwhelming, so daunting? Maybe one day she’d be brave enough to say them.

The visions in her head never stopped. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t think about him, about their love, magical as it was. For the first time since she arrived back in London, Molly allowed herself to cry; to grieve for them, for the man she had hurt. All she wanted to do was take away his pain, but he’d never allow her close enough to do that. Never again.

After a brief conversation with Mike the next day outside the morgue, Sherlock, she noticed, was fast approaching her. Molly braced herself for his scathing remarks, her whole body tensing up as if his words caused her physical pain. Instead, he shoved the manila envelope toward her, insisting she take them back. “Were my findings not to your liking then?” she asked, somewhat feeling put-out.

“On the contrary, Doctor Hooper,” he replied, taking a moment to swallow his pride, “what you discovered is most fascinating.”

Taken aback at the change of attitude, Molly questioned him with her eyes, her mouth slightly agape. “Yes, well, it seemed odd that our murderer went through all of the trouble of making a bloody mess of his victims when his real M.O. was a nearly undetectable poisoning.”

Sherlock nodded. “He’s trying to keep us from profiling him correctly. He’s clever, but not as clever as you.” He felt his face flush, mentally cursing his traitorous body.

Her eyes met his in a brief remembrance of the love they once shared. My clever Molly, he had taken to saying whenever her intellect shone through like a bright star. The man who had once admired her was still there somewhere deep down. She hoped so, anyways. As soon as the spark was there, it was gone, the air somehow colder than it had been. “If that’s all you came here for…I believe you have a murderer to catch.”

“Wait,” he began, taking a small step forward. “It has come to my attention that I’ve been, for lack of a better word, an arse. We should be able to at least be cordial whilst working this case together.” Sherlock had a hard time meeting her eyes. “I’m…I apologise. You really are the best for the job.”

Never had Molly felt more uncomfortable and undeserving of an apology. She gazed at him with soft, sorrowful eyes. “Thank you,” she uttered in a small voice. If he hadn’t looked so uncomfortable, himself, she wasn’t sure if she could’ve found the strength to reply. She wanted to apologise for leaving him, beg him for his forgiveness, but fear—a different kind; one of rejection—stopped her. The awkward silence was deafening and she was thankful when Greg interrupted them.

“There’s been another body, Sherlock. Here’s your chance to go to the scene and—Molly? That you?” Greg grinned happily, going in for a hug.

“It’s been an age,” Molly told him, her guilt eating her up inside. At least he didn’t appear to be angry with her.

Sherlock stood by with his hands behind his back, jealousy rearing its ugly head, his stomach knotting tightly. He watched as Greg gave her a quick peck on the cheek and it took all his strength not to lash out. There was no way he could deny his feelings any longer—he still cared for Molly, still loved her despite everything, but it was clear she had moved on. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he only caught the tail end of Lestrade’s question.

“—with us?”

“Oh, I—well, I don’t think I should,” Molly answered, glancing at Sherlock. “It’s probably best I stay behind.”

Greg knew things were strained between them—he had even been on the receiving end of her lack of communication. He nodded in understanding, not wanting to push her into it. “Suit yourself. How long are you here for?”

“Just until the end of the week, then back to Galway,” she informed him. The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

Galway, Sherlock thought. So that’s where she ran off to. It was where her grandmother was from—her father’s mother. It should have been blaringly obvious, but he had kept himself from thinking too much about it.

“Well, do us all a favor, and phone us once in a while…yeah?” He clapped Sherlock on his back, including him in that statement.

She nodded. “Of course.” Her eyes met Sherlock’s briefly. Never did she want to let him down again. “You have my word.”

#sherlolly #this love came back to me #my fanfiction

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