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#and yes i know he parented sam
skylersprompts · 3 months
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DC x DP Prompt *25*
Everything hurts. It hurts! It hurts so much! Ithurtsithurtsomuchpleasemomstophisheartwi-
He can't feel anything.
He is floating and thank the Ancients, he can't feel a thing.
It takes quite some time he thinks until he feels something again. Phantom is in the ghost zone. But Danny was just in his parents lab - ithurtssomuchdadstopplease! - but now Phantom is here...
After some time he realized that he feels different, even though he can't explain why. But he didn't have much time, Jazz was probably worried sick. He needed to get home.
He found the portal without a problem and flew through. But the panic set in as soon as Phantom saw the lab. Instinctual he was going invisible and intangible. Danny died here. There is no Danny anymore, just Phantom.
After his panic attack he spots other ghosts. Mostly Blobs and Animals. Some already vivisected, some just in cages. But he also finds Boxlunch. Just bound to his death spot the operation table. She wasn't hurt yet. He quickly frees everyone and takes the injured Ghost to the Far Frozen.
This was going on for weeks. Just Phantom trying to rescue the other Ghosts from his parents lab and later from the GIW labs. The Fentons started to work full-time for them.
But then they moved bases. Away from Amity Park. Just far enough that he couldn't reach them anymore, without burning through all of his ectoplasm and then some.
But they had kidnapped Desiree, Technus and a few more Ghosts! And he needed to safe them!
He remembers some rumors he heard in the Zone. In Gotham exist a Revenant. The Avenger of the unavenged. The Red Hood. And with the Infini-Map he could find a natural portal to Gotham. It was a long shot, but his last hope.
So he flys invisible through the dark streets of Gotham, frantically searching.
Jason was about to throttle his family, every single one of them at the same time. He was already trying to punch the Demon Brat, when a white haired, floating teen with Lazarus green eyes materializes in front of him.
The teen completely ignored the Bats and zeroed in on Red Hood with a look of desperate hope.
"My parents killed me and they are killing more of my friends"
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angelsdean · 2 months
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like. listen. i'm just saying, both dean and sam are there when jack gets his soul back but it's only dean that hugs him with so much emotion. where's his hug from you, sammy, hmm??
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heloflor · 10 months
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Anyways telltale Sam is an absolute disaster with kids and it's very funny.
(Reminder that this man belives the point of having kids to be "tax deduction". Also, from my understanding of 305 since I only saw playthroughts of it, it's apparently possible to leave Sam Jr behind inside Max's stomach, and I don't think there's any repercussions to it?)
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sp00pygal · 2 years
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Never bring an alien and an astronomy nerd to a ghost fight
Prologue :
It was 9 am in Gotham time when Wonder Woman contacted the watch tower. A very weary looking Batman picked up her call with a grunt.
"What."
"Bruce, it's Diana. Clark and I teamed up to fight Lex Luthor and Circe on paradise island. We won the battle, but Luthor, he... He used red kryptonite on Clark. I was barely able to hold him back this time before he flew off, and he is no longer on the island." Wonder Woman reported, looking very concerned.
Batman narrowed his eyes. "If you can't find him, what makes you think I can?"
The Amazon princess had to hold back a scoff. "Bruce...the league already knows about your satellite network."
Batman raised an eyebrow. "I assume Green Lantern told?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. So you have his location?" Diana replied
"I already started tracking him 5 minutes before you called. I've narrowed it down to north America."
"Come on `world's greatest detective', we both know Clark better than that. Where would he go?"
"I already checked Metropolis. The results just came back, he's not in Smallville either. But he is near the west coast. According to the computer he's in..." Batman froze, and his blood turned to ice, he whispered an almost imperceptibly quiet "No, it can't be...."
Diana folded her arms. "Bruce, where is he. This is not the time to withhold information."
Batman quickly regained composure "Diana, do not Persue. Tell the rest of the league to be on standby. Contact justice league dark, have them ready to step in on my say. We have a code white."
"but that could only mean... Great Hera, Superman is in Colorado?!!!" The Amazon exclaimed, her stance becoming tense.
"Yes. Amity Park, to be precise. One of ithe most powerful heros on the planet is in a town overrun by hostiles with unknown extra dimensional powers and mind control capabilities. Nobody moves in unless I say so." Batman responded in an eerily calm tone, but Wonder woman could tell by the look in his eyes that something was bothering him.
"He's going to be alright Bruce. the kryptonite will wear off in 11 more hours, and then we will all grab a meal together and laugh." She paused. "Well, Clark and I will laugh. You will probably do that thing that almost resembles a smile with your face."
Batman sighed. "Thanks; but it's not Clark I'm worried about. We both know he's overcome this before. He'll find his way out like he always does." He paused and reluctantly admitted "it's.... My new ward. He lives there."
Diana looked puzzled. "A new Robin? Or maybe a Batgirl this time?"
"No, not.... Exactly. He's... Complicated. I can only hope he's ready to handle this. " Batman admitted, sounding hesitant.
"Bruce, if he's anything like your other children, he'll be fine. They were trained to be strong, brave warriors by the best. Just let him know to stay safe, the league will handle this. "
A message pinged on the watchtower computer and after quickly reading it, Batman sighed. "... Apparently, there's no need. He has this under control. I'll meet him for extraction in 11 hours. I'm telling everyone to stand down. Batman out."
And with that, he hung up, leaving the Amazon princess confused and curious on the other end of the line.
....
Chapter 1:
Sam Manson and Tucker Foley stared at 'Superman' with twin looks of shock. Finally, Tucker spoke. "Do you think.... He's alright in there?"
"He's done this before so he's going to be okay. I've been with him on an overshadowing trip, and we came out alright, remember?" Sam replied, sounding more like she wanted to convince herself than Tucker.
"I mean, yeah, but those were different circumstances. Who even knows what Superman is? And Danny has already been in him for -" Tucker checked his PDA " 17 minutes and 42 seconds. I'm telling you, we should get him outta there. Or at least, figure a way to get him outta the public."
Sam shook her head. "Don't you think Superman was acting freaky? His eyes were red, but on the news, they're always blue."
"And you'd know, with how bad you crush on him, even though he's old enough to be -" Tucker was abruptly cut off by Sam's withering glare.
"I do not have a crush. Aliens are passe. Sure I used to like them, but ghosts are where it's at. Like cellphones." She retorted, and quickly added "anyway, if Superman has some weird mind control thing going on like with ghost freak, it's probably safer to let Danny stay in there instead of using the Fenton ghost catcher, especially after what happened last time."
"True, but we definitely should at least get him down. He's starting to attract pigeons." Tucker pointed up at the man of steel, frozen in mid flight and true to the techno geek's observation; several birds were beginning to land on his shoulders.
Sam nodded. "I agree there. Got the Fenton ghost fisher?"
Tucker pulled out a fishing pole with luminescent fishing line attached. "By now you even have to ask?"
"You forgot the thermos last week Foley, a boyscout you are not. Now give it here, I have an idea."
Reluctantly Tucker handed the Fenton ghost fisher to Sam. "What are you gonna do? Even if you would get a sweet fishing story, I don't think that the hook is gonna do much. Superman is supposed to be invincible,same for his clothes."
"Which is why I'm trying something else. Now hush, I need to focus so I can get this right...." Sam muttered, untieing the line from the hook, then fashioning it into a makeshift lasso. "Alright, should be good, the knots are always the tricky part. How's your aim?"
"Good enough, why?" Tucker asked, before Sam quickly handed him the newly fashioned Fenton ghost lasso.
"Because mine sucks. Has ever since girl scouts. Don't. Ask. You take that to your grave." She gave Tucker a scowl to let him know she meant business.
"Okay, touchey subject, gotcha. Question. How tall is Superman?" Tucker asked, holding his thumb in front of him to measure distance while doing some mental mathematics.
"6'3. Most people think it's 6'4, but actually that's just his hair being extra curly." Sam responded without missing a breath.
"uh huh. Totally didn't have a crush." He smirked and held up a finger to stop Sam's indignant retort. "alright, accounting for local wind density, height off the ground, and the hope that this stunt doesn't get us both half killed by a pissed off Superman...." Tucker threw the lasso at the man of steel, caught his foot on the first try, and pulled the line tight so it wrapped around his ankle. "Boom! Tucker Foley sinks the shot, and the crowd goes wild!"
"Uh huh. Sure. I don't think basketball metaphors apply to lassos Tuck. Now help me pull him out of here." Sam replied dryly
"Hey! What makes you think I can't handle him myself?" Tucker said indignantly
"Because the sum total of all the muscles in your body are in your thumbs from gaming. You forget, I helped you pass PE."
Tucker rolled his eyes. "Whatever dudette. All I'm sayin is he's not that heavy. It's like how Danny weighs nothing when he flies, gotta be some sort of mollecular minipulation or a psionic feild or something."
Sam took a moment to think it over. "Hey, yeah, you're right. Come to think of it, even with both of us, shouldn't he be pretty heavy? I wonder if he's catatonic. Maybe when Danny overshadowed him, Superman's body went into this state as a subconscious defense mechanism..." She caught Tucker's smirk "oh, wipe that look away, it's impossible to hang around Danny without getting a psychology lecture from his sister. She's almost as obsessed as his parents. Anyway, some of it is surprisingly helpful, once you get past the boring stuff."
Tucker nodded, wearing a poker face that didn't really hide his continued amusement very well. "If you say so. Question is, if Danny's stuck that way, how do we get him out? Jazz ever say anything about waking up someone catatonic?"
Sam frowned. "Maybe? I zoned out at that part, I think it had to do with giving the person a shock."
"Sounds simple enough. Alright Supes, wake up!" Tucker yelled, and then tried to slap him, quickly recoiling in pain on impact with the man of steel "Ow! What the- oh, right, invulnerability. Guess the news articles weren't kidding. Did it do anything?"
Sam looked at Superman and shook her head. "Nope, still outta it. Pretty sure unless you got a weird glowing green rock, anything short of a mountain collapsing on him isn't going to register. And, no, before you ask Tucker, I'm not going to have my parents buy a mountain to collapse on him so you can sell tickets."
"Aw man, you never let us have any fun. So how do we shock him then?" Tucker asked
"maybe it's like curing the hiccups? We could surprise him somehow? Hold his nose and have him drink a glass of water?" Sam shook her head "No... That won't work. Which means..." She trailed off.
"Uh oh. No. Nu uh. I know that look Samantha Manson, and it usually winds up with someone in the hospital, jail, or half dead. Not happening!" Tucker protested at the sight of an all too familiar gleam in the goth's eyes.
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Got any better ideas?"
Tucker was silent for a long moment. "....Dammit. Okay, fine, but the moment this involves a hospital or cops I'm out. I'm not even kidding."
"Relax. I have a plan, and it's 100% fool proof." Sam reassured him.
"I was afraid you'd say that. What we gotta do?" Tucker asked.
"Just take Danny/Superman and meet me outside the mattress factory in 20. I have to go get ready. Oh, and keep the birds away from him. And no selling photos to strangers." Sam told her friend with a smile as she slipped into a nearby alley,headed for the old factory.
"Sam, that makes no sense." Tucker called after her and was met with silence as she had quickly dissapeared into the shadows. "ugh, hate when she does that, right big guy?" He looked nervously up at Superman. "Whatever, what would you know? Alright, can't keep you all frozen forever, Danny is probably getting freaked out in there... Weird psychology mumbo jumbo or not, I still think it wasn't a good idea to go in alone. We talked about this man, we're a team. Sam and I don't have powers, but we can still kick ass! Just... For real, Don't keep us sidelined anymore, okay dude? Especially Sam. You both are my best friends, and I don't want to see you getting hurt." As ever, Superman remained unmoving and catatonic, showing no sign he or Danny had heard a word Tucker said as he dragged Superman's body alongside him like a balloon on a glowing string. Tucker sighed. "I hear you my dude. Good talk."
....
End of chapter 1
@impyssadobsessions so, I took your suggestion and decided to write the Superman/DP possession crossover! It turned out that once I got started, there was a lot of content I wanted to include, so this is part 1/? Instead of just a oneshot, but for my general sanity I'm going to try to keep it short! Hope everyone enjoys!
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faeymouse · 9 months
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Brain has been chugging the Random Tron AU juice all day, here’s possibly my favorite one of the lot: AU where Alan finds the scattered strings of CLU 1’s code in the Encom system, and personally pieces it all back together (alternatively, CLU 2 waking up post-Legacy to discover Tron’s creator of all Users pieced his shattered code back together after idk how to describe it… he and Flynn merged?)
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Thinking about a Parallels AU where the main four + Camille are all different ages at the start of the show, and all the dynamics are different because of it.
The only main characters who have met at the start are Sam and Victor, and Sam and Bilal.
Sam is fifteen years old, so he's the closest to his canon age.
Victor is nine years old, so he's the youngest by a lot in this.
Bilal is thirty years old, and he's working with his mom on the tests. He also tutors Sam in math on the weekends.
Romane is nineteen years old, and hasn't met any of the other main characters.
Camille is nine years old, and she and Victor go to the same school.
Episode one starts when Sam is supposed to go to tutoring, but ends up needing to bring Victor with him, because their parents weren't able to pick him up from some activity or other.
I haven't figured out how they get to the woods from there; for the sake of convenience, let's say that cat Romane and Camille feed shows up injured, and they end up following the cat to try and help it? Work in progress.
Anyways, once they're close to the bunker, they run into Romane. Assuming we're going with the cat plot device, because I can't think of anything else right now, Romane was also trying to find the cat. The cat is gone now, though, and they're all about to turn back.
Then Victor notices the bunker (the key is in the door, idk), and wants to go inside. Sam and Bilal don't think it's a good idea, but Romane also wants to go inside for some reason, and the four end up going to check it out.
The test goes off, of course, and the timelines split.
Timeline 1 - Romane and Victor are left in the bunker.
Victor definitely blames himself for the disappearances, since he was the one to suggest going in the bunker in the first place. Romane also definitely blames herself for the disappearances, since Victor is nine years old, and she should have known it was a bad idea, but she didn't, and now this kid's brother is probably dead because of that.
Romane ends up talking to Victor afterwards, and realizes that he goes to school with Camille. The conversation turns to that, and Victor mentions that he's not doing great in some subject or other; a subject Romane happens to be good at. Feeling like it's the absolute least she could do for him, she offers to help him with homework after school.
Since Victor is literally an elementary school child, his parents are not sending him to boarding school. They do become increasingly distant and harsh, and Victor becomes increasingly convinced that they don't care about him.
Victor ends up spending a lot of time at Romane and Camille's house. At first, it's just because Romane's helping him with homework. Then it sinks in that no one else understands what happened in the bunker, and that fact starts playing into their dynamic. Then he starts to become friends with Camille. By the time four years have gone by, Victor and Camille are close friends, and Romane sees Victor as another sibling. (She hasn't moved out yet because a. She's attending university nearby. and b. She doesn't trust Herve and wants to keep an eye on her family.)
Then Vanessa Chassangre dies, and Romane is faced with the possibility of losing her sister. She's trying to figure out if she has any chance at getting custody, when Victor shows up to ask if she wants to go back to the bunker. Neither of them have figured out the correlation with the test in this AU, but they still go, out of sentimentality and curiosity and several other complicated emotions.
Test happens again; Victor and Romane time travel.
Timeline 2 - Romane and Bilal are left in the bunker.
Bilal connects the dots between the tests and the disappearances pretty quickly. He tells his mom. Then he tells Romane.
Bilal decides to try and find a way to save Sam and Victor. This time, it's less out of personal grief and more out of a sense of responsibility for what happened and guilt.
Romane graduates high school feeling completely lost. She doesn't know what she wants to do with her life, and she can't shake the guilt over what happened.
Haven't planned it out too well, but Bilal and Romane stay in contact. I'm not sure how it's going to work, but he's able to get her accepted for an internship at some point, and she ends up working with Bilal and Sofia.
The three of them continue to work at the time travel. Along the way, Romane becomes close with both Sofia and Bilal, viewing them as family.
Vanessa dies; Herve tries to take Camille. This time, it doesn't work. Romane has a support net, a steady income, and a future in the physics field. Romane gets custody of her sister.
They figure out the time travel. Bilal decides to go back.
Timeline 3 - Sam is left in the bunker; Bilal travels back to this one; Victor and Romane travel back to this one.
Since Bilal was already an adult before the time travel, Sam still recognizes him. He's clearly aged several years, though, which everyone is very confused about. Bilal has his canonical memory loss.
Idk what happens for the first day, but then Romane and Victor show up to the timeline at the same time they do in canon.
I haven't thought about how the plot changes from there, but the timeline where Victor kills Sam and then disappears after time traveling again doesn't happen. The official explanation is that they're able to stop it from happening the first time; the actual explanation is that I can't keep track of that many timelines in an already complicated AU.
Notes on the AU:
Camille ends up being there for the finale's events, both because she's a little older in the AU and because she's friends with Victor in the AU, so she insists on coming with the main characters.
Victor's emotional conflict ends up being roughly the same, because on the one hand, he's had more of a support net for those four years, but on the other, he's younger with more intense emotions, so it all kind of evens out.
For obvious reasons, none of the canon romantic relationships exist, with the exception of Sofia and Lieutenant Retz.
Obviously lots of things are different with this one, but I can't really think of a lot right now because I'm tired, so I might add to this later.
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theangiediary · 2 years
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theres something about deans constant surprise that johns training worked on sam like when sam steals a car or kills something or lies really well and deans all "?? who is this man and how??".... honey you were there and so was sam just bc he wasnt silent obedient doesnt mean he wasnt paying attention and i just aaaaaaa
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samsspambox · 2 years
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thinking about,,, eldest daughter academic burn out artem vibes tonight before i crash,,
#sam rambles in the tags#the urge to project to this mf is real#and i shall project here in the tags not bc i don't want to it's bc it's too specific LMAO#even if you can explain his dynamic with his parents with it#anyway i agree that he's all that mentioned above but u know what's missing? immigrant son#like it explains the shadow he has#'what shadow sam' his parents. he's in his parents shadow#it gives him a bit of drive even if subconsciously#like okay picture this: kim and bryan worked incredibly hard to get to where they are#add in the sacrifice of them leaving their country of origin? well that just makes them even more hard working right#so artem has to literally be the best both bc of the internalized guilt trips ('they sacrificed so much for you')#and also bc his parents literally did all of what he's doing at a disadvantage#it would also explain why his parents weren't around as much as a child#they worked hard to provide and to prove that they're actually meant to be there#and later on in life once they *have* they ease and start being in his life more but still working#chapter 4 ring any bells?#u want me to get more specific tho? he's a second gen#idk i feel like they have more pressure on them to be good#oh and there's even fucking nuance in if they immigrated legally or not#i'm banking on yes they did legally bc it makes the most sense#even tho i really want to have kim and bryan go the illegal route cuz it brings so much nuance to the law... seeing it in grey#rather than the classic black or white bc they broke the law but they've attoned for it in a way#what are my qualifications? i'm a first gen.#again i'm projecting on this motherfucker like there's no tomorrow LMAO#bUT IT MAKES SENSE#also it makes sense family wise bc he had to travel to be with his extended family#there's more but i'm sleepy gn y'all#'sam why didn't you make this it's own post the tags are long af' bc this is hella hyper specific my guy i'm sorry LMAO#my phd in artem wing studies is just me projecting i've fooled you all i'm sorry 💀😂#well not entirely but a good 78% of it is
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newspecies · 5 months
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hi. im normal about books. now everyone go read Lone Women by Victor LaValle
#rot.txt#personally i dont think it works super well as HORROR (despite being labeled as such on libby) but god its good.#okay spoilers now. the reeds being so performative makes me crazy#jerrine talks of women dressing as men to join a war but the moment she meets a “girl” dressed as a boy living as a boy she loses her mind#also from a writing perspective i liked how even after sam is outed the narrative still doesnt misgender him#hes still a boy. jerrine thinks hes a girl and put him in a dress but hes still a boy#the reeds being all “this town is a family!” but are so willing to slaughter all the people they dont want there at the drop of a hat#jack calling fiona a SLUR and barely realizing that its wrong. he only backs down because he knows fiona and bertie could beat him up#and like. him not stopping joab from killing delmus. the stranglers. they killed those wolfers without any proof of their crime#both of them put on this face of being perfect and kind but the moment theyre faced with something a little different they have to kill it#literally.#i was going to end it there but chapter 61 is making me abnormal. joab being faced with sam knowing this nine year olds mother#is being hanged in the building next door. so soon after strangling his brother and seeing his own mother die at the claws of a demon#and knowing his other brothers were picked off by the same demon. ough. and dont even get me started on elizabeth#im not done yet so i dont know but i was thinking elizabeth is a metaphor for disability being “shameful” to the family#and how family members face difficulty taking care of a disabled loved one and are blinded to said loved ones own struggles#adelaide does basically say this ^ to elizabeth. she was so caught up being angry about the isolation#that she didnt think about how elizabeth felt about the same thing but WORSE. at least adelaide had parents#elizabeth just had jailers#and yes elizabeth has killed and eaten several people (and horses) but what else can she do? what else has she been offered?#god. between the time i started this and now i finished the book LKDSJFDS#anyway its about adults failing children and the marginalized standing together and believing each other#the end was great. i loved how the Lone Women werent really alone at the end. they found a place to be happy and safe#as much as i like miserable endings this one was sweet. i liked it#i have more to say but these tags are long enough
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kiwisbell · 4 months
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Candy Girl [joel miller]
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The before and after. Or, Joel fucks his friend's daughter for the first time.
my masterlist!
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
rating: 18+ [mdni]
tags/warnings: daddy kink, baker!reader, age gap (20s/40s), (sort of) dbf!joel, daddy dom!joel, soft!joel, angst, self-loathing, waxing poetic about eating pussy, unprotected piv (wrap that shit up like a pastry), creampie, cream pies, dirty talk, pet names, forbidden romance, tw for occasional stylistic omission of quotation marks, moodboard for aesthetics only
word count: ~ 6k
read on ao3!
a/n: hi, all!! please, as always, mind the tags for this fic - it's quite a departure from what i typically write, but daddy joel has set up shop in my brain and he won't leave. if this isn't for you, that's cool - you don't have to read it. i hope you'll be kind, and as always, i hope you enjoy!! xoxo
thank you HUGELY to my dear mya @cavillscurls for the absolutely stunning moodboard!!! i love you and i'm obsessed with you and you're crazy talented 🫶 and thank you endlessly to my parents sam and el @tieronecrush and @northernbluess for being AMAZING betas and always supporting me and my silly fics!!
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CANDY GIRL
What have I done, he thinks, parting your dewy folds with two fingers and sliding his tongue through the glistening mess between your thighs, to deserve this?
He certainly can’t think of some good-enough deed to warrant him being here, tucked warmly in this apex, kindling a fire, rubbing his hands over the red of the flame, breathing sighs and gasps and groans into the sweet-smelling flesh of your thighs as if he were destined to arrive here. As if it were a mere quirk of fate, and now everything is gently settling into motion. 
Your fingers are curled in his hair and your chest—bare, smattered with a faint sheen of sweat and reflecting moonlight, illicit—is heaving. You have no instinct to steer him. Your hand knows no guiding push or pull. Your back is bowing off the mattress and your mouth is emitting needy little whines and whimpers and pleas for mercy, more, please, Daddy. 
And he’s acquiescing, toppling slowly into that heady pull of sticky wet warmth between your thighs, and all he can think is that you smell like cherries. 
And you are messy. Fuck, you’re dripping onto his chin as he licks through you, languishing in the prickling taste as if he's guiding his tongue along the salt rim of a glass. His fingers absently dimple your thighs, bruising, forcing them to fall open, part wider, for him. 
Let me in, baby girl. 
Thaaat’s it. My sweet girl. My pretty girl. 
So goddamn beautiful like this. 
You just relax, baby, and let me in. C’mon, now. 
You obey every muffled order like it’s law, letting him shoulder his way between your legs, his hand pressing firm on your belly, pinning you. The answering mewl he hears from your parted lips is the sweet slide of your strawberry icing along his taste buds. He buries his tongue between your wet folds and holds you tighter, dizzied with the smell and the taste and the feel of finally taking what he wants. What you've given him. 
Joel licks self-indulgently through your slit until your pretty cunt is slathered in his spit and glistens with your own juices. When he sees your clit, puffy and fucking needy and shining at him like a goddamn pearl, he licks his lips. 
Look at her. She’s fuckin’ cryin’ for me, baby girl. You need your Daddy to kiss it better? 
You whine, grasping his locks, still never quite urging or pushing, but begging: Daddy, I’ll do anything. Please, I’ll do anything.
Shh, sweetheart. Don’t have to do anything. Just keep ‘em open for me. I’ll make it good. Hear me?
A frantic nod. A reflexive squeeze of the hand on your belly. Eyes, watery and butter-soft in the darkness—wrong, risk—meet his own. 
Yes, Daddy. 
It didn't begin this way. 
Some of the edges are blurred with time. He vaguely recalls the time before you—mornings alone at the breakfast table, intermittent calls to Sarah all the way in College Station, long days on the job site because he had nothing else to come home to—and he’s bitter. It tastes nothing like the after: strawberry icing, vanilla perfume, cherries. 
It must have begun when Chris slapped him on the back after the scaffolding on the Queen Street job was taken down and said, “Couple of us are grabbing coffees at the Morning Star. You should come along, man. Get outta the house.”
The Morning Star. A slightly weathered pink awning and a varnished oak interior, a couple small tables (occupied), a flurry of activity in front of and behind the counter. A glass display case brimming with cakes and croissants and macarons. Glass vases filled with pink roses whose stems have been neatly trimmed. A pretty girl working behind the counter, tending to customers with an irradiating smile, a tender hand, the blinding glint of a bracelet, a pair of earrings, glowing. 
“What can I get for you this morning?” you asked him, like it was some secret spilling from the torso, a heart lurching from its cage, spread out on the ground. 
Petal-pink flowers painted on your fingernails. The aching attentiveness of your stare. Ekphrastic turns of phrases pasted to the wall behind the counter, in the form of a mural, crowd-sourced poems and letters and works of art. Lived-in, loved. The smell of cherries as you approached.
And then it was Chris, clapping Joel on the shoulder, a jolt of good-natured violence turning to torrent as he said, “The usual for me, honey.”
It's been wrong since that moment. Maybe it's been wrong all along. That doesn't stop him from ending up here. And it doesn't stop you from following. 
On your back, in Joel’s bed, your legs spread wide to accommodate his broad shoulders, welcoming the face-warming intrusion of his mouth between your slick folds. Bold in the way you curl your pretty polished fingers in his greying locks—he’s too old, much too old for you—and receptive in your soft moans and your uttered hexes of yesyesyes. 
Bewitched, he flattens his tongue against your pulsing clit and latches his lips around it, his eyes fixed on the way your head falls back, the length of your throat exposed, the evidence of your beating heart laid bare for him in the tremble of your pulse. 
He sucks on your clit until your legs begin to shake, and it’s the telltale squeeze of your thighs around his shoulders, the way you reflexively kick his back with your heel. But he’s pulling away, crushing his nose in the flesh of your thigh, nipping your soft skin, and the cry that leaves your mouth carves a tremor down his spine. 
Your tight little hole flutters with the need to be filled, to take him inside you, to make him wholly yours, the way he already is, the way you can never know. 
So he slides his tongue over your clit and lathers you in his spit and digs his fingertips into your thighs as if he owns you—because he never can. 
The flickering burn of regret and shame soothes when he's between your thighs, sucking your clit into his mouth and making you come so hard that you weep—leg kicking out, shackled by a firm hand around your ankle, back arching, fingers grasping, flexing, at whatever you can touch. You pour into him, molten gold, recast in his likeness, and he doesn't deserve this but he will take it. 
Instinctively, he pushes deeper, lapping your release from your messy hole, his nose pressed against your oversensitive clit—and he can’t resist, has never been able to, gently coaxing you through it, Poor baby, so goddamn needy for Daddy, sweetheart. Taste so fuckin’ sweet.
You’re whining, finally pushing at his head as the pleasure notches too high, and he presses a soft kiss to your clit before dragging his lips up your belly, between your tits, pulling you upright to sit you in his lap. You grin lazily and drop your forehead against his. 
Fuck, he's so proud. He smooths his hand down the crown of your head and skates his fingers down your sweat-slick spine. 
You tired, baby?
You nod, and he nips at your pouting bottom lip.
Hmm, but you ain't a quitter. You can give me another, can't you? You wanna be good for me. 
He whispers it all against the curve of your throat, into your collarbones, fitting his rough palm against your lower back and pulling your body flush to his. He sweats through all his layers and bleeds his warmth into you, but you don't care, grinding down on his lap, sliding your wet pussy along the hard length in his jeans. 
Your hand is slippery at the back of his neck and your eyes are lidded, sleepy, near-black, as you take what you need because you're a greedy girl when it comes down to it, and he's holding your bloody beating heart in his palms. 
I’ll be so good, Daddy. 
He knows. God, he knows—his lips find your temple, hair matted with sweat, and he can feel your tits pressing up against his chest, the erratic melody your heart sings to him, for him, through him. And he doesn’t deserve this.
Gonna need to take me out, baby girl. Go on, now.
You scramble, reaching between your bodies and unbuttoning his jeans, your hand teasing down the waistband of his boxers. Joel groans when you squeeze him, his teeth catching on your earlobe, nibbling from your jaw to your chin. He watches your manicured hand with its pretty pink polish wrap snugly around the base of his cock—you give him a firm, slow stroke, and he curses at the sight of your oh-so eager gaze.
Shit, baby. You're grinding your hips, smearing your wetness along his length, and he kneads your hip like dough while you grasp his shoulder, your head lolling. He bares his teeth, growling and snapping like a dog at the hot, slick slide of your cunt, his eyes a pendulum between the joining of your bodies and the heavy gaze you give him. That’s it, that’s fuckin’ it, take what you need. 
Your legs are trembling, too weak to hold yourself upright, and he knows, as always, exactly what it is you want. 
You’ve always been spoiled, because he’s let it happen. 
“Just a coffee,” he said, his third consecutive day in the Morning Star. “Please.”
He felt the twist of your lips in his ribcage. “I promise we have more than just coffee.”
“‘s good coffee,” he said. “Why spoil a good thing?”
He liked your pale pink hat and apron and the colour of your nails. He liked the way you feathered your fingertips over the till while you waited patiently for orders, the way you dealt so kindly with indecisiveness, the way your heart-shaped pendant glimmered when the sun dipped low in the western sky. 
He only knows it glows like that because you let him stay one night, long after close, to fix the hinge on the front door.
He’d known the Morning Star for a month. He knew it better than he knew you. 
“You don’t have to do this, Joel.”
An anxious shifting of your weight from one foot to the other, an intermittent four-fingered tap of your nails on the countertop, a soft weariness blurring the edges of your irises, as you tried to tell him you were fine, you could call your dad in the morning, please don’t worry about me.
The gentle in-and-out of your chest as you breathed, the golden near-evening light trickling the sun into the whites of your eyes, where it belonged. When you inhaled, he exhaled, the rhythmic pulse of life dancing between you, twirling carelessly on the edge of something neither of you could explain. 
“I wanna help,” he said. “And you should let me.”
You sighed, little of the charging bull and more of the huffing kitten, and his stomach lurched painfully. He wanted to touch you. He wanted to rest his hand at the crown of your head, soothe the tension in your shoulders with a measured press of his fingertips, unearth the blood-flecked bones that heralded emotions he could not yet name. Later, he would know them intimately; later, he would set his teeth in the white marrow and lick the blood from his chops. 
He wanted to ask all of his questions with his fingers, not his mouth, let you answer them the way you saw fit, giving that silent, haptic space the power it needed to pry open the parts of your life he could only guess at. 
But he did not touch you. 
Then, a time firmly lodged in the hazy somewhere of before-and-after, he could only pretend. And he could fix the door. 
Now, he’s gazing in disbelief at the way your tight little hole wrenches open around the weeping tip of his heavy cock, his sweaty body sliding along yours as you hastily shove the buttons of his flannel out of their slits and shuck off his shirt. Skin-to-skin, he feels your pulse ever stronger, licking and sucking at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. His palm is flat between your shoulder blades as he eases you open, helping you take his big cock. 
Daddy…
I know, baby girl, I know. Just a little more. That’s it—keep holdin’ onto me, baby. 
Petting you like a domesticated cat, fitting his fingers in the grooves between your ribs, feeling his own heartbeat settle into the rhythm of yours. You grasp his shoulder, the nape of his neck, your lips parting against his forehead, pressing feverish kisses to the space where his greying curls stick to his skin. 
You can take me, sweet girl. My baby. So good for me—
—the way you always have been.
“When my mom left, she gave the bakery to me.” Guiding the pink icing onto the small fluffy cakes, you moved seamlessly. Second nature, like laying mortar and brick. Your hands were speckled with flour and frosting. 
The vanilla cupcakes, robed in white paper, were a commission for a young girl’s sixth birthday. “Pink was Sarah’s favourite, too,” he’d said when he walked in that morning—perhaps too needy for a reason to connect. Blindly tossing a fishing line into a murky lake. 
But you still glowed when you had beamed up at him: “And now? She still a pink lover?”
“Haven't asked in a while,” he’d said, “but I’d reckon so.”
“She’s smart.” You had slid the black coffee across the counter and placed a cupcake next to it. Joel frowned. 
“What's this?”
You had lifted your brows, your eyes telegraphing a challenge. He had sunk neck-deep into your emboldened gaze. “This is a cupcake.”
“Smartass,” he’d huffed. “You got a reason for givin’ me a cupcake?”
You’d gently pushed them closer to him and given him that blinding, tempting grin, and how could he ever hope to decline you when you looked at him like that? 
“I value your opinion, Joel,” you’d told him, “and if you don’t eat it, you’ll hurt my feelings.”
He'd taken the cupcake and sunk his teeth into its pillowy flesh right there in front of you. 
“And your dad?” asked Joel, on his knees under the counter, replacing the latch on the display door’s hinge. “He help you out a lot?”
 An intrusive figure, playing unwitting God in the budding flower bed, picking petals before they were dead. He would always inflate the distance between you, assert his right to decide who you wanted, dated, fucked—he would always be Joel’s judge and jury. 
The executioner’s axe he’d take up himself. 
You topped off a row of cupcakes with little candied cherries. “He couldn't afford to quit, so I’m running the place. So much for school.”
Joel didn't like that. He didn’t like the way you let it all slide gently down your spine. There was a quiet defiance in the way you spoke—some simmering anger you buried deep in the earth where the colours weren't bright and your heart wasn't so naked. He could feel its veins as if holding it in his palm, the gentle ba-dum, ba-dum of a vulnerable organ so acquainted with disappointment.
“What do you want to study?” he asked. 
“Don’t know. Never got the chance to think about it.”
Never got the chance to find yourself. To learn. To grow. You had simply stepped into another’s body, a ghost, occupied endlessly with the next task and the next and then one more. You should've been spending your early twenties partying and studying and crying your eyes out over idiot boys who didn’t know how good they had it. You shouldn't have to be here, decorating cupcakes for a six-year-old while some old man fixed yet another broken hinge, latch, bulb. 
“I became a dad pretty young,” said Joel. “Thought I was gonna lose my whole life, all my opportunities, not that I had any.”
He did not deserve the empathetic shimmer in your waterline. “Joel, that's not true—”
“But,” he said with a faint groan as he rose, “I got to make a life of my own, with my kid, and I was happy.”
“You were happy?” you said wearily. “You aren't anymore?”
“I’m…”
He caught your eye and felt the plates far beneath his feet dislodge. Quantum shift. You held his gaze as if you were waiting for some truth to crawl from his sockets—like he was your answer. And Joel did not know what to do with that, but if you would keep looking at him this way, he would tell you any false truths you wanted to hear. 
“I’m lonely,” he said at last. Joel reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. A shiver coursed through your heart which lay in his palm, warm crimson blood trickling down his wrists. “And you shouldn't have to be. You’ve got so much life ahead of you, sweetheart.”
Some glacial melt keeled the weight of your head toward him, and your cheek was resting in the pool of his palm. Joel did not care for the hand of God whose fingers would inevitably squeeze the life from whatever this was. The jigsaw fit of your bodies felt so right in this incomprehensible sliver between before and after.
“You're not old, Joel,” you said softly. 
“Too old for you.”
He didn't know why he said it, but it made you smile. 
“You keep lying to me, Mr. Miller, and I’m not going to trust you anymore.” A wry twist of your lips. “You don’t want that, do you?”
Is this flirting? he thought to himself, so fucking out of practice that the concept felt altogether foreign. But you were giving him that foxlike look and his hand was still cupping your cheek and he could feel the flutter of your pulse, and he didn’t want to stop.
“No, baby. I don’t want that.”
Flesh meets flesh. Your hips drop, and you’re sitting so prettily on his cock, the whole of him buried inside you, stretching your capacities, shifting the dichotomy of right and wrong. He stares up at you—lips parted, eyes lidded, heart beating JoelJoelJoel—and pleasure pinballs down each knob of his spine. He’s locked in the tidal push-and-pull with your body, gravity sucking him into you, or sucking you down onto him. It doesn't matter. 
This is the after, and you're drunkenly nudging his nose with yours, trying to kiss him, and he's taking you. Running with the diamond. Sliding his tongue into your mouth, tasting cherries and frosting and giving you a piece of what he's already taken from you. You're sighing and moaning and greedily opening your mouth into him to swallow down your own taste. 
His hand slides up your spine to the sticky nape of your neck as he presses you to him, joined by every joint, every pound of flesh. 
And when he begins to move, to grind up into you and draw gooey, cloying gasps from your mouth, Joel thinks he briefly sees white. 
Jesus. Been waitin’ so goddamn long for this. You're so fuckin’ soft, baby girl. So fuckin’ beautiful. 
His teeth in your throat, around your earlobe, scraping your jaw, pleasure pinching, recapitulating, recovering only to start again. Your name on his tongue, passing from his mouth to yours, the anchor of your hand around his neck, the other on his shoulder, reciprocal re-stabilising. 
He needs you just as much as you need him, and he shows you in the way he pulls you firmly to him, because he cannot bring himself to whisper it into the barely-there space between your bodies.
“Joel, I’m sorry to call you so early, but I’m out of options, and the party starts in two hours, and my delivery guy flaked, and—”
“Honey, slow down. Lemme wake up, okay? I’m comin’ to you.”
“Oh, God, just forget I said anything. Go back to sleep. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
He still remembers the break in your voice, the fragile warble of your resolve cleaving down the middle. He remembers the sting in his own chest like it was his wound, not yours. He was awake before the sun began to climb.
You had to personally drive the cake you’d made for a ten-year-old’s birthday party all the way across town now that your delivery service had fallen through. You didn’t even have a car; you took the bus everywhere, which Joel had chewed his tongue to pieces over for months. Things could happen in the dark. Public transport was no different. But your own father didn’t seem to take issue with it, so how could Joel?
“Don’t say a word,” he told you when you hopped up into his truck and opened your mouth to apologise. “I don’t mind. You know damn well I don’t mind.”
“You should mind,” you said, instinctively picking a piece of lint from his flannel with that miserable little pout on your face. “All I’ve ever done is ask you for things.”
“And if I like doin’ things for you?”
“Then I’ll put you on my payroll,” you countered.
Joel shook his head fondly. You cleaned when you were anxious; grooming and picking at him like a monkey should not have surprised him. “Well, I got a birthday comin’ up, if you wanna thank me.”
“Yeah?” You bit your lip and some of the heaviness sitting on your shoulders lifted, the promise of getting to repay him for his altruism at last eliciting the smile he wanted. “What would you like?”
You take me so well, baby girl. Goddamn meant for me.  
The hot, wet slide of your cunt up and down the length of his steel-hard cock has him doubling over, mouthing sloppily at your tits, sucking and nibbling on your stiff nipples as you cry and whimper: Oh, Daddy, please… fuck, that feels… I can’t—
He’s blinking hard to squeeze the bleeding edges of fantasy away—because this is real, and he cannot know if he will ever have this again. I know you can. You can take me.
A nod, frantic and sick with desire, slips against his temple. I can take it. Please—let me be your good girl. I’m good, good for you. 
I know you are, baby girl. So good for Daddy. 
“Joel!”
He had never heard his own name infused with such thrill. It settled in the pool of his gut and oozed out past his ribs. 
You beckoned him to the counter and placed a steaming mug between the pair of you. The umber liquid sloshed gently in the cup. “It’s a macchiato. And don’t worry”—you caught him before the gash between his brows could deepen worriedly—“it’s nothing like that sugar heap you'll get at a Starbucks. Two shots of espresso, balanced with the milk foam.”
Joel tried to smile, but he was sure it looked more like a grimace. “Milk… foam.”
“I know you're a coffee purist, Joel, but hear me out.” You scurried to the large black boards on the back wall and flipped one over to reveal the bright white writing—stark, vibrant, a proclamation you should’ve had no business making, not when it was so bold as this. 
NEW, it read in a pretty, looping font. THE MILLER. 
His heart leapt to his throat. And there you were, gesturing to the board with his name—Joel’s name—on it, and he was lifting the confounding liquid to his lips. 
Some of the foam accumulated in his moustache as he tentatively sipped and rolled the flavour over his tongue. It wasn't… bad. Not at all. A little too sweet where he preferred the bitter drag of a dark roast. A few too many frills. But—
“It’s good,” he said. Your answering smile decided it for him. He would never go back to black coffee. 
Fuck, baby, that's it. Keep on ridin’ me just like that. Oh, Jesus—
The slow, rhythmic slap of your thighs against his as you lock your arms around his neck and lift yourself up and down on his dick. Your head lolling around your shoulders, your brows drawn up in the middle. The squelch of your creamy cunt as you take him to the hilt and bring your hips down in measured, grinding motions. 
You’re getting yourself off, too, your clit rubbing against the hairs at the base of his cock, and Joel groans, Fuckin’ hell. Christ, that’s good. That’s it, that’s—
“Think I’m gettin’ fat on all these sweets, baby.”
He’d begun to come into the bakery on Saturday mornings, too, even though he didn’t work. With Sarah no longer in Austin and a dreadfully empty house whose groans and creaks only kept him up all hours, he had little to do but work, maintain the lawns, and, well…
Sat together at the table by the window, you shared a leftover slice of rich cherry pie. The awning outside fluttered gently in the breeze, cutlery and ceramic softly colliding as folks indulged in your treats. You beamed at Joel and reached out to swipe some foamed milk from his moustache. 
“I like you this way,” you said, your thumb coasting along his jawline, your eyes like jewels. The pendant on your throat dipped as you swallowed, settling in the hollow like a perching bird. 
Joel, white-knuckling his fork, felt his cock grow hard in his boxers, a heavy weight against his leg. The rapid shuttering of your eyes left him feeling inexplicably panicked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep—”
“No,” said Joel, his hand covering your knee beneath the table. You were wearing a little skirt that day. The silky fabric shifted under the coarse texture of the pads of his fingers and he wondered if the softness would be akin to the flesh of your thighs, your belly, your tits (sitting so pretty in that plain T-shirt: pink, of course). “No, you didn’t… You know I…”
And what could he say?
You know I’ve wanted to slip my hand down each one of those pretty skirts you wear since the first day I saw you. You know I take my cock in my hand and jerk off in the shower and I picture your lips around it. You know you’ve fucking infected me. You know I’m poisoned. You know I ain’t good enough. Youknowyouknowyouknow I can never have you.
“Joel, man, I’ve been calling your cell.”
His hand smacked the underside of the table in its hasty retreat as Chris rounded the corner and clapped Joel on the shoulder. “Hey, kiddo. You mind if I have a bite?”
And because you were so goddamn sweet, because you were a smart girl and knew how to play it cool, you gave your father your fork with a big smile and said, “All yours. I should get back. Thanks for the taste test, Joel.”
Chris easily occupied your seat at the table and Joel, adjusting his pants discreetly, was struck by how wrong this had been. To sit with you, sharing a pie, touching, wanting—
He was fucked. And he didn’t care. He only wanted more. 
“Cowboys kick off next Sunday,” said Chris through a mouthful of baked cherries. The warm, cloying scent reminded Joel of your perfume. “You want to come over for dinner? We’ll order takeout, grab some beers.”
Joel swallowed, rubbing his fingers over his mouth. He felt the phantom touch of your thumb lingering just above his Cupid’s bow. “Yeah, man. Be fun.”
Chris grinned over the pie—now his, no lingers yours and Joel’s. “Hope you don’t mind that I invited my kid, too. She needs the break.”
You’re close, baby. Can fuckin’ feel it. Feel you squeezin’ me.
Thighs trembling, muscles gooey, you struggle to lift yourself up, and it's Joel who scoops you up with a hand on your ass and lies you on your back, never once pulling out. He doesn't think he can. How did the first man to discover fire ever snuff it out?
He bends over you and thrusts deep, punching a sob out of your throat. Joel groans, nipping your chin as you toss your head back, his mouth trailing down the hollow of your throat, latching around one of your sore nipples, already abused by his attention. You rake your fingers through his tousled greying locks and lift your legs up around his hips as he fucks you slow, hard, deep enough that your heart begins to bruise. 
Joel hisses when he feels your fingernails scratching down his spine, between his shoulder blades, pulling him close to you. He dulls his pain in your flesh, open-mouthed kisses soothing the biting bruises he's left on your throat. 
Your cunt rhythmically pulses around his cock and Joel grunts, driving deeper, hand fisting your hair, and Daddy, I’m so close—!
Friday night. Joel’s birthday. 
He’d spent it on the job site, laying brick, then at home, cracking open a cold beer and calling Sarah, whose gift hadn't arrived yet. She sang him “Happy Birthday” from her dorm room and Joel smiled. All things considered, it wasn't a shitty day. Just…
Lonely. 
And you—
You were at his door at ten o’clock, shrouded in night in a way he'd never seen you. Not dressed in pink but black: sweatpants and a tight little tank top that made him swallow his tongue. You were holding a goddamn cake. 
You'd had a stressful day. He could tell. Eyes a little sunken, shoulders a little rounded, but you were still smiling, still holding up that cake—chocolate, circled with candied cherries, of course—and singing a weary “Surprise!”
Joel laughed—in shock, maybe—and rubbed his hand over his beard. “Jesus, baby,” he said. “C’mon in; it’s cold out.”
He helped you secure the cake in the refrigerator and offered you dinner: leftover pad thai and a beer. You accepted the former with a grumbling stomach and politely declined the latter. Of course, you were a wine girl. 
“I’m sorry it’s so late,” you told him, sitting across the couch while reruns of Happy Days idly played on the television. “Shit goes down at the Morning Star when you're not there.”
Joel shook his head. “I run a tight ship. You doin’ okay?”
“I’m strung-out, Joel, as ever. But fine.” Your conciliatory smile was so fucking cheeky he had half a mind to put you over his knee. “I hope your birthday wasn't a disappointment.”
“Couldn't have been,” he said. “You brought me a cake.”
You beamed. And the cord wrapped around both of your bodies jerked tighter. Joel was hiding his erection with the takeout container, too humiliated to let you see the hard band of his cock in his jeans. You'd run. You'd think he was a freak, a perv, a sleaze. 
He was all three, of course. Didn't stop him from wanting—
His cock driving deep inside you, achingly slow, back screaming for relief. Daddy, please, I’m… nnngh, please let me come! Daddy, I’ll do anything, please!
Shhh, baby girl. He rises to his haunches and dips his hand between your joined bodies, rubbing your slick little pearl in fast circles. Your eyes roll back and your head collided with the pillow once more. Thaaat’s it, baby. You gonna come for Daddy? Be a good girl for me?
“Joel,” you said softly, your food forgotten on the table, your body inching closer to his, now two feet apart at best. Your eyes buttery in the darkness, lips dewy with some pinkish gloss you always wore, gloss he knew tasted like cherries. He licked his lips. 
His hands flexed. “Yeah.”
“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” you said, bridging the gap, placing your hand on his knee, pink nails and soft skin and vanilla perfume. Joel sets his container aside, swallowing hard. 
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.” You were tentative at first, scooting closer, your hand gingerly exploring the length of his strong thigh, against the grain of the denim. 
“Baby,” said Joel, more a long-bated exhale than a word at all. Gritting his teeth, hands at his sides, he watched in disbelief as you explored him, your manicured hand gently palming the hard length in his jeans. The moan he let out surprised himself. 
“Tell me to stop,” you whispered, pulling yourself onto his lap, straddling his hips, your arms winding around his neck, perfumecherrieslipgloss—
“Tell me to stop and I will.”
Joel’s hands, no longer balled into fists, flattened against your arms and travelled their length, exploring your contours, dipping his palms into the curves of your shoulder blades, lodging himself firmly in the after with you. 
You shivered, and he liked it. 
“You need someone to touch you, too, baby girl.”
Not a question. You nodded anyway. 
“Words,” he demanded. 
Your lips parted and suddenly your noses were brushing, the pupils of your heavy eyes expanding, taking all of him in. 
“I need you to touch me, Joel.”
“I know,” he said, one hand smoothing down the crown of your head, the other trailing featherlight up your spine. “I’m gonna kiss you, baby.”
You nodded again, a little feverish, pulling yourself closer to him, your thighs squeezing his. “Please.”
The after began with you, the way it will end with you. And he's kissing you now, too, swallowing the sounds of your orgasm as you hold him so tightly to you there's no escape. Not that he wants to leave. Not that he finally has this. 
He's breathing life into your climax and burning it bright, hot, endless—that’s my good girl, coming so much for me, I know it's a lot, baby girl, just keep holdin’ me, that’s it, sweetheart. 
And he's coming, too, grasping your hips so hard they'll bruise, nipping your earlobe and your jaw and leaving sloppy kisses on your neck, spiralling out of control, squeezed so tight by your hot, wet pussy. He comes with a pinch of pain in his lower back, groaning your name into you, pitching up into a near-whine as you milk him, guide him, coax him. 
Fuck, fuck… goddamn—
Daddy, I need your cum. Please come inside me. 
I will, baby girl, I will… Jesus—
It's so warm and slick where his cock begins to pulse inside you that he couldn't pull out if he wanted to. He empties himself, absolves himself, no longer a sinning man but one cleansed. Your body begs for it, your cunt pulling every drop from him, letting him make a mess of your used hole. Joel grinds absently until it's too much, until he’s sensitive and softening and trying not to collapse on top of you. 
Your lip gloss is smudged. He licks his lips and tastes cherries. 
“You okay, baby?”
You wince as he pulls out of you, globs of cum pooling at your hole and dripping onto the bed sheets. “Mhm.” You pull him closer, asking for a kiss he happily gives you. 
“I feel good. I feel happy.”
He grins into your throat, littering meagre kisses in the junction there. “Did so well for me,” he mumbles.
“Tell me something,” you whisper, combing your fingers through his hair. 
He purrs at the satiating scratch of your nails, his head resting on your chest. “Mmm.”
“Do you really like the Miller Macchiato, or are you just ordering it to make me happy?”
Joel chuckles, playfully taking your nipple between his teeth. “It's grown on me.”
From here, where he can feel the thrum of your settling heart reverberate through his skull, Joel gently tucks the beating organ back between your ribs for safekeeping. Here, in the clear-blue space of after, he doesn't need to hold it to know he's got it. He only needs to lower his ear to your chest and hear it sing his name. 
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tagging some friends who showed interest in the wip!!: @casa-boiardi @swiftispunk @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @cool-iguana @morning-star-joy @party-hearses @5oh5 (i love you all 🫶)
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dcxdpdabbles · 5 months
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Cave boy Danny. What if he offhandedly mentions his parents being THERE (as in not dead) and being Doctors (not the same kind of doctors Bruce's parents are) and things like that and doesn't realize that the batfam starts thinking that this? This is what's different with this Bruce. He didn't lose his parents and thus does not grow up wanting vengeance, and his parents are similar in personalities but in a different field!
Now Danny is still as casual young Bruce as ever but the others are just freeking out around him.
Things are strange for a while. Danny knows that his actions have caused the Waynes to be....wary around him. Even Jason- who honestly threw a whole ass parade for Gotham in celebration of Joker's death- seemed to be tense around him.
Danny can't really say he blames them. He still doesn't know why Phantom reacted the way it did- a bit alarming. His ghost side marked Joker as a threat from the moment it laid eyes on him- a threat that could not and would not be reasoned with.
His ghost -half attacked, knowing that Joker's existence threatened his core. A core that was created from the desire to keep his friends safe at the moment of his death. (He had known he would die the moment the portal's electricity hit him- and Danny had not been mournful of his end but rather horrified that Tucker or Sam could have followed him to the afterlife. His last thought as a human was Please let me live long enough to keep them safe.)
Never has that happened before- not even when faced with Vlad or Dan. It was strange to watch Phantom attack and not be in equal amounts of control within his body.
Phantom has always felt a part of him but also not. Danny had once tried to explain it to Jaz, only to end up frustrated when she tried to paint Phantom as a different personality that shared the mind-space with Danny.
Danny knows Phantom isn't like that.
He's not another person- Phantom is Danny in the same sense that Danny is alive but dead. For the same reason, Danny is the flipped color scheme of Phantom. They are one, just viewed differently.
Or maybe they saw the world differently?
It's hard to say and even harder to put into words.
The closest Danny could come to explain was an example Tucker gave him. Someone is the same but acts ultimately differently online, even when they aren't trying to catfish someone.
It's the fact they are behind a screen that gives them just the extra amount of courage. Tuck had said.
Ancients, he misses Tuck. His ship is not ready to venture into his Ghost Zone- hell, if Danny is honest, it's barely able to move. He is trying his best to get it working, but it's slow going. Too slow, even with Wayne's generosity.
"Master Brucie," Alfred started, pausing just within the doorframe of Danny's room until invited in. He does that now, keeping to his manners as though Danny was a guest of the Waynes. Not someone who he can be so familiar with.
It stings to know his killing had lost him the right to be treated as a stranger when Alfred had always treated him as young Bruce Wayne the moment he was found.
"Yes?" He asks, trying to smile. It falls flat, but it's worth the effort.
Alfred's face stays impassive, and Danny tries to tell himself that he doesn't care. He's not a young Bruce Wayne. He wants nothing to do with the Wyanes'.
"There are more gifts for you." The bulter says. "Shall I bring them to your room?"
Danny has received a lot of fan mail since his actions were leaked to the public. Everyone knew that Joker was taken out by Danny Kane. And there wasn't a single person in Gotham who hadn't been hurt or known someone injured by the madman.
He is being praised as a hero.
For murder.
Danny can't find it in himself to feel guilty about it. Joker needed to die. He had too many chances to change, and too many people got hurt.
"That's okay. I'll go downstairs and look through them. I feel like watching a movie anyway." He shrugs his shoulders while strolling to the door in his lazy stride.
Alfred steps out of his way, bowing ever so slightly. "Very good sir."
Sir.
That stings.
Danny doesn't bring it up or mention that Alfred keeps a safe space between them. Not enough that it would be rude, but definitely one of a servant following a master instead of a man who thought him the younger version of his son.
When they arrive at the room, he is surprised to find a white shipping cart filled to the brim with packages and letters waiting for him. Standing beside the cart, flipping through the envelopes, is Tim.
He has yet to see much of Tim. Not since Danny proved his doubts weren't as unfound as Danny actively tried to convince the other teen of.
No time like the present.
"Hey, Tim." He calls just to mentally get the other prepared for his approach. As expected, Tim whips around with a narrow eye-ed glare that does nothing to hide his distaste for Danny. Alfred follows them into the room but stays by the door at an appropriate distance. "Anything good?"
"Good, how?" Tim bites, and Danny fights to not roll his eyes.
"I don't know. Maybe a letter from my mom saying I'm a good boy or another football from dad-"
"I beg your pardon?" Alfred cuts him off- which, okay, that's never happened before. The butler has never overstepped his position- even when they thought him harmless little Brucie- to talk over him.
Danny turns to find the man pasty white, looking both cautiously overjoyed and wishful. "Did you make a joke about your parents, Master Brucie?"
"Ugh, Yeah? Why?"
"Young sir, are- are your parents alive?"
Danny is floored by the choked-up emotion in that one sentence that all he can do is nod. Tim drops the package he was checking over, his jaw slacked, and staring at Danny like having parents was the answer of the universe.
"Thomas and Martha Wayne are alive in your universe.." Tim all but breaths. "They are alive and have more than one kid."
"Why is that a big deal?" Danny asks, unable to himself. "What happened to Bruce's parents here?"
"Master Thomas was a doctor," Alfred says, ignoring Danny's question. But he now hears the answer in the past tense when referring to Bruce's parents. "Is he still in your world?"
"Yes, and so is my mom." PHD doctors, but they don't need to know that.
"That's why you like this." Tim slumps into the chair closest to him. Danny is mightily alarmed that he seems pale now. "That's why you don't know anything about Batman. He was never inspired. You....you really are a civilian."
Danny will deny that he fleed the room when Tim burst into tears till the day he died. He does not look back even when Alfred yells for his return. He has outstayed his welcome.
He slips into his room, grabs anything not nailed down with any form of technology, and then activates his intangibility. He sinks down down, and down, to the caves. He knows where the Bats work, knows where to go from his nights where he tried to work on ship.
He flies in that direction, knowing he will never see the Waynes again. Not after realizing how much pain his lies have unwillingly caused.
Master Post Link
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starry-bi-sky · 3 months
Text
More clone^2 snippets
Snippet 12: hands
Lancer: dear god, Mr. Fenton, what happened to your hands!?
Danny, had a run in with Damian’s katana and both of his hands have stitches: um… cooking… accident. I can’t use them that much currently
Lancer, pale: right, yes, of course. You may have one of your friends right you notes until they are properly healed
————
Snippet 13: more hands (and dash is a dick)
Dash: I bet Fenturd’s just faking his hand injury to get out of doing class work. Getting out of classwork is my thing! I’ll show him.
Danny, minding his own business:
Dash, yanks on his fingers harshly: Freak! Did you think you could copy me and het away with it?
Danny, his stitches torn from the way Dash grabbed him: you’re the last person I’d want to copy Dash, let go.
Dash: we all know you’re faking the hand injury, there’s no way you’d— you’d—
(Danny’s hands are bleeding, and starting to smear on Dash’s hands.)
Danny, (fake) calmly: you were saying, Dash?
Dash: I - uh—
Danny: thanks for opening them up, jerk.
—————
Snippet 14: Danny is Bruce’s Clone and Bruce Wayne has been hottest man alive for many consecutive years
The A-Lister Girls are at a sleepover
Star: Never have I ever had a crush on Danny Fenton
All girls (including Star): puts a finger down
A-List Girl: Paulina put your finger down
Paulina, begrudgingly putting a finger down: he shouldn’t count - he’s a loser!
A-List Girl: he’s still the cutest boy in our grade. Put your damn finger down.
—————
Snippet 15: unstoppable force vs immovable object
(In the Clone Danny Au, since Danny is not a ghost Valerie doesn’t see Phantom as the guy who ruined her life, but a very exhausted vigilante trying his best. They’re allies with conflicting ideologies on how to handle ghosts.)
Red Huntress: are you kidding me, Phantom? You dragged a kid in with you to fight ghosts? I thought you were better than that
Wraith, offended: *opening his mouth*
Phantom, tiredly putting a hand over Damian’s mouth: *in ASL + one hand* you don’t think I tried to stop him?
Red Huntress: he’s a child, Phantom, how hard could it be?
Phantom: looks down at Wraith
Wraith: looks up at Phantom with the eyes of a hundred enraged bulls
Phantom, kneeling down to Wraith and pulling his mask up to show his mouth: *whispering inaudibly*
Wraith: *takes off in the opposite direction*
Phantom, standing up to Red: *ASL* well? go get him
————
Snippet 16: identity
(Danny and Damian are sitting on a rooftop, in the middle of a break from patrol. Damian sits between Danny’s legs and Danny is slumped over Damian’s back.)
Damian, playing with Danny’s fingers:
Danny: who are you?
Damian: Damian.
Danny: who are you not?
Damian: Damian Wayne.
Danny: do you have to be?
Damian: no.
Danny: who do you have to be?
Damian: I just have to be me.
Danny: who are you?
Damian: I’m Damian.
Danny: good.
Damian:
Danny:
Damian: who are you?
Danny, smiling: Danny
—————
Snippet 17: long hair
(In the Clone Danny Au, Danny’s hair goes to his shoulders. I was in a GNC mood at the time the au was made and it passed on to Danny.)
Tucker: are you going to cut your hair, Danny? It’s getting long.
Danny, laying against the bed frame with Sam doing his hair: probably to get the dead ends cut off. I like it long.
Sam: I like it long too.
Tucker: you like it long because he lets you do whatever you want to it
Sam: it’s also a stand against the oppressive stereotype that men can’t have long hair and must always have it short in order to appear masculine! Danny’s showing individuality and sticking it to the patriarchy at the same time!
Danny: and because I let you do whatever you want to it.
Sam, making a punk hairdo for danny: yea that too
——————
Snippet 18: Danny is Bruce Wayne’s clone and Bruce——
Danny, getting stuff from his locker: my parents have a new ‘Fenton anti-ghost sticky bomb’ they’re working on and—
Student with a photography camera: Hey, Fenton!
Danny, looking over: what?
Student: *snaps a photo* thanks!
Student walks away
Danny:
Tucker:
Sam:
Danny: so… um…. Is that- is that another Wes? Should I be worried?
Sam: you should be angry! He just took your picture without your consent! That’s a violation of your bodily autonomy.
Danny: we can keep an eye on it, Sam, and if it becomes an issue then I’ll report it to a teacher.
Danny: and as I was saying, I can’t wait to have to make sure that that doesn’t hurt anyone.
Danny: i love having to stay up late sabotaging my parents’ inventions. Yay…
—————
Snippet 19: Danny is Bruce’s clone and—
Wes: ranting about how Phantom = Danny and how there’s proof and he has it and—
Random Student from his photography club: you wanna kiss him so bad it makes you look stupid.
Wes: I do nOT
Student: Its okay Wes, so does literally everyone else.
—————
Snippet 20: Lookalike
Danny: the only good thing about being Bruce Wayne’s clone is that my Brucie Wayne Impression is spot on
Damian: what??
Danny: my Brucie Wayne impression. It shouldn’t be as fun as it is doing it
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suppose-i-was-worm · 8 months
Text
Like A Lamb
**Idea taken from @nerdpoe's post- What the hell is this "Infinite Realms"?**
John Constantine would never call himself a kind man, much less a good man, but the kid at the corner table of this fast food restaurant was making him want to be both.
Not that John’s kindness would really help the kid, in the long run.
He’d seen so many things in all the time he’d been alive- wondrous and horrific in equal measure, but this boy- this teenager, barely out of childhood, was probably the most heart-breaking.
John had known sacrifices- marked by both men and demons. He’d seen the crumpled bodies after the fact, and sometimes he’d been able to save them beforehand. None of them were like this boy. Marked like a sacrificial lamb down to his bones by the universe- an inevitable end.
The teen was the beginning and the end of worlds- his death would shake the foundations of all that was, could be, and is. Time would stutter to a stop before restarting with a different beat, and John could do nothing to delay or stop what was coming.
How in the world could this kid still smile and laugh with his friends? How could he not feel the weight of an entire reality on his shoulders? If John, sitting across a dining room from him, could feel the pressure, why wasn’t the boy buckling under it?
John’s phone alerted him to a text from Zatanna- he was needed by the JLD.
With a sigh, he fished out the strongest protection amulet he had on him. It wouldn’t save the teen, but maybe it would make the rest of his life a little easier.
The kid looked up at him as he approached, all smiles and young innocence. John Constantine thrust the amulet into his hand and then turned, stalking out of the Nasty Burger.
He needed to tell the Justice League. Amity Park needed protection- there was a kid there whose death would change the world.
~~~
Danny flipped the little charm around in his hands, trying to figure it out. The sad trenchcoat man had handed it to him before leaving, and he had no idea why.
“What do you think it is, Danny?”
He shrugged. For some reason he didn’t want to hand it over to Sam for her to inspect it.
“Dunno. It feels important, though. I might take it to Pandora- she’s been teaching me a bit of magic stuff, so she can probably parse it out.”
For some reason, Danny knew he would recognize that man again if he ever saw him, despite only having looked at him for a moment. Something in his core rumbled contently as he tucked the amulet carefully into the back of his phone case.
The next few weeks, Danny found himself having suspiciously good luck. The food at home didn’t come to life, ghosts didn’t attack as much, Dash wasn’t a problem at school, and even the Fentons hadn’t been as insistent on catching Phantom.
That was another weird thing- His brain didn’t seem to compute that Jack and Maddie were his mom and dad anymore. He knew he’d been creeping toward that ever since his death, but it was like a switch had been flipped overnight. The Fenton adults no longer registered as his parents.
Finally he had a chance to slip into the Realms and head for Pandora, who took one look at the amulet he held out to her and laughed.
“You have been adopted, young one, and your core accepted.”
“Adopted?”
“Your nature is to protect- it sings in your blood and guides your instincts. An adult offered you protection, a safe haven, and you took them up on it. Had someone your own age done the same, your relationship with them would be vastly different.”
Danny frowned at the charm, but he didn’t put it down- it didn’t even occur to him to get rid of it.
“Why did he- what made him do that?”
Pandora ruffled his hair.
“He saw someone who needed protecting, I assume, and acted as he ought.”
~~~
“Bats, I don’t know what the Infinite Realms are. Yes, I know they exist. I just don’t know when they started to exist, and when my knowledge of the afterlife became outdated.”
Batman glared, and John rolled his eyes at the other man.
“Magic shit happens all the time. Zatanna can tell you just as well as I can that the Realms didn’t exist a year ago- and also that they’ve existed for millenia.”
“I’ve found a summoning spell for the king of the realms, but it requires a magic user. Zatanna is off-planet, so you’re up.”
John looked over at the speaker, Red Robin, whose slight form and dark hair made him think of the boy he’d left to die.
He’d thought of the boy more often than not- any research into the kind of sacrifice that would have so much power came to a dead end, and John Constantine hated that there was really and truly nothing he could do for the kid.
Maybe this Infinite Realms person might know something?
“Fine. What are the details?”
Red Robin perked up and handed over a heavy tome.
“Batman and I already set up the ritual space in the conference room, and a few other heroes are there to help out if the king is hostile.”
“Of course you have. Let’s go, then.”
The two bats swept off down the hallway, and John followed behind, studying the spell he would need to cast. It was fairly simple, and luckily wouldn’t require blood. He hated the ones that required blood.
As he stood over the sigils and spoke the ritual spells, the floor inside the protective circle began to writhe and bubble a toxic neon green. It was all John could do to stand straight as a rush of air spilled from the portal into the wide room, bringing with it the heavy taste of caution.
The Justice League took a step back as the first clawed hand reached out from the green, white and stretched beyond humanity. It scrabbled for purchase before finding it and pulling.
The creature that exited the swirling mass was something John had never seen before. If the situation wasn’t so tense, he might describe the creature as catlike, with a black body and white legs, as well as piercing green eyes. The similarities stopped, however, when the inky body flickered and lit up from within with the pinpricks of millions of stars and endless void.
This was a baby god, filled with the dreams of deities long forgotten and fueled by the hope of those still clinging on to life.
Its green eyes swept over the gathered heroes before coming to rest on John, and for a moment he felt as if his tattered soul was being judged by the cosmos.
And then the creature folded in on itself, the tense air around it changing from bitter caution to sweet relief, and John found himself face to face with the teenager from Amity Park.
“Hi.”
The boy sounded winded, but happy, and he reached inside his shirt to pull out a small chain necklace. John’s amulet was hanging off it, obviously well treasured and cared for.
“Did you know that you’re technically my dad now?”
Something on John’s face must have told the boy- the god, the sacrifice both dead and alive- that he was unaware of this fact. The kid shuffled a little, looking sheepishly at the floor.
“You- uh. Unintentionally offered safe haven. And I accepted without realizing what was going on, and- it’s weird. I collected your soul for you! Didn’t bring it with me, but I’ve got the pieces you’re missing.”
“I think you both need to sit down and discuss this.”
Bless Diana.
“Can you leave the circle, young one?”
The teen beamed at Diana and stepped out of the protective circle, smudging the sigils as he did and closing the portal.
“I can, yeah. Pandora says hi, by the way.”
John watched as the boy chattered away about his ghost friends to Diana while she led him to a seat, and then sighed, moving to join them. If he needed help with being a new dad, surely Bats could help, right?
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artemismoorea03 · 3 months
Text
DP x DC Prompt: Backup Plans
Danny had a list of 'backup plans' and plans for his backup plans. If his secret got out and his parents didn't take it well he needed a backup. If the world found out he had a back up for that. If both happened there was a third plan. If the worst came true and his loved ones all died in a fiery blast and he was potentially forced to live with Vlad - there was a backup for that too.
Most of the back ups meant living in Sam or Tuckers house without knowing, leaving with Jazz to another city, moving into the Ghost Zone, or leaving America all together (he was thinking Antarctica because of the cold, distance and frequent Ghost Portals that opened there).
But there were backup plans for that too, because if Vlad was determined enough he would go to the ends of the earth (literally) to find him. So, with Clockworks blessing and very vague gesturing towards one section of the Zone he started looking for backup plans in the Infinite Realms.
Which is how he ended up in Gotham City when a natural portal opened up. It was the middle of the day - not ideal - and he appeared right in the middle of a crowded room - even less ideal. It seemed like some kind of... reward ceremony? There were people in spandex on a stage, looking surprised as Danny got ready to book it.
At least that was until one of the spandex wearers approached him. He was wearing all black with pointy... ears? and some kind of bat symbol on his chest.
"Alien, Meta or being from another dimension?" He simply asked.
"Uh... the third one?" Danny replied, looking around anxiously as the bat-guy reached into his belt, pulling out what looked like a PDA but without buttons. Seeing Danny's confusion he turned it on, the screen lighting up with a form.
"Alright. Come stand over here with me and fill this out."
Danny didn't know what was happening but was even more concerned when he actually read what the not-PDA said.
Alternate Dimension Traveler Documentation Form 301
"Do... you get visitors from other dimensions a lot?" Danny asked, following bat-guy to the corner.
"Occasionally."
"Oh... and that's okay?"
"If they're not here to cause trouble, yes."
Danny smiled at this, "Well I'm definitely not here to do that. I'm looking for a backup plan."
"Backup plan?"
"Mhm." Danny said looking at the not-pda curiously as he tried to figure out how to work it. "You know, in case my parents find out what I am and try to cut me open, my Godfather tries to kidnap or torture me, or my Government captures me and performs legal experimentation's on me as a way to destroy an entire dimension and potentially all connecting dimensions - including yours... say to you have a stylus or something? I'm not sure how this works."
Bat-guy simply blinked slowly, then put his hand on his shoulder as he lead him further from the crowd and sat him down. "You use your finger. See, tap where you want to type and go from there."
"Oh, neat! Thanks bat-dude."
"It's Batman, and you are?"
"Phantom. Danny Phantom. Nice to meet you."
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velvet4510 · 8 days
Text
Here’s the thing.
Many Bagginshield shippers, especially in fics, focus on how Bilbo never got over Thorin, to the point where some describe Bilbo’s life as sad and unfulfilled because of that loss.
Don’t get me wrong: I do agree that he suffered terrible loss and undeserved torment by the Ring. And the fact that he never marries probably does have some connection to the memory of Thorin.
But, y’all, don’t forget or ignore the fact that, in Tolkien’s text, Bilbo does move on from grief and live the rest of his life well.
He does not become bitter from his pain. He retains his kind heart.
He is generous with his wealth, helping in every way he can the very community that ostracizes him.
He sees in Frodo a kindred spirit and takes it upon himself to be the parental figure that Frodo so badly needs as an orphan.
He and Frodo develop an uncle-nephew (really more like father-son) relationship built on trust, keeping no secrets from each other, to the level where he tells Frodo the truth about his encounter with Gollum. (And probably the truth about his feelings for Thorin, too.)
He and Frodo have so much fun, going for walks every day, studying the Elvish languages, and throwing big birthday parties to show the community a good time. It’s plain to see that caring for Frodo filled that massive void inside Bilbo, finally giving him someone to love and devote himself to looking after, after his first chance at that (albeit the first being a different kind of love) was taken from him.
He does not see himself as superior to the lower class despite his riches, and always treats the Gamgees with the utmost respect.
He teaches Sam to read and write.
He tells his story to the younger hobbits, inspiring more of them to want to learn more about the outside world and not be so sheltered and ignorant…an effort which ultimately saves Middle-earth because the Travelers learn from him to be curious and interested in the lands outside the Shire, and he inspires them daily, as they constantly say to themselves “if Bilbo could go there and back again and face great danger, so can we.”
He even learns to love having a tarnished reputation, ultimately taking advantage of being “mad” to play a fun prank.
When he is no longer at rest in the Shire, he gifts Frodo all his property which will ensure Frodo is set for life, and through all his passive aggressive gifts to his relatives, he gives the Gaffer genuinely useful items that he knows will help him, including ointment for creaky joints.
He gets a peaceful retirement among his Elven friends, which he spends writing his memoir so that future generations will know all about his lost friends.
And ultimately, he embraces the special gift of an exception from the Valar and rare permission to set foot in the Blessed Realm for one last adventure, where he will continue to look after his beloved nephew.
And the fact is, he never would’ve gotten any of these things if he’d stayed in Erebor. He would never have developed that special bond with Frodo - he may never have even met him - and consequently, Frodo may never have met Sam.
Yes, a lot of his life was lonely and somber. But much more of it, even after experiencing such a tragedy, was full of love and joy and fun and excitement. He became an invaluable caretaker and mentor to the next generation of hobbits, got a taste of fatherhood, passed on his expertise and his story, and spent his last years surrounded by friends and family.
Bilbo Baggins may have lost the love of his life, but he did not give up on life itself, and he lived a full one. Don’t forget that.
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keerysfreckles · 2 months
Note
omg i just rewatched mamma mia. what about luke as sam and the reader (child of apollo) as donna. like luke doesn’t turn to kronos but him and the reader break up so she disappears off the face of the earth (aka she runs off to greece). thalia’s tree somehow gets poisoned and the oracle sends luke, percy, and annabeth to go look for the camp’s former best healer. they reach a remote greek island and find the reader there, working as the local nurse/healer (and if you want, they also find out she has a little baby girl, sophia aka sophie 🤭 lmao luke and reader as teen parents). so much angst lol
the name of the game — luke castellan
Tumblr media
pairing: luke castellan x apollo fem!reader
warnings: use of y/n and she/her pronouns, HEAVILY based on mamma mia (my fav movie ever), angst angst angst!!!!!!
a/n: i literally watched mamma mia here we go again today i love both movies with all my heart ALSO THE PJO SZN FINALE???????? HELLO?????????????
masterlist !
꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱
y/n l/n didn't plan on leaving camp half-blood.
she didn't plan on leaving her siblings and close friends, and her boyfriend. well, now ex boyfriend.
that was too complicated for her to even understand. one moment luke wanted everything to do with her. he wanted to be around her 24/7, and show how much he appreciated her. but recently he got distant, and wouldn't explain why.
y/n hated confrontation, so she decided to just ditch camp all together after the couple officially split less than 24 hours ago. she doubted anyone would go looking for her.
oh how wrong she was.
annabeth chase and percy jackson were on a hunt for luke castellan.
they were given direct orders from chiron to find the child of hermes. neither of them dared to question the centaur, making them search for luke as quick as they could.
annabeth's shoudlers dropped in relief once they came across luke. he was practicing his sword work against a dummy made out of hay and old fabric.
"do you have any idea why chiron would send us looking for you?" annabeth was straight to the point. percy was standing beside her, just as determined to get answers.
luke shrugs, "is there another new camper?"
percy shakes his head, "he seemed pretty urgent about it. you might want to follow us back to the big house."
the trio walked in silence back through the woods and through the cabins until they got to the big house. chiron was waiting for them anxiously at the end of the steps.
"thank you percy, annabeth," chiron thanks them for finding luke. "i'm not sure if you three are aware, the camp may be in danger. thalia's tree has been poisened. we aren't sure how or why, but all we need is the solution. a healer."
chiron looked towards luke when he finished his statement.
"again, i'm not sure if you're aware that y/n of apollo cabin has been missing since late last night."
all three have different expressions of shock on their face. luke however is mostly hurt. he couldn't believe y/n would just run off like that. he wondered if it was from the argument they had.
"i'm sending you three to go find her, and bring her back safely in order for her to save the tree and the camp," chiron instructs.
"we don't even know where she went," luke points out.
"yeah, she could be anywhere in the world," percy adds.
annabeth looks between the two boys, "wasn't she saying how if she could get away for the weekend she'd go to greece?" she ends her observation while looking at luke.
the boy quickly nods, "yes. she always loved the idea of," he pauses and his voice gets quieter, "running away to greece together."
after a moment, chiron speaks again. "so it's settled. you three will go search for y/n, daughter of apollo, and bring her back to camp to heal thalia's tree and save the camp. good luck to you all."
"we've been in this boat for hours," percy groans.
annabeth stops steering the large boat as luke stops tying a rope. they both turn to him.
"we've been on the water for maybe twenty minutes seaweed brain," annabeth teases.
"wait," luke walks closer to the younger campers, "if your dad's poseidon, why can't you just push us all under water through like an air bubble?"
"it would look a little suspicious if three teenagers showed up to an island with no boat and dry clothes," annabeth mentions, making luke's idea sink to the bottom of the ocean.
luke speaks up again, "what if y/n doesn't come back to camp with us?"
annabeth and percy don't have an exact answer for luke. that only makes him worried this quest won't work out in their favor.
"we'll cross that bridge when we get there," annabeth responds. "right now we just have to get to greece."
after docking their own boat at the port of athens, the trio was quick to buy three tickets for the local ferry. annabeth grabbed a map as luke and percy were trying to figure out the best method for finding y/n.
they agreed to search all the islands as quick as humanly possible. they'd ask locals if they knew of a strong healer, and if any of them were given an answer that resembled the idea of y/n living there, they'd know to check that island.
after searching through three and a half different islands, getting on and off multiple ferries, and still with no luck of finding the apollo girl, the trio was debating on giving up. until annabeth looked at the map again. she mentioned to luke and percy about one more island where y/n might be. it was much smaller so they could search more thoroughly.
it was almost sunset once they reach the island, meaning they had maybe an hour or two to find y/n in the daylight.
the trio split up as soon as they stepped foot onto the dock. percy searched the perimeter near the edges of the water. annabeth searched through the bundles of shops and hotels. while luke searched through abandoned looking buildings.
as all hope was feeling lost, luke noticed a building of to the side of the commotion. there was a dirt path leading up to it, with no shops or houses surrounding it.
he could only hope and pray that y/n would be inside.
the inside of the building did not match its exterior. the outside looked as if it was going to fall apart at any gust of wind. however the inside was much more lively than luke expected it to be. there were people inside rushing to get past one another. it seemed as if they were all rushing to get to the same person.
luke pushed through the small crowd, and all the air left his lungs when he saw y/n. she was helping someone from the island, who seemed to have a deep cut on his leg. luke could finally guess this was the hospital on the island.
"y/n," luke spoke up, making the commotion in the room subside.
y/n and luke's eyes locked. neither of them were sure what to do.
y/n excuses herself and drags luke outside by his wrist.
"what on earth do you think you're doing here?"
"i had to come and find you," luke tried to explain but y/n only cut him off.
"so you just followed me? i seriously don't want to be around you luke. i thought running away from you and camp would've gotten that through your head."
"y/n i didn't chase after you to try and fix this," he gestures between the two of them, "there's a serious problem at camp."
y/n chuckles, "what? did peter fall off the climbing wall and scrape his elbow again? or did sophie run into a tree for the fifth time this week?"
"y/n this is serious," luke tries to tell her.
"you can't be serious. you dragged annabeth and percy with you?" y/n gestures to the pair walking towards them with urge in their steps.
"i didn't drag them here, please you have to come back to camp," luke tries again.
"is he telling the truth?" she asks percy.
he nods, "thalia's tree is in danger, and so is the camp."
"why didn't you start with that idiot," y/n hits luke's arm before running back inside. she was quick to grab her things. she kind of threw everything into one bag that she might need at camp. most of her healing equipment and a change of clothes.
the boat ride back to long island was awkward, to say the least. percy and annabeth were both asleep in the downstairs area of the boat, while luke and y/n were dealing with directing the boat back to camp.
luke was steering, while y/n was sitting beside him. an awkward silence filled the air.
"what made you go to greece?" luke asks, not expecting the girl to answer.
"i just needed to get away," she busies herself with her rings on her fingers.
"from me?"
"from all of it. i just needed a break."
silence falls upon the two again. y/n only moves over to lean her head against luke's shoulder, instantly catching him off gaurd.
"i'm sorry i left," y/n admits, her voice as quiet as a mouse.
"you had your reasons. it just caught us off gaurd, that's all."
another beat of silence passes.
"that night, of our argument, i found something out. about us," y/n turns to face luke. he does the same to her, not caring about steering the boat at this very moment.
"i don't even know how to tell you," y/n rubs her hands over her face. luke simply takes her shaking hands into his, and runs his thumbs over her knuckles.
"i'm pregnant."
luke's world stopped. maybe he thought he was just hearing things. the waves probably distorted y/n's words.
after luke still didn't respond, y/n started explaining herself.
"i was worried you wouldn't react too well to it. so i figured not telling you would be the easiest thing to do. and coming here, to greece, was the best bet."
y/n's heart broke as she watched luke stand. he silently put the steering wheel in it's locked position, before going down the stairs where the four twin beds were.
y/n knew she fucked up. she didn't know how to fix it. or if it could even be fixed.
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