#duck writes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adhduck · 1 year

Text

Didn’t I, My Dear

What if Stede didn't tell Ed about Chauncey, even when his trauma keeps trying to catch up with him?

Read on AO3

“Why weren’t you there?”

It’s the question Stede’s been dreading for weeks. He had written and scrapped so many different speeches of how to answer it, finally deciding he would simply have to speak from the heart when the moment came. Well, now the moment’s here, and Ed is looking at him with stained kohl across wounded eyes, and every single useless word Stede's ever thought of is caught in his throat.

It was Chauncey, he thinks. He led me out to the woods and said all these things about how I was a plague to my family, to you, and I shouldn’t have believed him, but I did, and then he shot himself and I was just running, I was halfway to my old estate before I realized and then I didn’t stop, I’m so sorry, Ed, I’m so sorry....

It’s the truth, and suddenly Stede would rather have Ed run him through than have to say it aloud. The idea of seeing Ed’s reaction to how weak he was, how frightened and helpless and wrong, is unbearable. Anyway, it’s Stede’s fault for running off, not Chauncey’s, so he can just...not mention him. He won’t lie, because he doesn’t want to do that to Ed ever again, but he’ll just say the important bits. Not how heavy the air was as Chauncey led him into the woods, or how twigs cut at his soft, tender feet, or the moment after the gunshot where he thought he was dead, and the breathless heartbeat after where he almost wished he was —

No, Ed doesn’t need to know any of that, Stede decides. He’s been through enough.

It’s the fourth time Stede has asked if he can stay in the captain’s quarters – just on the settee, just to get some better sleep than he can manage amongst the crew – and the first time Ed has said yes. They’ve come far enough that they can talk, sometimes, and Ed looks at Stede with something closer to resignation than the heartbreak and anger of that first day, but they still don’t spend much time together. The longest they’ve been alone was when Stede apologized, and after that it’s only been brief moments, accidents and transitions.

So, understandably, Stede is feeling a little nervous.

He frets for ages about what to wear to bed in lieu of a proper nightgown before giving up and deciding not to change at all. The linen shirt and pants are soft enough, though the pants are a tad tight for sleeping, and Ed looked at him for a few long seconds when he first emerged above deck this morning, so it can’t be too bad.

Ed is already in bed when Stede slips inside, curtains open but body turned away. Uncertain, Stede knocks on the doorframe and says, “It’s me.”

The only response is a vague huff, which Stede optimistically interprets as “come in.” He closes the door behind him and makes his way to the settee, snuffing out the last few candles as he goes. A blanket is thrown over the back of it, one Stede hasn’t seen since returning to the ship; soft and yellow with white flowers embroidered throughout. He takes it in his hands, imagining he’s touching coarse fingers instead of cotton, and says, without really meaning to, “Have you ever had a sleepover?”

There’s a pause, long enough Stede assumes he’s going to be ignored, before Ed mumbles, “Course I have. Wasn’t always a captain, mate.”

“No, I mean like—" He was going to say like this , but he’s not sure what this is, or if it would end the moment he gave it a name, so he says, “Not with your crewmates, I mean. Or, ah, partners. Just sleeping in the same room with someone else, for fun.”

Stede can just make out Ed's form in the dark as he shifts to face him. “Don’t think so. Haven’t exactly lived in a lot of rooms.”

“Oh,” Stede says, feeling suddenly foolish. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought this up.

“And you?” Ed asks.

“Oh!” Stede repeats, brightening a little too much before he forces himself to be more casual. “Um, once. Another family was visiting our estate, and their son wouldn’t sleep in the room my father tried to put him in; said it was dirty and the trees outside made awful noises like a demon. So they put him with me.” He huffs, remembering the long, awkward night, how he was alight with excitement and nerves in equal measure. “I was so shy around him, wanted him to like me so badly, even though he hardly paid me any mind at all—which, to be fair, was better than any other young boy had treated me, so perhaps I was projecting.”

Ed makes a noise Stede doesn’t quite understand, a sort of growly huff, and Stede continues on, hesitant, “He slept at the very edge of the bed, and I on the very other, but I remember feeling like we were inches apart. I hardly slept a wink, imagining what would happen if our feet brushed on accident, or our arms.” He pauses, wondering if this is too far, but forges on. “I suppose I’ve always been oblivious, when it comes to what I want.”

There’s one beat, then two, and a sound like Ed is about to speak, and then Ed rolls onto his other side and says nothing at all.

Stede sighs. The rejection isn’t new, at least, and he’s glad he said it. Ed deserves to know he’s wanted.

He adjusts the pillows on the settee and stretches across it as comfortably as he can, pulling the blanket up to his neck. The seams of his clothes shift uncomfortably against him, none of them in place, but the settee is too creaky to try and fix them. Every breath he takes seems so loud and intrusive, and oh god, what if he snores? Mary never told him he snored, but he doubts she would’ve brought it up, and Ed sleeps so deeply he would never have noticed before, but Stede can hear him shifting around so much he might actually stay awake longer than Stede, and then he’ll kick Stede out for being obnoxious, and—

“Were they really all dicks to you?”

Stede is so startled to hear Ed’s voice it takes him an extra few moments to process what he said. “Um. The children, you mean?”

“Yeah, the kids.”

“I mean, some ignored me, like the one at the sleepover. And a couple were nice sometimes. But yes. Largely they were, as you say, dicks.”

Ed huffs. “Guess I’m not surprised, since you apparently grew up with the fucking Badmintons.”

A warning bell starts ringing in the back of Stede’s head. “Yes, they were usually the initiators of my, ah, childhood tortures.”

“Fucking dicks,” Ed says with feeling. “I hope they’re all dead.”

“Well, some of them are,” Stede says, aware he’s toeing a dangerous line. ”Nigel is, at least.”

“Good.” There’s a bit of silence, but Stede senses Ed’s not done, so he continues to listen dutifully until Ed continues, “I used to worry, before you came back, that something had happened to you that night at the dock.”

Stede stops breathing. “Oh?”

“I worried some other dick from your childhood was at the academy and grabbed you, or that the British had been planning to kill us after all but they could only find you, or—lots of things.”

It takes physical effort not to look over the settee at what Ed’s face looks like right now, but Stede knows being seen will scare Ed away, so he stays very, very still when he says, “Would that have been—comforting? To know I didn’t come because I couldn’t?”

“Nah,” Ed says, an undercurrent of something a little fragile in his voice. “That would mean I had been the dick who left you to get beat up or something, and it was easier to be mad at you than myself. And when I actually tried to imagine what happened to you, I—" He clears his throat. “It wasn’t satisfying. Just ended up pissed they laid their hands on you.”

“Oh,” Stede says, intelligibly.

Ed huffs, and there’s some more shifting, and then he says with a soft sort of finality, “Good night, Stede.”

“Nighty night, Ed,” Stede murmurs, curling his fingers tighter into his blanket. There's a heavy weight settling more comfortably on his shoulders, something like relief, and he allows it to drag him down into sleep.

It’s not even a gun that does it.

Stede is beside Ed at the helm, looking over the dark waves and trying to pinpoint where ocean becomes sky. Clouds have obscured most of the stars, warning of a storm to come, and everyone is busy tying things down to prepare. Except Stede, who can’t help but cling to Ed’s side as he describes the shape of the clouds and the helpful tilt of the wind, because he’s allowed. Can let their shoulders brush, even, and Ed leans into the touch rather than stiffening or pulling away.

“Will you be steering us?” Stede asks.

Ed grunts. “Probably. Could ask Izzy, but he gets pretty fuckin' nauseous during storms.”

“Buttons is a fairly dab hand at the wheel, I think.”

“Yeah, before he fuckin’ freezes to death,” Ed snorts. “It’s a wonder he hasn’t already, not wearing—”

BANG.

The scream is so visceral it takes a moment for Stede to realize he’s the one who did it. He gasps a shaking breath, reaching instinctively for his eye, even though he knows it’s not him who’s been shot; he can see the victim right in front of him, spotlighted in the sudden haze of his vision.

Chauncey Badminton. Face down, unmoving. The last of his rum mixing with blood and gore, blooming around his head like Mary’s spilled paints. His hand sprawled out in front of him, the gun that should’ve been Stede’s final reckoning still clutched loosely in his pale fingers. Dead.

Humid air and panic press down together on Stede’s throat, trapping his next cry in the back of his throat. His legs won’t move, his mind in shambles, but he knows with a visceral certainty that he can’t stay here, he has to go. He tries to take a step back, but trips on something – a root, maybe, same as Chauncey – and lands hard on his arse; instinctively, like an animal, he scrambles backwards on his elbows instead, unable to stop crying, fuck, vision blurred and painful, the whole world seeming to tilt beneath him—

Something grabs his arm.

A wild cry of panic tears through Stede’s chest as he twists away from the touch, squeezing his eyes shut against what he knows will be Chauncey’s decimated, disapproving face. I need to get away, he thinks again, helplessly, but the world won't stop swaying and his legs are trembling and weak.

“Stede,” a voice says. It’s not Chauncey. It’s low and familiar, panicked. “Stede, can you hear me?”

Ed. It’s Ed. Oh god, did he hear the gunshot? Does he know what Stede has done?

“Ed,” he whimpers. “Ed, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Ed breathes; then, “I need you to breathe, man, all right? Can I touch you?”

Some deep, twisting thing in Stede says he shouldn’t let Ed near him, he has to get away , but the rest of him is already crumbling with relief. “ Please.”

Arms envelop Stede, then, pressing him to a warm, broad chest. There’s the smooth slide of leathers against Stede’s cheek, which doesn’t quite make sense, and he can feel Ed’s quickening heartbeat, mixing with Stede’s own as it thuds painfully in his ears. “I’m here, Stede,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. It was just a cannon, someone fucked up while trying to tie shit down. That’s all it was. You’re safe.”

His words are close, pressed against Stede’s hair as Ed starts to rock them gently, but they could be coming from the bottom of the ocean for all Stede understands them. “But- but Chauncey....”

Ed hums against his ear. “That British fuck? He’s not here. Promise, it’s just us and the crew. We were just getting ready for the storm, yeah? Remember that?”

No, I don’t, Stede wants to say, but some part of his brain hooks onto it, and awareness starts trickling in, aided by his eyes shut tight and Ed’s arms holding him tighter. “I’m not...we’re just...we’re not with the British?”

“No,” Ed says decisively. “Fuckers are long gone. You’re safe.” He says the last part a little fiercely, curling a hand around the nape of Stede’s neck like his touch alone can protect Stede from everything. Stede’s not sure he’s wrong.

There’s a distant roll of thunder, a great crash of waves, and the world still tilting beneath them, none of which should be true if he’s at the academy. Warily, Stede pulls away enough to open his eyes and—yes, that’s right. They’re by the helm, on the ship. Weeks and weeks away from that awful moment in the woods. He’s with Ed.

Ed, who’s now stroking Stede’s cheek with love and worry in his eyes. “You okay?”

Stede forces himself to breathe deeply, though it’s hard; his body still believes it’s in danger, still wants him to run. But it’s easier, looking at Ed. Always has been.

“Yeah,” he says, shakily. “Sorry.”

“Nah, no sorry’s,” Ed says, pulling Stede back in for a more proper hug. Stede clings to the back of his jacket, presses his palm to the strength of Ed’s shoulder blade. “It’s okay, man. It’s all okay.”

You’re a plague, Chauncey had said, moments before dying from the sheer unluckiness of existing near Stede. You defile beautiful things.

He had been talking about Nigel, about Blackbeard, and he was wrong about those things, but—

“No, it’s not.”

But Stede remembers the way Ed looked, when Stede agreed to go to China. How he had given Stede his pillow so he could get some rest before they went, as if Ed wasn’t likely to do most of the rowing anyway. How he kissed Stede with nothing but softness and hope and gratitude and love .

Chauncey had been right, Stede realizes with a horrible certainty, about defiling beautiful things. He had just been early.

“It’s not okay,” Stede repeats, gasping—and, to his utter surprise, Ed sighs heavily and replies:

“No, yeah, course. Course it’s not okay.”

“What?” Stede had thought, selfishly, that Ed would reassure him. Does he know what Stede’s really thinking? Does he agree?

“I’ve gotten used to it,” Ed says, running a hand up and down Stede’s back, “all the...the danger and that shit. Forgot how scary it is, the first time you’re up against a firing squad.”

Oh.

“My first time, I was scared shitless of every loud noise for...god, maybe until the next firing squad, honestly. Kept thinking I was back in front of the rifles; even saw them, sometimes.”

The reminder of that other trauma, and the realization that Ed is comforting Stede for the wrong thing, because Stede lied to him, washes over Stede like nausea. He clutches Ed’s arm, making a weak moan of discomfort against his shoulder.

“Shit,” Ed says immediately, “sorry. Shouldn’t go into details. Do you...could we get you below decks, maybe? Get you into something warm. Don’t want you up here when the rain starts, anyway.”

Stede nods, wanting more than anything to be away from the heavy, humid air, but as Ed’s pulling him to his feet, the comment about the rain sparks his memory. “But the helm.”

“Buttons has it,” Ed replies dismissively. “And he’s even got clothes on. We’ll be fine.”

“Okay....” Stede says slowly, feeling somehow that he’s failed something. “You’re sure?”

“Course, mate,” Ed says. “I’d rather be with you, anyway. Especially if you’re not feeling good.”

He says it with a little smile, and Stede closes his eyes against an onslaught of thoughts that tell him, in so many words, that this is wrong. But he‘s still a coward, and so very tired, and anyway, he knows Ed would worry if he couldn’t make sure Stede was all right.

Fuck, Stede loves him so much , it feels like it’ll burst through his chest like some sort of lovesick parasite. He wants to love him well. He wants to do right by him. He never wants to hurt him again.

“All right,” he says, curling an arm around Ed’s waist for support. “Lead the way.”

It’s been nearly two months, and no one on the crew has let Stede’s secret slip.

Granted, most of them got a rather patchwork version of the story, anyway, blurred by overloaded trips in the dinghy and Stede’s voice catching in his throat when he tried to voice exactly what horrible things he had done. They know he left, and that Chauncey was there, but only Oluwande and Lucius know any of the things he said.

But still. He had asked them not to talk to Ed about it, and they’d all honored that, which is wonderful—except that it makes Stede careless.

Well. It’s probably a tad unfair to place all the blame on his crew when it’s Stede who can’t keep his mouth shut. Things have just been going so well —Ed lays with him in the bed at night now, smiling even when he’s practically falling out of the bed or when Stede (unintentionally!) steals all the blankets, and they haven’t caught sight of the English for weeks, and Stede even managed to tell Ed he loves him without choking up about it, which was rewarded with quite a lot of kissing and some other activities that got them a minor intervention from the crew.

In short, Stede has been feeling safe, which is unfortunately a slippery slope into not being careful.

They’re lounging on the sofa when it happens, Ed’s back pressed against Stede’s chest, brandies already finished and hands wandering with more curiosity than intent. There’s a little divot in Ed’s left forearm that Stede’s deeply fascinated with; he brings it up to his mouth, tastes the warm skin under his tongue, and smiles against Ed’s skin when he shivers.

“I’m too old for you to try to make me horny like this,” Ed complains, giggling when Stede rubs his stubble lightly over the spot.

“Just making up for lost time,” Stede replies. He continues kissing up Ed’s arm until the angle is too difficult to reach and he switches to Ed’s shoulder, nosing aside his dressing gown for better access.

“ Stede,” Ed sighs, somehow managing to sound whiny and content at the same time.

Stede opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by a BOOM strong enough to shake the cabin. He flinches, hard, knocking his nose against Ed’s head. The pain makes him dizzy for a moment, but it also has the fortunate side effect of grounding him against the sudden onslaught of memories before they can overwhelm him. There are still a few moments of panic where he wants to search for Chauncey’s body, but Ed’s weight is too warm and close and present for the thread to properly take hold, and in the end he just has to breathe through the useless adrenaline for a minute or two until his mind and body settle.

“Better?” Ed asks, when Stede lifts his head from the crook of his neck.

“Yeah,” Stede replies. “Not quite as bad, that time. I think I’m getting better at telling the sounds apart in the moment, knowing the difference between his gun and a cannon, or just plain old lightning.”

Ed freezes; just barely, but enough to be noticeable with how close they are. “His gun?”

Fuck. “Um—the rifles, I mean.”

“Don’t think that’s how words word, mate,” Ed says slowly. Stede can hear the gears turning in his mind and immediately feels the panic start to rise again. “And those rifles never actually went off, anyway, so why would your brain know exactly what they sounded like?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. “I guess I’m just, ah, stumbling over my words a bit?”

“Stede.”

Ed says it a little like encouragement and a little like warning. Stede feels suddenly, intimately aware of the fact he can’t just jump up and run, pressed down by Ed’s weight like this. “Must’ve had more brandy than I thought, maybe, or—”

“ Stede,” Ed repeats, sharper, pushing away from Stede’s embrace, and even though Stede was just feeling trapped, he feels the absence like a missing limb. It takes everything in him not to reach for Ed with desperate, pleading hands, to beg him to lie back down and forget all of it, to not leave him.

But Ed doesn’t go; not entirely. He goes just far enough to twist and face Stede, which is instantly more devastating, because now Stede can see the mix of worry and frustration and, god , anger painted across his face.

“Who the fuck,” Ed asks, slow and deadly, “is he?”

For a moment, Stede casts about desperately for some excuse, but when he meets Ed’s gaze, he knows he cannot lie to this man. Not again. “Chauncey.”

Ed blinks, visibly thrown. “The crazy bald one? I thought he was just ordering everyone around. Besides that whole bit where he was swinging his sword around like a drunk.”

Stede winces at the mention of Chauncey drunk . “He was.”

“Did he do something during the interrogation, then?” Ed asks, murderous, but immediately finds the holes in that theory. “No, we would’ve heard if he did that. Not to mention there’d be a fuckin’ hole in the captain’s quarters. I never would’ve heard the end of it if he’d done that.”

Stede huffs weakly at the attempt at levity, but his chest is too heavy to put his heart into it, choked by muck and seaweed like the bottom of the lake by his childhood estate. He used to swim there when he could get away for long enough, enjoying how the water buoyed him, but one of his classmates claimed there were creatures in the water that grabbed weak little boys by their ankles and dragged them into the mud. He flinched every time his foot brushed against something for weeks after that, and eventually gave up on swimming entirely.

Now, under the piercing gaze of the man he loves, Stede wonders if there are any similar monsters that could drag him through the floor into the yawning ocean below.

“So when....” Ed asks, sounding genuinely confused. “When would he have had a fucking gun near you?”

It’s the question Stede’s been avoiding for weeks. He hasn’t prepared at all, so focused on never getting to this point he never prepared a word, and now he has no idea how to say this in a way that doesn’t end in Ed storming out. Fuck, why did he lie in the first place? Why did he get careless? Why didn’t he just go to Ed that night, rather than running off to a family that didn’t even fucking want him?

“Stede,” Ed says, hand warm on Stede’s elbow, pulling him back above water, and Stede just—says it.

“He kidnapped me. The night we were going to leave.”

The reaction on Ed’s face is immediate, but Stede is worried if he stops talking now he will never have the courage again, so he barrels on. “He came and got me, instead of whoever the guard you chose was, and led me into the woods. He was drunk, and angry about his brother and the act of grace, and he wanted to kill me.” He remembers the wild look in Chauncey’s eyes that night, so real it’s an ache, and has to shut his eyes against the intrusion. “He tripped, though. Shot himself instead.”

Ed knows the rest, or the important bits anyway, so Stede allows himself to stop, taking in a shaky breath. What follows is a long moment of silence, long enough Stede has to open his eyes just to get any input from Ed at all, and what he sees knocks the breath right back out of his lungs.

Stede has seen Ed break a man’s arm with his boot, threaten to feed another his own tongue if he spoke a word. He has seen him at the height of the Kraken, dark-eyed and merciless, a true herald of death. But he has never, ever seen Ed this angry before. His body nearly shakes with it, eyes dark and burning a hole through the wall above Stede’s shoulder, hand fisted by the nonexistent gun at his hip. It makes Stede realize how someone could believe this man was made of fire and smoke and destruction.

“Ed,” he says, timidly, because while he’s mostly sure the anger isn’t directed at him, being this close to it makes his hands shake a little. “Ed?”

There’s another moment or two without response before Ed blinks – Stede realizes belatedly he hadn’t actually been blinking before this moment – and looks at Stede. His gaze softens, just a little. “Why the fuck did you never tell me this?”

Because I didn’t want to see you like this. “I—I don’t know,” Stede murmurs. “I was going to, and then when the moment came I just...panicked. Didn’t know if it would just make you angrier, or if you would—would think I was making excuses.”

“Excuses? ” Ed hisses. “Stede, you nearly fucking died! He nearly killed you while I was fuckin’– fuckin’ waiting on the dock without even checking —"

Something in Stede unfurls at those words; something that wants Ed to fuss, to say he would’ve found Stede if he knew, he would’ve protected him and held him in his arms and made everything okay again. Then guilt floods through him for his selfishness, cold and bitter, and he reaches for Ed’s hands. “Ed, no, that’s not—this isn’t your fault or something! And besides, it- I'm fine, right? Nothing happened.” Ed makes an angry huff at that, half a growl, and Stede amends, “I didn’t die.”

“But you could’ve,” Ed points out, clutching at Stede’s hands just this side of pain. “And you didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t,” Stede agrees. “And I- I am sorry, for that. I told myself it wasn’t a lie to just not mention it, but I was just fooling myself, as usual. Of course you would want to know.”

Ed nods, examining their hands like what he wants to say is hidden between their fingers. “So is that...is that why you didn’t come? Not what you told me?”

Stede’s heart had started to settle again, but at that it drops into his stomach with startling speed. “It...it gives some—context, I suppose. But no, it—I didn’t come to the dock because of me. Not because Chauncey held me for too long, or something.”

The confession makes him feel nearly more raw than the first time, watching a new sliver of hope die by his tongue. But Ed doesn’t look surprised, or even much more upset than he was before. “Okay,” he says, like it can be that easy. “Can I hug you?”

Stede blinks. “Um- yes? I mean—of course.”

Ed pulls him in immediately, hands firm across Stede’s lower back and head tucked against Stede’s neck. Stede loops his arms around Ed’s shoulders and settles into the tender warmth of him, trying not to cling too hard, trying not to cry. (He’s not doing great on either account, but it’s something, at least.)

“It wasn’t true,” Ed says after a few moments. “Whatever shit he said to you.”

Stede stiffens, but tries to play it off by shifting to lean his cheek against Ed’s head. “Why do you think he said anything to me?”

“Well, because he was an ugly little ballsack who liked fucking with you, for one,” Ed says, dry. “And because I know you. I know when someone’s gotten in your head.”

Once again, Stede curses his inability to hide any feeling he’s ever had, especially from Ed. Though he can’t deny there’s some deep tension unspooling in him from being held like this. Being known. “It was nothing about you,” he assures. “Or, nothing bad, I mean. It wasn’t like he convinced me you were a bad person or something.”

A heavy pause. “And you?”

“I—well. Like I said, he was drunk and angry. He was just going for whatever weak points he could find.”

“Wish I could’ve killed him myself,” Ed growls, burrowing closer. “Would’ve put my knife through his other eye for good measure.”

“Thank you,” Stede says, “though you never need to do anything like that on my account. And besides—”

He pulls the rest of that sentence back into his mouth as soon as he realizes his mistake, but Ed notices anyway. “Besides, what?”

Stede sighs, knowing Ed won’t let him wriggle out of this one. “Well, it’s just—obviously he was an awful man. And he was wrong about what he thought the act of grace meant, what I had done to you. But it’s not like...I mean, I—I hurt you. He wasn’t wrong about that.”

Ed’s arms tighten like a reflex, and then he pulls away, holding Stede’s shoulders and looking at him very, very seriously. “Stede. What the fuck.”

Stede averts his eyes, trying not to squirm. “I know we’re in a better place now, but you don’t have to pretend I didn’t ruin everything when I ran. You were so....” The image of Ed on the beach, by his cot, swells in Stede’s mind, and his eyes sting with tears. “Fuck, Ed, you were so happy , and I ruined that. I ruined you, because I believed some—some awful man’s words about how I was some plague, because I didn’t realize how happy you were, too caught up in—in everything we’d lost, and everything I thought you should want, which was exactly what everyone else was always doing, and I was supposed to be different, but I was just like all the rest—"

“ Stede,” Ed says, actually shaking him a little. “Stede, no. Mate, what the—what the fuck are you talking about? You were fucking traumatized! You had nearly died to a firing squad and then marched off to die for the king, and then your fuckin’ childhood bully tried to murder you. That’s not—you can’t blame yourself for not thinking straight right then.”

“But I hurt you.”

“You did,” Ed says simply. “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t get fucking hurt, too, Stede, hell. I want—you gotta tell me this shit, okay? You can’t hide something like this from me.”

“I’m sorry,” Stede starts, but Ed shakes his head.

“No, don’t apologize, I’m not—fuck, sorry, I’m doing this wrong. I just—I love you. Okay? So I wanna know when you’re hurting. Even if I’m mad at you. I always wanna know.”

That brings a fresh wave of tears into Stede’s eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“But you can’t—” Ed cuts himself off, frustrated, and takes a breath. When he lets it out, his hands trail to Stede’s face, cupping his cheeks so gently Stede feels he might shatter. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself for me. Or- or hide that you’re hurting, ‘cause you’re worried it’ll hurt me, too. I’m gonna worry about you no matter what, it’s just—it’s part of the whole loving you thing. But I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Stede wants to say that Ed doesn’t need to help, but he knows what Ed would say, because it’s the same thing Stede would say to Ed: I want to help you. And if you didn’t let me, I would just sit here going crazy that you were hurting and I couldn’t do anything about it.

He swallows, leaning into Ed’s touch as he swipes away a tear. “Okay.”

Ed’s face, so recently dark and murderous, is softer than any silks Stede has ever touched. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Stede affirms, putting his hands over Ed’s and pressing a kiss to his palm.

“Good,” Ed says. His eyebrows furrow. “And just so we’re clear, you did not fucking ruin me, and you’re not some disease or whatever the fuck he said. You—you fucking saved me, Stede. You’re my best fucking friend.”

Stede presses against Ed’s hand, shutting his eyes against the wave of love and gratitude crashing over him. “You’re my best friend, too. And you saved me, in so many ways. I wouldn’t—I don’t even want to imagine not having you with me. You’re it for me.”

“You’re it for me, too,” Ed whispers, a promise, and touches his forehead to Stede’s. They breathe in and out together for a moment, both a little shaky, and then Ed says, “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Stede laughs a little, breathless with it. “I love you, too. So much.”

Ed hums. “Not as much as I love you.”

“Actually, I think you’ll find that it’s me who loves you more.”

“Well, I love you most, and you can’t get any bigger than that. That’s science, mate.”

“I’ll just invent some new word, then, because I absolutely love you most...est?”

“Mostest?” Ed repeats, clearly trying not to laugh. “That’s all you got?”

Stede huffs, only half joking. “Well, I—just give me a moment! It’s hard to fit it into one word, you know.”

“Who says you have to do only one word?”

“Well, all right then. I love you...I love you more than the ocean, and all the stars, and every bit of sand on every beach, and all the people in the world, and marmalade —"

“Now you’re just saying impossible shit,” Ed says, smiling.

“It’s true. So I guess I love you...impossibly.”

Stede can hear Ed’s breath catch, that wonderful little huff of breath he’ll be chasing the rest of his life. “You are a fucking wonder, Stede Bonnet,” he says, and closes the last few inches of distance to kiss him.

It’s soft and unhurried, the last few tears swiped away or caught, salty and warm, between their mouths. Stede lets one hand stroke Ed’s wrist as the other finds the safety of his waist, feeling lighter than he’s felt in a long time . He hadn’t realized how much it was weighing on him, to hide all this from Ed, to not truly know if Ed would accept him if he knew.

“Thank you,” Stede whispers, when they part. “For loving me so much.”

Ed kisses the corner of his mouth, then the divot beside his eye, and in his gaze is something just as huge and impossible as the love inside Stede, something deep as the marrow of his bones. Something Stede understands, now, he could never have ruined.

“Thank you for letting me.”

#ofmd #our flag means death #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #stede bonnet #stede bonnet ofmd #ofmd stede bonnet #ofmd fic #ofmd fanfiction #our flag means death fanfic #our flag means death fanfiction #blackbonnet fic #blackbonnet fanfiction #gentlebeard fic #gentlebeard fanfiction #duck writes #my fic

19 notes · View notes

aduckwithears · 7 months

Text

I don't think we're talking enough about how the premise for the 1827 meetup in the cemetery was a date, pure and simple. There was no "uh oh, Aziraphale is in trouble again", no big point in history that both sides needed them to attend, no Arrangement at all... nope, it was an invitation and an accepted invitation. It was literally Crowley saying "hey angel, I saw a thing that you'll find funny (I was thinking about you), come and hang out with me about it" and Aziraphale does.

And I wonder what would have happened next if they hadn't stumbled across grave-robbing Elspeth and her moral dilemma.

#good omens meta #good omens #good omens s2 #good omens 2 #the resurrectionists #gos2 #1827 #if anyone wants to write this fic #or already has #i'd love to read it!!#good omens thoughts #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #ineffable spouses #it's also funny to me that this very well could have been Halloween #a duck talks

4K notes · View notes

niqhtlord01 · 5 months

Text

Humans are weird: The Scope of our Existence

Alien: *Goes for walk through park*

Alien: *Sees human friend sitting on bench near pond feeding strange animals with crumbs and goes over to them*

Alien: Greetings friend Jim.

Jim: *Turns head* Oh, hi Gilmek.

Alien: What are you doing?

Human: *Turns back to feeding animals* Pondering existence and my place in it.

Gilmek: *Confused* Is this a human joke?

Jim: No, I am being perfectly honest.

Gilmek: *Stares at animals, then back at Jim*

Gilmek: If that is true then why do you feed these creatures?

Jim: They’re called “Ducks”.

Gilmek: Why then do you feed these ducks if you are pondering such philosophical matters?

Jim: *Shrugs* It helps me put things into perspective for myself.

Gilmek: *Sits next to Jim* How so?

Jim: *Throws oats and watches ducks eat them up.*

Jim: What do you think of these birds?

Gilmek: *Watches ducks eat the oats* They seem primitive in nature, yet beautiful to look at.

Jim: They have been around far longer than the human species as a whole and predate many other species on our world.

Gilmek: And?

Jim: And they have largely remained the same for the last few thousand years compared to humanity.

Gilmek: I guess.

Gilmek: Different species progress along different points of development and evolution; yet your species has far outpaced their development so why compare to them?

Jim: Because if you take a human from three thousand years ago and drop them in today’s society, or handle it the other way around and drop someone from today three thousand years in the past; chances are high that they would not be able to survive.

Jim: But ducks?

Jim: You could drop a duck from today’s age five thousand years in the past and it would feel as at home as it does right now.

Jim: *Looks at Gilmek* How can we possibly compare to that?

Gilmek: *Opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself as he ponders the statement*

Jim: *Tosses more oats* “How fleeting are all human passions compared with the massive continuity of ducks…”

Gilmek: Did you make that?

Jim: *Shakes head*I’m not nearly as poetic.

Jim: A human author named Dorothy L. Sayers wrote that one.

Gilmek: They must be popular in this time for you to remember it.

Jim: They wrote it four thousand years ago in year of 1935 on my world.

Gilmek: *Looks at ducks again*

Gilmek: You humans have a somewhat disturbing and intriguing relation with your planets animals.

Jim: *Chuckles* You should see what we do with our cats?

Gilmek: Cats?

Jim: Furry creatures about yay high *holds hand below knee* and covered in fur.

Gilmek: How do you treat them?

Jim: We dedicated a few gods around them at one point.

Gilmek: ………

Jim: Come to think of it they may have never gotten over that with how they still treat us in return for our love.

#humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #Ducks are Eternal

1K notes · View notes

zylev-blog · 5 months

Text

HONK! CRASH!

Danny woke up with a jerk. He laid in bed for a long moment, staring at the ceiling and listening to the chaos downstairs. He could hear something running around the house honking, his dad yelling, and the sound of a gun going off. He didn’t have enough sleep to deal with this. All he had wanted was to sleep before school, but was that ever going to happen? No! Why was it always him that had to deal with everything?

“GRAB IT MADDIE, IT’S GETTING AWAY!” Dad yelled.

“I KNOW, JACK!” Mom yelled, shooting her gun again.

CRASH!

Danny rubbed his eyes with a deep sigh, tossing the covers off of him and putting his feet onto the floor. Just as he was about to get up, he heard thumping coming up the stairs. Great! Now he would get in trouble if he didn’t try to head off whatever was running around their house. He ran over to his bedroom door and yanked it open, running down the hall until he was face to face with a black duck. It wasn’t even a ghost! The duck had a patch of blue around its eyes that looked like a mask, and blue markings down the side of it. In his confusion, the duck slipped between his legs and kept running down the hall.

Jazz screamed from somewhere downstairs. “There’s another one!”

“IVE GOT IT!” Dad yelled.

Cursing, he ran after the duck just as his Mom ran up the stairs. He grabbed the duck off of the ground, ignoring it as it hissed at him and tried to bite him.

“What the fuck?” He asked Mom.

“Language, sweetie.” Maddie said while she aimed the gun at the duck in Danny’s hands.

“What’s going on?” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the duck squealing.

CRASH!

They both ignored the sounds coming from downstairs. Danny decided it wasn’t his immediate problem, so he said nothing on what sounded like Dad plowing through a wall at top speed while running.

“We thought these ducks were ghosts at first, but they’re not. We don’t know where they came from.” Maddie took a step towards him, a frown on her face. “They came out of the portal.”

The duck was still trying to bite him. It couldn’t even break the skin of his hand, so he didn’t try to fight it.

“Weird looking duck.” He commented. “Ducks aren’t blue.”

The duck squawked loudly in protest.

“GOT IT!” Jack yelled from downstairs.

“Can we like… throw it back in the portal?” He asked.

“It could come back in. We don’t know where in the portal it came from.” Mom said, lowering the gun now that the duck had stopped trying to escape.

“You think another dimension?” He asked as they walked downstairs.

“Perhaps. For now we’ll put them in the holding pod and figure out what to do next.” Mom led him down to the lab.

When they got down there, he added the duck in his hands to the cell that housed the other duck. The other duck was differently colored from the first. It was black, with green feet, a green mask around its eyes, and red markings along its body. The duck seemed to be howling bloody murder.

“This one put up a fight!” Dad said proudly. “Too bad it’s not a ghost.”

“Great. I can go back to sleep now, right?” He asked tiredly.

“You sure you don’t want to help with the interdimensional search? You’ve always been the best at this.” Mom offered.

“No thanks.” He declined, yawning. “But if they’re still here when I wake up then I’ll help.”

“Okay. Good night, sweetie.” Mom kissed his forehead.

“Night mom, Night dad.” He waved as he walked back upstairs.

As soon as he got back upstairs, he found Clockwork sitting on his bed. He screamed in frustration.

#dp x dc au #dp x dc writing prompt #dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc prompt #dp dc crossover #danny phantom crossover #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #dp crossover #dpxdc prompts #dpxdc #dcxdp #dick and damian are ducks #interdimensional travel #reveal gone right #danny fenton #Danny is tired #danny is so done

2K notes · View notes

inbarfink · 8 months

Text

So let’s go through this one-by-one, shall we?

Red Guy

Flat affect in voice, not very expressive

Or from the perspective of other Red Guy, he is far too expressive and tend to smile at inappropriate situations

Express emotions either ‘too little’ or ‘too much’ in terms of volume, very little in-between

Speaks very bluntly

Feels physically uncomfortable with bright colors

"Well, this isn't that fun, is it? can't make out where I am in the room like this. What if I'm standing in an embarrassing area?" "I actually don't mind it. Kind of a nice break from all of those... garish colors"

Duck

Loves cataloging and organizing things as a recreational activity

Anthropomorphise inanimate objects (like ACTUALLY inanimate, not teachers)

"You have to jab it hard or it won't respect your choices!"

Has a hard time fitting in in ‘normative’ social groups

Odd sensory sensitivities

"You're supposed to say that the floor is too loud or the window is disrespecting you"

Yellow Guy

Relies on a heavy amount of social mimicry in unfamiliar social situations

"I'm making bits and parts, although sometimes I feel a bit like the bits and parts are, eh, making me."

Tends to understand metaphors and turns of phrases very literally

Which is actually a trait that he displays even in his hyper-intelligent ‘Charged’ mode

"Oh there he is, it's about time." "Yeah, what have you been doing?" "Um, okay, let me see... We were learning about electricity... I completed a crossword puzzle..."

Who is also very sensitive to sounds when two or more people are speaking at once

He also seems to have ‘clumsy’ motor functions in both ‘forms’

In conclusion:

#dhmis #don't hug me i'm scared #don't hug me #i'm scared #dont hug me im scared #dhmis tv series #dhmis tv show #dhmis analysis #dhmis yellow guy #yellow guy don't hug me i'm scared #yellow guy dhmis #red guy dont hug me im scared #red guy dhmis #red guy #dhmis duck #duck dhmis #being 'fully-charged' and operating correctly just made Yellow Guy MORE autistic lol #anyways gonna write a callout post for Lesley for contrascting her Puppety Purgetory entirely out of overstimulating felt textures #actually autistic

2K notes · View notes

iguessthisisanewobsession · 9 months

Text

On the outskirts of Gotham a farm is made.

No one can pinpoint when it was started but it was clearly bountiful.

New orchards of plums apples and several other fruit whisper promises of fruits in the years to come.

Bee houses buzzed with life and ducks quacked and scurried to and from their pond, coop and the garden.

Vegetables by the rows with seasonal berries brushes spring up at the corners of the property.

Greenery that almost seemed to glow with how lush it was.

It was like a small oasis in the desert of Gotham’s dirty land.

And it was ran by only three people.

The woman’s name was Sam. She was known as an activist who seemed to do the primary care of the plants. The property was in her name and she went out of her way to invite people to take what they need.

Danny was the most well known of the trio. He brought the produce into the heart of the city. Anywhere that would take the food, kitchens, pantries, school cafeterias even people’s doorsteps.

Tucker was the technical mastermind, hidden but equally important. The sprinklers, planning of the pollination rotation, harvesting planning and statistics were his main focus on the farm. Not a single square inch of the the land was not under his watchful gaze.

All the food was fresh or properly stored and most interesting of all free.

Of course people were going to talk.

#dp x dc #writing prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #sam manson #tucker foley #so basically #the trio play stardew valley irl #grandma Ida as soon as Sam turned 18: happy birthday I got you something something #they just want to love their best life #platonic or romantic #everlasting trio #I think that’s the right tag for that ship #in my mind it’s platonic but having a sustainable farm with your two partners is honestly goals AF #the ducks are so they don’t have to use pesticides 🥰

2K notes · View notes

lemonduckisnowawake · 6 months

Text

You know, it's a tragedy that there are no (or very little) Vampire x Christian stories out there, not for angst or theology or forbidden seductiveness or whatnot but for the sheer comedy of it all. I mean, the Christian would technically be immune to all of the vampire's shenanigans, like for example...

Vampire: Fool, I am the most powerful vampire in the West. Nothing but the force of an entire holy temple could even deign to scratch me Christian: Idiot, I AM a holy temple. 1 Corinthians 6:19, fear me and the Spirit inside that can burn you to ashes

#this thought was brought on by a conversation i saw on the km shea discord #and also my need to theologize everything #it would be so funny to me too if we added the fact that the human Christian was also anemic #(not because anemia is funny. especially not if it's chronic. just the fact that the vamp couldn't bite the human)#truth be told it doesn't even have to be a romance to me. just a chaotic comedy duo #lemon duck quacks #lemon duck tales #yeah this is funny #for the words!#one day i will write all my deranged supernatural story ideas that involve way too much Christian imagery and comedy #but for now....#anyway how to make the most unbiteable human that you cannot help be drawn to as a modernized vamp?#Christian and likely chronically iron deficient #i am very sorry if this is offensive #but you know #vampires

1K notes · View notes

peachonified · 8 months

Text

The perfect cup

(Bokuto-centric, Gen, fluff)

Bokuto's kitchen is full of mugs.

That’s the first thing you notice. For a man who lives alone, he owns a lot of mugs.

He's not much of a cook, although Akaashi made sure he has the very basics in his kitchen, and when Kuroo found out how he was living, he then makes sure Bokuto had more than just the very basics. Although Bokuto is grateful, he's not too worried, because it's enough for what he does. 'Enough to make an omelette, and cook some rice and stir fry his veges. He doesn’t need much in his kitchen.

But then there are the mugs.

Bokuto has a special cupboard just for the mugs. There are a few that match but on the whole they cover all colours and shapes and sizes. Some feel good when he wants to sit with a manga and savour a cup of tea.

Some are the right size for skulling a hot drink before he heads to the gym. Some suit a happy mood, others he pulls when he feels thoughtful, or even melancholy. And some he gets because they are the right cup for the right person.

With all the travel the team does, although they are busy he makes sure there is always time to wander down a side alley and see what draws his eye. And there always is something, always something that reminds him of a special moment, or an idle thought, or a feeling to capture, or even a person. Because people are important and the right mug with the right drink for the right person is important.

Kuroo probably doesn't notice the way he's always given the cream cup with the water colour cats. But Bokuto notices the way his fingers always curl around so he's petting one of the cats’ tails.

And Akaashi probably does notice he gets the same cup every time. But he also probably doesn't think much of it. But Akaashi's cup is blue with clouds. Bokuto knows Akaashi needs serenity, and as loud and as difficult as Bokuto is, there’s not a lot he can do. But he can give him a soothing cup of tea in that cup. Bokuto knows it’s the right cup, because when he drinks the tea Bokuto makes, in that cup, his breath seems to come softer and easier.

When Atsumu joins the Black Jackals he becomes a regular in Bo's room. Barging in to complain, or share a laugh, to miss his brother (and not admit it), or just to be. Atsumu is like Bokuto and has many moods, and luckily Bokuto has many cups. So when Tsum Tsum comes barrelling into his apartment, Bokuto always makes a drink and knows just the right cup to pull.

Sakusa also has his own cup, and knowing this is important Bokuto is careful to point that out. It's a beautiful teacup, shades of green. It feels both traditional and strong, and Bokuto can see the gentleness with which Sakusa holds it.

Surprisingly it's Hinata who is the first to say anything. Surprising because it's only the third time he's been to Bokuto's room but somehow he notices-

"Bokuto-san you give me a different cup every time!" He takes a loud, appreciative sip, and then holds it away. When Hinata came bouncing in this morning he felt like the sun. So that’s exactly what Bokuto gave him. "You always know just the right one to make my tea in - this one's perfect!"

Around them Sakusa squeezes his cup more tightly, and Atsumu looks at his properly for the first time.

Bokuto just take a sip of his own tea.

Today, surrounded by friends, his cup is perfect too.

(you can also read this on AO3)

#hq #hq fic #bokuto koutarou #fluff #gen #post timeskip #family #friendship #hq fanfic #duck writes

22 notes · View notes

duckduckhjonk · 8 days

Text

Having a fantastic time. Currently I'm;

-Surrounded by the beasts

-Hydrated

-Motivated to write

-Gaming at the same time

-Posting about it

-Not itchy

-Loved immensely

#duck writes #yeah we're having a good time out here

8 notes · View notes

duck-in-a-spaceship · 9 months

Text

Going through my (very rough) outline to refine things right now and... yeah this about sums it up.

#writing #duck writes #thank you past me this is very helpful #also this stupid planning doc is 30 PAGES right now #14k words #what is the point of even writing a book i'll just publish all these bullet points #im joking i just hate plotting let me bitch about it #also i have no idea if 14k words is a lot #if ur a writer tell me how long your outlines are i wanna know

8 notes · View notes

starry-bi-sky · 5 months

Text

I saw a post a few months ago (and damn was it really months? In PLURAL?) that was a cracky dpxdc au where the LOS were making Damian clones but the clones kept getting snatched by ghost portals and dropped into Danny’s lap and Danny just goes “ok ig this is my life now” and takes care of each one until he has his own mini army of Damian Clones.

And I remembered it a few days ago, and now I've been thinking about it again. Because I love clone aus (see: clone danny au, the 'danny is thomas wayne' au) because it itches the part of my mind that loves exploring personhood and the exploration of identity and what it means to be clone.

(What do you do when nothing about you is unique? When your face, your eyes, your hands, your hair, your voice, all the way down to your heart, all belong to someone else?)

(When it comes to nature vs nurture what of you came from your environment and your experiences, and what of you was already programmed into you from the DNA that made you?)

(What do you do to make it unique? What do you do to make you unique?)

And if I could remember who made that post I'd @ them right now because it was their original post that inspired this, but I'm just thinking of if the au only had One Singular Damian clone that fell into Danny's life.

(a read more because im apparently incapable of making posts that are less than 1k words...)

One Damian who knew he was a clone and knew that he was to either bring the original back to base or kill him to take his place, who was being trained the same way but kept getting compared to his original over and over again. Like an older sibling who you can never match up to. Who is still a child who craves adult affection and validation and praise, and can't get it because nothing about him is original.

One Damian who, at six years old, in a twist of fate is sucked through a swirling portal and lands in Amity Park, directly on top of, in front of, or in line of sight of one Daniel Fenton, half-ghost extraordinaire and local hero.

What happens next?

Well, for one, Danny recognizes him immediately. He would recognize the face of Damian Wayne anywhere because his best friend was ranting about him all week about Damian Wayne's environmental stuff he does.

And for two, he would recognize that the Damian Wayne in front of him was not Damian Wayne. Because Damian Wayne was a teenager. And the Damian Wayne in front of him is a child. Six years old.

Getting this not-Damian but also-Damian to go along with Danny is not, not an easy task. The tiny Damian is aggressive, regal, and at this point in time, six years old, barely understanding english. He also has a sword.

It takes all day and a google translator to get this Tiny Damian to finally agree to go home with Danny. It's a miracle. Seriously. A tried and true miracle. And its also only when Danny has to fight a ghost does he finally agree, saying something in arabic that Danny doesn't understand.

Danny flies them both home, carrying Tiny Damian like a koala. The ensuing conversation in his room is not any better. It is tiring, long, and exhausting. Tiny Damian is six years old, and every single thing he says when Danny asks where he came from is met with a poorly translated "that's classified".

Danny keeps an eye on the news. There are no reports of Damian Wayne going missing, in fact he's been rather public. Bruce Wayne is not one to lie about his children going missing, and Damian's secretive behavior and young age draws Danny to one conclusion: Damian is a clone.

He doesn't know why Damian Wayne is being cloned. Frankly he doesn't really wanna know, because whatever organization that did it doesn't seem too pure-of-heart if tiny-Damian's immediate attempt of murder when they first met is of any indication. But he's too busy taking care of his city, that he doesn't have time to deal with whatever shady business Tiny-Damian was produced from.

In the end though, he decides that this Tiny-Damian is not going back to whatever place he came from. Tiny Damian disagrees. It is a long, nebulous problem of Damian trying to run away, Danny catching him, and Danny pulling him back home.

In that time, Danny downloads a language app and starts learning Arabic so that they can talk to each other properly. Damian slowly, slowly, starts picking up English.

In that time, Danny also has to inform his friends and his sister about Damian. Tiny Damian is not a fan of this. That is another argument they have. Tiny Damian does not like Sam or Tucker for a long, long while. He only really "listens" to Danny, citing something in arabic that Danny still cannot understand, but has a repeated use of the word "lieazir". It's the only word that Danny can catch in a sentence immediately, because its what little Damian calls Danny.

Tiny Damian, in that front, is very interested in Danny's powers and in his parents work. He finds tubberware of ectoplasm in the fridge once while they're down in the kitchen and calls it something with the word lieazir in it. The other word is something that Danny later learns means water in arabic.

It makes him feel even more uneasy of whatever place little Damian came from.

It takes weeks for little Damian to finally give up on escaping, and then a few weeks more for him to almost entirely lose his spunk. Danny isn't sure what started it. It was as if he'd been flipped with an off-switch.

(Damian had been so confident that the League would go looking for him after his disappearance. He was wrong, and he is crushed. He is still a child, alone, in a country very big and very busy, where nobody understands what he's saying. He feels powerless, helpless.)

(The lazarus boy who calls himself Danyal is nice to him in a way the league has never been, and he's making an effort to learn Damian's language. But he leaves for hours at a time and Damian doesn't have much else to do but wait in this house for him to come back.)

(He tried leaving, many many times, but he doesn't understand the street signs, the roads, the people. He doesn't know where he is, and he feels scared in a way that he's not felt in the League. Danny finds him every single time, hours later when Damian is lost somewhere in Amity Park)

(And he never yells at him. Never. The first time this happens, Damian puffs himself up and prepares himself for this strange lazarus boy to yell at him. Damian feels like he's tripped on the last step of the stairs when Danyal doesn't yell at him.)

(He can tell he's frustrated by the tone of his voice, but when Danyal lays eyes on him he just looks relieved. He gets scolded on the flight home, but Damian doesn't understand any of it other than Danyal just sounds worried. Not angry. He gets a proper scolding once they get back, with Danyal typing into the google translator and playing it for Damian to hear.)

(This happens every single time until Damian finally agrees to stop running away.)

It's with Jazz's help that Danny finally realizes that Damian was depressed. It's with her help again that Danny tries helping with it. It's like trying to get a stray cat to trust him. And with everything else they've done, it takes a long time.

And it is so, so worth it when it all works out.

Tiny Damian doesn't really like Sam, or Tucker, but he likes Danny. And he finally starts calling him his name. His full name, but his name nonetheless. Danny doesn't bother correcting him. He's not looking a gift horse in the mouth. And it's endearing hearing Damian call him Danyal.

Damian in this time, also begins to take more initiative into learning English. And they teach each other words they know. Danny buys flash cards and writes the english alphabet on them, and then finds a book on arabic to teach himself and Damian. Sam and Tucker and Jazz start learning as well.

And then when Danny knows enough arabic and Damian knows enough english, and Damian trusts Danny, Damian tells him he's a clone. It's a quiet moment, late at night when Danny takes Damian up to the ops center to look at what stars they could see through the light pollution.

It'd be very easy for Danny to tell him, "I know. I could tell from the start.". He doesn't, it's not the time nor the place, and Danny's matured enough to know when to open his mouth and when to keep it shut. He lets Damian, almost seven now, tell him that he's a clone of Damian Wayne. Lets him tell him why he was made, what his purpose was.

(Danny will need a minute later to process the fact that Damian Wayne originally came from some kind of... assassin league with an obsession with immortality. But he's focused on Damian.)

In the end, he puts an arm around Damian Wayne's clone and pulls him into his side. Thanks him for trusting him, it must've been hard to tell him, that he's brave for being able to. And if he wants to, they can find a way to get into contact with the Waynes and let Wayne know about him.

Damian hides his face in Danny's ribs and holds him tight, and tells him he doesn't want to. Danny leaves it at that.

Perhaps it would be more morally ethical to alert Damian Wayne that there was a clone of him running around, that his... uh, grandfather was making clones of him. Hell, Danny would have liked it. But little Damian has asked him not to say anything, and little Damian needs someone to rely on; someone he can trust.

And in the end, its not that hard of a decision to make. Danny knows little Damian more than he knows Damian Wayne, and while Danny likes to think he's a good person, he knows he's not a great one. Nor a perfect one. He cares more about someone he knows than someone he doesn't.

If Sam tries to argue with him about it, then Danny will just double down. If Damian doesn't want to tell Wayne about his existence, then it's not their place to say otherwise.

There's a lot more to talk about over Damian's cloning, like what he wants to do moving forward. But that's a long conversation not meant to be one taken late at night. Little Damian is falling asleep at his side, seemingly much more relaxed than he did before, and Danny wasn't gonna ruin that.

And later he's right, it is a long conversation, and a slow one. Talking with Jazz about it helps him figure out what to do moving forward, and their best bet is to let Damian figure out what he wants to do. So he sits Damian down at the dinner table the next morning and tells him before breakfast that he doesn't need to be Damian Wayne.

He doesn't need to learn all the same things Damian Wayne did. He doesn't need to do anything that Damian Wayne does. And little Damian is seven, and he's smart, but Danny still has to word it in a way that's not too complex for him to realize.

And in the end, what he says essentially boils down to "You are not Damian Wayne, you are just you. Don't be anyone else but you." and it'll take more time to drill that into his mind when all he's ever heard and learned from is that he was a copy of Damian Wayne, and he must act like Damian Wayne. But it'll happen.

It's a hard task when Danny's the only person Damian really trusts and he can't be by his side all the time, but he starts to warm up to the rest of Danny's family. The Fenton parents know of him, it's hard to keep a six year old child a secret for as long as Danny did without eventually having to come clean about it. His parents, much to Danny's relief, are very welcoming to Damian.

Damian figures out what he likes. Slowly. He's six years old, almost seven, and nobody expects of him to figure out who he is immediately. No child knows who they are right off the bat. So like any child he begins to explore. His english is better but still rough, and he struggles to read said language, but the Fenton family are happy to help even if Damian learns words that no normal seven year old does. (Many of them scientific.)

Damian realizes he likes stars, even if said interest is influenced by the association to Danny. Danny is all too delighted to tell him all about them, and in the process takes him flying out somewhere where the light pollution doesn't reach and showing him where constellations are.

Damian is six-almost-seven, so he doesn't find all of them, but Danny helps him figure out the easier ones. He tells him the scientific facts behind them, and then tells him about the mythos of the constellations. Later on they make their own constellations and make up stories about what they are.

(Damian adores Danny out of anyone else in the Fenton Family. The name Danyal turns to Dany. If anyone asks, Daniel Fenton is Damian's big brother.)

(He still refers to Jazz as Jazmine, and Danny's parents as Mrs. and Mr. Fenton.)

He realizes that, like his original, he loves animals, and he becomes vegetarian too. Sam is smug and Tucker is disappointed, but Damian doesn't super care about their opinions. ...he's getting better at liking them, even if he thinks Manson is a bit snobby and Foley is too much at times.

Its inevitable that the conversation of school comes into play. Damian can't stay home all day and he needs proper schooling. So after a long talk with Damian, they agree to send him to elementary school.

...And before they can do that the Fenton Family goes through with legally adopting Damian into the family as Damian Fenton. It takes convincing to get the administration to enroll him into the first grade without a proper schooling background.

(On his adoption form, Damian asks to change his birthday to the day he met Danny. Perhaps its not the most responsible thing to agree to, but Danny wants Damian to find himself. And its not like they know when his actual birthday was.)

And despite where he learned it from, Damian quite likes sparring. And he quite likes sparring with Danny in particular. Danny makes it fun, something that was foreign in his old league training, and Danny never hurts him. It's a lot like roughhousing.

Danny tells Damian how he got his powers, and how his parents don't know. Damian wakes up late at night to Danny sneaking out of the room (their house is not big enough to give Damian an individual room, and Danny agreed to share his) to go fight ghosts.

It's upsetting. Damian knows that Danny gets injured in those fights, even if Danny never comes home until after those injuries have been fixed up. He wants to help, and he voices it, and Danny shoots him down.

It becomes an argument, something that has happened less and less over the months.

Damian is experienced.

Damian is a child.

Damian knows how to fight.

Damian is mortal and fragile. He is a tiny, squishy human boy and the people Danny fights are ghosts who are near-indestructible. Who are intimately acquainted with death but also do not remember that humans are capable of it. Especially when they're fighting.

Damian says that Batman's rogues are capable of the same thing, that he lets his Robins help him fight.

And Danny says he is not Batman and he will not allow Damian to fight ghosts with him. Those ghosts will kill him and it will hurt. Dying hurts in a way that is terrifying and unimaginable and he will not risk Damian experiencing it. Not even Sam and Tucker help him in his fights most of the time, they are not able to. Not in the way Danny can.

Damian doesn't talk to him all day the following morning, but Danny does not budge on his decision. Damian tries to follow him out the next night, and Danny catches him and takes him back. Over, and over, and over again.

Until finally he gets intercepted by Skulker while taking Damian back home and is forced to fight him in front of Damian. (If it had been his choice, he would not have let Damian see it at all.)

It's not pretty. Skulker has new weapons, weapons that hurt, a lot. Danny is stuck between trying to take him down and trying to protect Damian from Skulker's attacks at him and from all the debris being created from the fight. It's with Damian's quick thinking and fast feet that finally helps Danny take Skulker out. But Danny is badly injured in the aftermath.

He doesn't have time to take Damian home and get medical attention. So he takes Damian with him to wherever he has his supplies stashed. He doesn't call Sam or Tucker or Jazz, and has to stitch himself up alone, with Damian watching.

Damian is quiet the entire time, he feels awful. Danny's not mad at him -- well, he is. But not because he had to protect him. He's just tired, and a little disappointed in him. Damian doesn't sneak out again. But he still feels helpless.

Danny tells him that that is why he doesn't want Damian to help him. Ghosts, his ghosts, are hard to fight. They are powerful, and his 'rogues' are mean. They will not care that Damian is a mortal child, if he picks a fight with them, they will fight back. And Damian is not immune to certain ghost powers like Danny is.

Damian is silent. He wants to help. But Danny is right: he is a squishy, mortal, living child. There is not much he can do to help Danny. Not without any gear to do it. Not without any powers to do it. He wants to help. He cannot.

Damian, almost-seven-years old, begins to cry. It is the last thing Danny was expecting, and for a moment he is at a loss of what to do.

Damian reaches for him -- in the Fenton family, physical affection is expected. Damian is getting used to it, but Danny is the only one he likes touching him -- and then stops, cringing away like he only just remembered that Danny was hurt.

He only cries harder.

Danny meets him halfway and pulls him into his arms, situating Damian between his knees from where he's sitting. Through his tears, Damian says he wants to help. He wants to help. He doesn't want Danny to get hurt anymore. He doesn't want Danny to fight ghosts alone anymore. He's scared that Danny will stop coming back.

Danny doesn't have anything to say to reassure him. Can't say anything to reassure him. It'll all just be lies. He's not going to stop fighting ghosts, he can't. He's not going to stop getting hurt, he can't. He's not going to bring Damian with him, he can't. He'd never be able to live with himself.

"I'll always come back." He says though, because that is something he can promise. Whether dead or alive, he'll come back.

When the tears finally stop, Damian doesn't say anything again. He sniffles, and presses his ear to Danny's chest, listening to the steady, slow heartbeat. If he puts his ear to his sternum and strains his ear, Damian would almost hear the low hum of Danny's ghost core, like a small dwarf sun.

"If you die, I'll drag you to the Lazarus pools myself." Damian mumbles eventually, his voice sleep-full. It's spoken in arabic, and Danny only understands half of it.

He laughs quietly, and smoothes his hand over Damian's hair. He hasn't had a haircut since he arrived, it's gotten long and there are curls beginning to form. "Okay."

Damian falls asleep shortly after, and with much consideration to his own injuries and Damian's sleeping form, Danny flies them back home.

It's hard to say, but not much changes in routine afterwards. Damian hovers close to Danny, more than usual. Danny still goes out at night, he still stitches himself up before going back, he still goes back home where Damian is waiting worriedly for him. Damian doesn't like falling asleep without knowing Danny is there.

Now the hard question is: when does little Damian finally meet the Waynes for the first time? There's plenty of ways to go about it, both easy and hard. Perhaps we go this way:

The Fenton family are visiting Maddie's sister in Arkansas. And Damian is dragging Danny around through the surrounding forest. It's his first time being in a forest this large since he moved in with the Fentons. Safe to say he is delighted by all of the nature, and he's dragging Danny along with him.

Danny likes the peace and quiet it gives him, he's found that he enjoys the rural area more than he likes the city. He's happy to let Damian point out every plant he recognizes, even if some of it is in arabic.

They walk around all day until Damian gets tired, and then at night when the sky is clear Danny and him go look at the stars. It's peaceful at first.

On the third day of their visit, Damian drags Danny out far from the house. It's slightly worrying, but Danny can always fly them back if it gets too late.

It's in the woods that Danny and Damian stray much too far from Alicia's house, and from there in the early evening that they run into Batman and Red Robin, both of them in rough 'just got out of a fight' shape.

Safe to say, it was the last thing any of them expected to run into. Damian and Danny had stopped at a small crik to rest, and the two vigilantes came through the tree line on the other side.

It was... quite the staring contest.

Damian, now seven years old at this point, forgot to mention that the Waynes were vigilantes when he told Danny he was a clone. But he was told that Batman was his original's father.

Before anyone can say anything, little Damian wraps his arms tight around Danny's middle and stares Batman and Red Robin down. His sharp edges have softened around the Fentons. But he makes no exceptions to anyone else outside of Danny's immediate social circle.

Danny's arm automatically goes around Damian's shoulders, and he looks between both Red and Batman uneasily. If they were here then it meant that there was something unsafe nearby. Danny did not fight the living, and he wasn't going to put Damian in the crosshairs of anything that does.

"Should... should we leave?" He asks, brows knotted together with a frown. He stands. "Is there something going on nearby?"

Batman suddenly grunts, and looks at him. "It's been handled." He says, and his voice is gruffer than Danny imagined it. Lower. Danny is not all that comfortable with that answer.

"Do you guys live nearby?" Red Robin asks, and Danny can't help but notice that he keeps looking at Damian. Warily. In fact, so is Batman.

He pushes Damian behind him slightly, and Damian's grip tightens on him. "Not... exactly." He says, his eyes narrowing slightly. "My family's visiting my Aunt and my brother wanted to explore since it's his first time out of the city, I guess we wandered too far away if we're running into you."

There's no visible indication of whether or not both Bats reacted to him calling Damian his brother. But he can all but feel little Damian preen at the title, it makes Danny's mouth twitch into a smile as his hand finds Damian's hair.

"Would we be able to go back with you?" Red Robin asks, startling both Danny and seemingly Batman, who looks at him instantly.

"Red Robin." He growls out, and Red Robin throws Batman a look of annoyance.

"We are lost, B. They jammed the comms and our trackers back there and it hasn't come back on yet, his aunt may have the signal we need to let the others know where we are."

They end up walking back with Danny and Damian. It's silent, and awkward, and Danny has Damian walking on his opposite side so he's not near the vigilantes. Red Robin is fiddling with a phone but still can't get a signal.

Batman is silently brooding.

Red eventually gives up and shoves the phone into a pocket on his belt, then turns to make conversation with Danny. "I never thanked you for letting us walk with you. Thanks, by the way."

Danny blinks at him, and smiles awkwardly. "No problem, man," he says, "I'm uh, Danny." He glances down at Damian, who looks up at him with big green eyes, and Damian nods quietly.

He looks back at Red Robin, and says, "This is my little brother, Damian." And Damian peers over his side and glares at Red Robin -- and Batman, who looks over when Danny says his name.

"He looks like Damian Wayne," Red Robin notes, head tilting like he's inspecting him.

Danny huffs dryly, "We get that a lot."

Red Robin smiles at him, its a tilted thing. It makes Danny uneasy. "Where did you say you were from?"

"I didn't," Danny says bluntly, and he really doesn't want to tell them where he's from. Not when Red Robin was acting strange, but they're vigilantes and notorious for their detective skills. If he's suspicious, they'll look into him. "But I'm from Amity Park."

Damian in that moment, peers around Danny again and scowls at Red Robin. Full on scowls at him, as if it were the first months when he met Danny. "You're being nosy." He sneers, his hand squeezing Danny's.

"Damian," Danny hisses, suppressing a smile. Damian jumps like he's been startled, and looks up at him with big green eyes. "He's just being curious."

(He lets his smile slip through briefly, just to let Damian know he's not that upset. A tension leaves his little brother's shoulders.)

"But he is." Damian continues, a whine leaking into his voice. Danny jabs him in the ribs with his fingers, and Damian jumps, swatting away his hand with a squeak.

"Would you rather have us walk in dead silence, Dames?" He goes for Damian's ribs again, a grin stretching across his face as Damian jumps back again and swats his hand. "Hm? Hm? We could just walk in awkward silence for the entire trip back, I know you just love awkward silence, little brother."

(It's funny, saying little brother always sounds so uncomfortable when he reads it in books and watches it on tv. But Jazz always makes it sound so natural when she does it, and Danny finds that he sounds the same too.)

Damian continues to bat away his hands, but it's not enough to prevent him from squealing with laughter when Danny gets a good hold on him and starts tickling him. Danny's grin only gets bigger, and he swoops Damian up with his arm and holds him like a football.

"Is that it? Huh? Me, you, and two vigilantes walking back to Aunt Alicia's cabin in complete, utter silence." He says, "You won't get to hear any of my amazing jokes."

Damian's wriggling, trying to pound on Danny's ribs, he's giggling uncontrollably. It's the best sound Danny's ever heard. "Your jokes are awful! Laeazir! Put me down!" He cries, grinning from ear to ear.

(From the side, both Red Robin and Batman tense up.)

Danny chuckles, and through a short series of flips, has Damian sitting on his shoulders. "I will not. You're sitting up in air jail for insulting my hilarious jokes."

Damian tugs on his hair in revenge, harrumphing at him but making no move to get down. Danny squeezes his ankles playfully, and looks back to Batman and Red Robin.

Both vigilantes look at him like he's grown a second head.

....Red Robin looks at him like he's grown a second head. Batman just stares, and then looks away. Danny tilts his head at them, his smile waning. "You guys look like you've seen a ghost or something."

(Damian tugs on his hair again. A silent boo at him.)

Red Robin jerks, "Oh, sorry." He says, not sounding all that sorry. "It's just... I've lost count to how many times I've saved Damian Wayne from the occasional kidnapping and he's always been very... serious. It's just weird seeing a kid that looks like him be... not serious."

From his shoulders he feels Damian hide his smile in his hair, that's another thing they can put on their "Things That Damian Does That Damian Wayne Does Not" list. It started as a joke, but it's been surprisingly helpful for when Damian is questioning himself.

However, Danny is not a fan of the comparison, and he smiles widely, perhaps a tad passive-aggressive. "It's a good thing that my Damian isn't Damian Wayne then." He says, giving him the slight stink eye.

Red Robin picks up on it quickly, and nods.

The rest of the way is spent in idle conversation. It's oddly casual, even if most of the conversation is Danny talking about himself. It's annoying, but he unfortunately understands the reason. Secret identities and all that.

Damian interjects a few times, some parts to talk to Danny, and other parts to throw shade at Batman and Red Robin. Mostly Red Robin, who seems begrudgingly used to it.

("I'm surprised you haven't asked me much about myself." Red Robin says at one point into the conversation. Over his shoulder Batman glares at Red Robin. "A lot of civilians do when they're able."

Danny stares at him. "You're a vigilante." He says, frowning, "Isn't it superhero 101 that you don't ask superheroes for their secret identity?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Huh. Well, no. I'm not gonna ask you about yourself. I quite like talking all about me.")

When they finally reach the cabin, it's late into the night and Danny has moved Damian from his shoulders to his front in a koala-like carry. Damian's fast asleep with his head on Danny's shoulder.

His family was also frantically searching for him, and Jazz sees him first. She immediately turns behind her and yells "I FOUND HIM!". And then sprints over to him, his parents thundering not too far behind.

Both vigilantes are subsequently ignored as Jazz dotes over him and Danny, and soon enough so is his mom and dad. They're all talking all at once, asking him where he was, they were worried sick, did he know how late it was.

He shushes all of them, loudly. And whispers that Damian is sleeping. His family then immediately quiet themselves, and go back to yelling at him in a more appropriate manner.

"Me and Damian walked too far by accident." Danny finally says when he can get a word in, and then he jabs his thumb in Red Robin and Batman's direction. "We also found two superheroes who need assistance."

The speed of which his family all snap their heads over to the direction he's pointing is almost comical. As is all of their expressions of shock.

His mother is the first to regain her senses, and she sighs at him. She sighs! "Only you, Danny." She says, and Jazz snorts into her arm.

#dpxdc #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #danny phantom au #dpdc danny fenton #i am incapable of making short posts it seems. heavy sigh #this post is open to add ons if anyone's interested 👉👈#this entire au is essentially the song 'Strange Sight' by KT Turnstall from the Tinkerbell and the Neverbeast #This post mostly goes into how danny and damian's relationship develops because i think that's the more important part of the au #also damian's like six i firmly believe he wouldn't know much english #no no he's learning arabic first and then english LATER. if he would ever even get there with the league #iirc all the damian clones liked Danny so i wanna explore how their relationship got to that point. Like what happened for Danny to get eve #getting one Damian clone to like him enough to go up to bat for him? that takes time and patience and i wanna explore that lol #danny's in his late teens here btw.#Clone Damian is a 7yo child and I'm writing him as such because its fun. I thought about having Clone Damian change his name but nothing fi #little clone damian is also A Tad Clingy. Danny is the First Person to have shown him a kindness and Damian Imprinted On Him Like a Duck #i love clone aus and clone aus love me #clone damian and danny are bROOOTHEERSS #i thought about making clone damian's name damon bc its close to the name damian but also i like the idea that clone damian keeps the--#original name and then makes it his own. something about taking the name you were given thats not really yours and MAKING it yours

982 notes · View notes

hrtsdevils · 5 months

Text

dog-eared. | jh86

summary reader and jack broke up before he was drafted to the nhl. after years of watching from afar, jack finally sees y/n in person. past feelings are brought up to the surface.

pairing jack hughes x fem!reader

wc 2.6k

an my lovers… also another gracie fc sorry idk what to tell you! also for the sake of the plot pretend that the devils play the ducks on tuesday instead of vancouver thanks!!! loosely based off of everywhere everything by noah kahan ft gracie abrams

It had been years since you’d seen Jack. You broke up right before he started his NHL career as it seemed like your plans didn’t align. You’d be going to college in California, as USC had been your dream school your whole life. You dreamed of living somewhere where it was sunny and it was never freezing, unlike the weather in your hometown of Toronto. He dreamed of making it big in the professional league, which he was so close to achieving already.

The breakup between you two was mostly mutual. It happened in your 2005 Honda Civic, in the parking lot of a gas station after you had gone to buy soft drinks. The two of you could feel the breakup impending, and it felt as if the weather channel told you a meteor would be hitting Earth within minutes. As if the sun was about to collapse. The silence was deafening as you started your car, putting your drink in the cup holder. He followed suit.

“I..” He started before you cut him off.

“You think we need to break up?” You asked, giving him a soft smile. It wasn’t genuine, it was quite the opposite. You just didn’t want him to feel guilty, you thought it was the right thing as well.

He nodded softly, “I just think we’re on two separate paths… you know?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Your hands tensed under your thighs, as you were using them as hand warmers. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Buttons.” That had been his nickname for you since the 8th grade. You had a perfect little button nose, and it quickly caught on and everybody would use it for you as well.

The drive back to his parents’ house was in silence, as neither of you had much to say to each other. In about ten minutes, you were parked in front of his house. “You’re still going to come to my birthday party, right?” You asked. You were turning eighteen in a few weeks, June 7th.

“Yeah, I will.” He smiled sadly, “It’s not over. We’re just separating until we get brought back together.”

You huffed, “When’s that? Whenever fate decides?”

“Precisely. Call it a dog ear.. you like to read, right?”

“Yeah, I would never doggy ear my books though.” You giggled, “Bye, Jacky.”

That was the last you talked formally. He never did come to your party, texting you an excuse about how he had a training camp that day. You didn’t believe it, but you never said anything about it. It had been years, you watched him succeed from your dorm room and then to your small apartment couch. Your roommates never understood your love for the sport, but you always attributed it to being from up north.

That was a reason, but not the only one.

Every year you anticipated the Devils coming down to Anaheim to play the Ducks. That was practically the only time you watched Jack in person. You were particularly excited this year, as his little brother Luke would be playing too. You adored Luke, he was so sweet and well-mannered, especially to you. Trevor would also be there. He wouldn’t be playing as he was injured, but you’d caught him after a few games to catch up and he was your little piece of Michigan in California.

It was a Friday game, which met that the tickets were slightly higher and there were fewer of them. You finally got your good friend, Cecilia, to agree to go with you. She was familiar with your love of hockey, and she knew you went to a lot of games. She didn’t know you knew two players on the ice, and two players up in the press box. As you were buying your tickets with her, you got a text from Trevor.

trevor zegras 🐣 : hey buttons r u coming to the game? idk cause jacks playing

You hastily replied, trying to shield your phone from Cece in the most subtle way possible.

y/n buttons : yeahhhh i was jst about to buy my tickets bahaha

trevor zegras 🐣 : don’t buy them ❌❌ i have a club ticket right above the benches if u want it

y/n buttons : usually yes i’d love to but i’m bringing my friend cece

trevor zegras 🐣 : i have 2! i’ll send em to u later

y/n buttons : thanks trev i appreciate u ☺️

You put your phone down and closed your laptop. Cece was a couple feet away on hers, but looked at you when your laptop snapped shut. “Did you buy them?” She questioned, scooting closer to you. You shook your head.

“Kind of? Well, one of my friends is on the team and he’s injured, he offered us seats right behind the bench.”

Her jaw fell slightly, “You never told me you had connections!”

You smiled, “I don’t really, I usually buy my tickets. This was a first time thing, I think he might be drunk.” You tried to explain it in the least suspicious way possible. You didn’t want to seem boastful, but an explaination had to come from somewhere.

You two discussed the arrangements for a couple minutes longer. From outfits to hair to transportation, you were more excited for this game than you had been for any others. Maybe it was because it was Jack’s team, or maybe it was because someone finally seemed to share your admiration for the sport.

Who knows, it was probably the latter.

The day came quick, as it was only a day or two out from your initial conversation. The tickets usually dropped in price right before the game, but luckily you didn’t have to spend the money on it regardless. You lended Cece a Zegras jersey that he got you, while you chose to wear an unnamed 30th anniversary jersey. You still had a few hoodies with Jack’s last name on the back, from his time with USNDTP, but you wouldn’t be wearing those tonight.

You arrived shortly before warm-ups, but when you looked at your section and seat numbers you realized Trevor wasn’t lying about you being right behind the bench. He just never mentioned that it was the away bench. You watched from your seat as the boys entered from the tunnel. They weren’t facing you, but you watched to make sure they didn’t turn around at least not now.

You managed to go a little while without being seen by Luke or Jack, that was until Cecelia got extremely into the game. The Devils had a goal in the late first period, opening up the scoring. Luke was sitting on the bench about a foot to the left of Cece, and once they scored she started banging on the glass.

As he stood up to cheer, he turned around due to the banging. The first thing he did was make eye contact with you. His eyebrows raised, and he blinked as if you’d disappear when his eyes opened. He didn’t say anything as you tried to avoid his gaze, and simply turned back around.

The game continued on, and you didn’t see him say anything to Jack. Soon enough, it was intermission and you felt safer. Like eyes weren’t on you anymore, even though they never were. It went by fairly quickly as the two of you watched the silly halftime games that usually were played by young children. As soon as the Devils came back through the tunnel, Jack turned around and looked at you. He kept sneaking glances as they warmed up again before the start of the second.

The rest of the game wasn’t as fun, as the brunette kept staring at you. As if you couldn’t go to hockey games, his hockey games. As if he couldn’t help looking at you. As if he missed you.

It didn’t help that Cece kept shouting at you, telling you that the cute one kept staring at you and that he wanted you. You knew her best interest was at heart, but she had no idea the magnitude of your situation with said cute one. You entertained her teasing of you, and how she kept pointing at you everytime Jack glanced your way.

By the end of the game you were over it. You wanted to escape and go home before the off chance that you ran into Jack actually happened. It was relieving when you got into the car, but startling when your phone lit up with a single message from Jack. Cece was giggling to herself, looking up one of the cute guys she saw on Instagram. She was oblivious to the situation

jack hughes : hi why were u there

You tried to think of an excuse, but eventually you realized it wouldn’t matter if you told the truth or not.

buttons 🩷 : because i was given tix my trevor.. and i go to a lot of ducks games

jack hughes : oh no other reason?

buttons 🩷 : u think i went for u?

jack hughes : maybe a little. sorry for bothering u buttons.

buttons 🩷 : don’t be sorry. how long are you in anaheim?

jack hughes : tonight n then flying up to seattle

buttons 🩷 : where r u staying?

It was a twenty minute drive back up to your apartment, but with your speeding it was around seventeen. Cece didn’t question your urgency as you dropped her off at your shared apartment, and left immediately after. She was a little bit tipsy. As you drove to the Marriott in Anaheim, you thought about what you were doing.

Throwing away years of peace for the same boy who disrupted it all those years ago. If you started to have feelings for him again, who knows how much you life could be uprooted? Everything could be ruined. All the progress and the getting over Jack. Your Jack. You knew you were risking your own personal journey by going to see him, but at this point you didn’t care.

The hotel receptionist was reluctant to let you up, as she knew who was staying there. The skepticism on her face was present from the very moment you walked in.

“Look, I know him and I know his room number, so can you just let me go up?” You pleaded with hed. Going to a room usually wasn’t necessarily an issue, the issue here was that a sports team was staying. She might’ve thought you were a crazy stalker fan.

As she was about to answer, Jack exited the elevator and spotted you talking to the receptionist. “She’s with me.” He told her, as he walked up to the desk. “Thanks, though.” You had texted him a minute prior about the receptionist, but you didn’t expect him to rush down.

“Hi.” You breathed as you made your way toward the elevator, “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good.” He stopped before the elevator, “Would you rather go for a drive? I’m sharing a room with Luke.”

Your story paused in a car, so you were unsure how this would turn out. Maybe it will be different this time. “Sure.” You replied softly.

You two walked to your car in silence. You were about to get in the driver’s seat, but he insisted on driving. “You should drive slow around here, there’s a bunch of cops at night because of drunk college students.” You chuckled, “I’ll tell you when you can speed.”

You buckled up, and he started your car. It was an upgrade from your Honda, being a more recent model of a Nissan. “So, why’d you come to the game?” He asked as he pulled out of the hotel’s parking lot.

“I go to a lot of Duck’s games. Trevor plays, of course I go watch him.” You started, “He offered me club tickets, and I figured they were behind his bench. They weren’t, obviously.”

“So you didn’t go for me?” He questioned once again, “I don’t believe that, Buttons.”

You rolled your eyes, “I kind of did. I’ve been while you were playing for the last three years, but I still like hockey in general.”

“I’ll believe that.” The silence sat for a little while as he drove 25 down the city roads, the radio wasn’t even playing. “Do you think we could’ve done long distance?”

You shook your head, “No, not then at least. That’s why we broke it off. Maybe now.” You said the last part quieter, just enough so that if he wasn’t paying attention he wouldn’t have heard it.

But of course he was paying attention. You were his everything before, and possibly even now.

“Now?” He questioned, “What do you mean by that?”

“When we broke up, you said our page was dog-eared. Bookmarked. It was more like a pause until we were ready and mature, or at least that’s how I took it.”

He smiled, “I remember that. Do you think we’re ready and mature?”

You shrugged, looking at him. “Maybe, just this semester and then I’m done. I chose to graduate a semester early. I could move back east, we could be closer. Even without I think we’d be mature enough for long distance.”

The chances of this moment happening just weeks before you graduated was an alignment of the stars in itself. This could be everything you wanted, without disrupting your peace.

“If you need a place to stay, you can always stay with me and Luke.” He offered, “To get on your feet, if you come back.”

“Maybe.” You hummed. His hand was resting on the gear shift, even though it was an automatic. You made a move to lay your hand on top of his, squeezing it gently.

It was a soft step in the right direction. A step to getting the love of your life back, which is what you’d wanted since the minute you broke it off. It’s been a long three years without him, he was your best friend and you intended to make up for the lost time soon enough. You wouldn’t bring up how he never contacted you either, because it was far in the past. You were both kids at the time and you can’t hold a grudge about that.

As he re-entered the hotel parking lot, you smiled at him. Your hands were now intertwined on top of the cup holder region, and you never wanted to let go. His hand was more rugged than before, matured and weathered, but it was still a comfort you had missed. He dropped it to shift the car into park.

“So, I’ll see you soon then?” He asked, as you got ready to get out. 45 minutes had passed between getting into the car and now. You conversed about your current life and your future. Your future together.

You nodded, “Yeah, hopefully. Keep in touch, okay? No ghosting me.” You stepped out of the car and walked around to the driver's side as he got out as well.

The two of you shared a hug, but exchanged little words. You could hear the cars around you, and the sounds of the city were still alive. “Bye, Jack.” You released him from your embrace.

“Bye, Buttons.” He smiled, “I’ll text you.” He turned around and walked back to the hotel as you watched, a smile gracing your features as well.

You’d love him forever, whether you got back together or not. You believed he felt the same. You were glad that Trevor had known about the seating on the tickets, and made sure they got to you. You were also glad Luke saw and recognized you. You were excited to see him. The end was over, and the new start was just beginning.

879 notes · View notes