#A03 SPLIT/GLASS FANDOM | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theplanetprince · 2 years

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Schrodinger's Adolescent || Ch. 17

Fic: A03 || FFN

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Rating: Teens and Up

Word Count as of update: 117.5k~

Relationships: Dash Baxter/Danny Fenton, Sam Manson/Tucker Foley, Ember Mcclain/Ghostwriter

Characters: Danny Fenton, Dash Baxter, Sam Manson, Tucked Foley, Cujo, Johnny 13, Ghostwriter, Sidney Poindexter, Mr Lancer

Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Slow to Update, Canon Rewrite, Post-Reality Trip, High School Setting, Fake Dating (Kinda), Unrequited Love, It’s requited but they’re dumbasses, one-sided attraction, fluff, I know the content warning is extensive, but I promise there’s fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, Danny Fenton has PTSD

Content Warnings: VIOLENCE, DESCRIPTIONS OF CHOKING, STALKING, MENTIONS OF SUBSTANCE ABUSE, SELF HARM IDEATION

Chapter Summary: Ghostwriter has trouble proving his worth beyond finding new and inventive ways to complain about the situation. Oh, well, at least he has that in common with Danny, who appears to be acting more shifty than usual.

Author’s notes: Behold! A fight scene! I'm awfully sorry these chapters took so long to produce but I made up for that by giving you two stuffed into one! Please give me feedback, I'm gonna die without validation. -Voorhees 🥊

[Reblogs > Likes… Thx]

The scarlet dawn had barely broken past the thin clouds. The moon was still lingering in the sky—a claw of white against the blackness. The sounds of helicopters were distant but still… there. No birds were chirping. Only the blades of choppers disturb the air at a low altitude. They were under a vigilant microscope if the repetitive Amity Park radio cycle was to be believed. Martial law had been enacted until someone produced the Ghost Boy. Danny Fenton.

How could anyone sleep with their secret identity having been broadcasted live over national television, you may ask? The truth is you don't. You don't choose to rest. Your body refuses to acknowledge the cruel reality it occupies, and exhaustion weighs you down until you can't move.

Danny slept in what he could only assume was the master bedroom of Dash's vacation condo. He was sandwiched between his best friends. He slept on top of the thin sheets. The weight of Tucker and Sam kept him there… it kept him alive. Sam's bristly split ends dug into his neck. She kept her arms crossed, but her head tucked down, down towards Fenton's chest. Meanwhile, Tucker's arm and leg flung across Danny’s body while his head lulled towards the nightstand where his glasses rested. Call it closeness or what, but it was comforting. They hadn't done this since what? Ever?

It wasn’t the entanglement of limbs that caused Danny to stir this early in the morning. If he had it his way, he would sleep like this and never wake up. This heaviness that clouded his senses was warm, and blurry, and so, so safe. No, faintly, he could hear the stereo in the kitchen.

Leave it to the Baxters to have one of the state-of-the-art speaker systems available on the content, but the kids were too tired to be in awe of such frivolities. It played a smooth mo-town number with such clarity; it was like having a live band playing in the next room over. The horn in the song blared—

“I said, Shotgun!

Shoot 'em 'fore they run now…

Do the jerk, baby,

Do the dirty now—

Hey!

Put on your red dress,

And then you go downtown now.

I said, Buy yourself a shotgun now.

We're going to break it down, baby, now.

We're going to load it up baby now.

Oh, can you shoot 'em 'fore they run now?”

He sat up. His head throbbing, and ears still ringing with the terror from yesterday. And those goddamn chopper blades. At first, Danny was convinced the song was just in his head, like how most things were. He thought if he kept his eyes closed, everything would just go back to normal. Whatever normal was for a Fenton.

Though, there was no such luck.

Danny phased himself out of Tucker’s loose grasp, shimmying to the foot of the mattress. His feet found the floor shakily. Dash’s hoodie sat way, way too big on his thin body and ended by his knees. Pain shot through his legs from the epicenter of his heels. Agony mapped across his nerves from the waist down. It seemed his body was still holding a grudge. Waddling to the door frame, Danny lurched forward and grasped it for support, dragging the rest of his body along. It was always the aftermath that hurt infinitely worse. Holding back a whine, he took a sharp inhale and elected to keep muscling through it.

The sound of his soles it the cool wood floor in an uneven gait. Was he limping? Could this be qualified as a limp? Perhaps. But he wasn’t a doctor.

When balancing his weight from leg to leg felt like a herculean task— Danny’s shoulders parried between the narrow corridor walls. His arm landed on the table that held a clutter of papers and tchotchkes to gather dust. Danny just wanted to decay in peace like everything else in this tomb. The Baxters seemed to have the approach to excess the same way the Egyptians did. They wanted to be buried with their belongings. In some sense, the Baxters had to believe they could take it with them. After all, if they couldn’t, then what was all this for?

Hobbling to the corner, Danny was hesitant to just enter the foyer. Wrapping his torso around the entrance, he leaned. Eyes still hazy with sleep, he squinted past the burning in his retinas from the sunlight that fluttered through the sheer white linen curtains. Had they left the terrace door open? Unlikely.

His gaze followed naturally to the island with provided a small window to the kitchen. The song was still thundering with the brassiness of a big band.

Thick rubber work boots stamped along the tile. Crossing the kitchen from the cabinet to the island to the fridge.

Almost like they were dancing.

The shape passed in front of the opening again, and Danny did his best to focus on the details this time. From the shoulders down and backlit by the emerging sunrise—

Red.

“Shotgun!”

“Shoot 'em 'fore he run now!

Do the jerk, baby,

Do the jerk now, hey!

Put on your high-heeled shoes,

I said we're goin' down here, and I listen to 'em play the blues…”

Oh, no.

Danny quickly darted behind the wall again.

It was Valerie Grey. Of course. Of course, it was Valerie Grey.

How the hell did she find them? Did one of the A-listers squeal? Did Dash tell her?

The air swelled with the bitter smell of brewed coffee.

The ‘How’ didn’t seem to matter. What remained was a threat that he was in no physical condition to handle.

Palms slick with a tidal wave of sweat, Danny scrambled back.

CREAAAAK.

His hastiness would be his downfall one of these days.

The music faded out. A raspy and familiar voice floated on the waft of coffee and morning, “Hey.”

In an almost automatic response, the freshman stuttered out, “H-hey…”

A chair was pushed out, the legs scraping against the floor. Then a second.

Val sighed and brought down a mug, “Do you want some?”

“Sure,” Danny replied, tension still poisoning his every muscle. He was arched and stiff, ready for whatever may come next.

Another ceramic cup clattered against the cupboard shelving as the ghost hunter set it on the splotchy black and neutral tone counter. The machine beeped quietly, and she prepared her mug first. Not much cream, not much sugar.

“So…” Fenton began, “How is this gonna work?”

“I’m still figurin’ that out,” She said in a taciturn fashion. From here, it sounded like she had the hint of a smile. Val was always an enigma.

Her boots beat against the tile again. A drop of sweat bulleted from Danny’s forehead and traced down the contours of his skull.

Val’s aim wasn’t to spook her prey. No, that would be a rookie’s mistake. She was just simply preparing the table.

“Even death row inmates are entitled to visitors, ” Grey quipped.

He didn’t laugh.

Approaching the table, he remained cautious as light on his feet as he could manage in his haggard state.

Through her visor, Val followed his movements. She watched him slink in and take the chair across from her. Steam rose off the mugs and twirled around their breath. As soon as it appeared Danny got comfortable in the elegantly carved wooden seat, she slid the cup over. He caught it.

Val’s aura felt like a piping hot black coffee, trapped behind the rapidly warming ceramic skin. That mug would hurt your hands with its temper. You weren’t surprised by the sting in your palms, but you held on regardless. You were careful not to tip it over.

He took a sip. It was bold and startling. Equal parts are refreshing. He took another, tightening his brow. It didn’t occur to him how dry his throat really was.

The coffee was still scalding hot— but it didn’t seem to bother the dead teen much.

Val eyed him. The expression under her hood must’ve contorted into intrigue or scrutiny for his very existence. Her lips peeled apart with a noticeable sound as she found her words. Looking at Danny, the first thing she could say was, “... In hindsight, this should have been obvious.”

“You’d think.” Fenton gave her a defeated glance, the deep bags around his eyes were nearly purple. There was no victory to be found here.

Crossing her legs at the thigh, she bounced her foot as if mulling over something, “You’ve caused quite the fuss.” Her tongue clicked, “Y’know that, right?”

That much had been made clear. His silence was deafening. Danny stared at his reflection against her visor. He didn’t recognize himself.

This would be no fun for either of them if he didn’t play along.

“So…” Grey traced her finger around the lip of her mug, “You’re probably wondering how I found you?”

“...No.” The ghost boy answered defiantly, “It seems that the powers that be would rather throw me every curveball possible than provide answers. I don’t think it matters if I know or not how you managed to track me down.”

“I guess.” She replied sullenly. Val shifted her focus to a bowl she brought down. She set down a cardboard box in front of him, “You hungry?”

“Starving.” The word came out quiet and cutting.

Starving. It seemed since his half-life began, he was always hungry. He had become this cavernous pit that couldn’t be sated. It seemed he wasn’t hungry for food.

They shared dry cereal in two bowls with their coffee. Valerie took down her hood to reveal a mess of coiled hair that was expertly maintained and held back by the world’s strongest elastic ties. Fatigue wore her face differently, she was intense and focused. Her spoon skirted the surface of her bowl with clicking metallic beats.

They said nothing for a long time.

Those helicopters were relentless and taunting. They could go anywhere in the world, but instead, they were here of all places. Amity Park is a place with no exits. People who were born here often never leave. People who end up here by happenstance don’t seem to make it that far either.

Both Val and Danny were doomed.

“So, are you gonna slap the cuffs on me or what? Or does it bring you joy to draw this out, Val?” Danny calmly brought a spoonful of dry oats to his mouth.

She repeated, “I’m still tryin’ to figure that out.” With one hand, she laid out her first option, “Vlad Masters is willing to pay a lot of money for you, the stipulation being— You: alive.” with her opposite hand, she unfolded her second choice, “The Guys in White were less… magnanimous.”

Val’s eyes fell to her shoes.

“You’re debating on killing me?”

“That’s the thing,” Val chuckled awkwardly, “I don’t know if you’re alive or dead.” She shrugged, “I don’t know if I could kill you.”

Danny caught a small laugh at that, “Yeah, I guess I’ve never thought about it that way. It’s tough to give the ultimatum when neither one really fits.”

He shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, “But you’re not a killer, Val.”

She made a face at this, cocking her head to the side, “You’re confident about that?”

“Val… I know you’ve had a gun on me this whole time. I’m not stupid.” Danny was exasperated and pushed his food around, “You could’ve taken a shot any time you’d like. You haven’t because you’re still trying to find an excuse to let me go.” Once more emphatically, the ghost boy stated, “You’re not a killer.”

The sour expression on her features only deepened.

Fenton held up his hands in surrender, the sleeves of his hoodie falling to his elbows unceremoniously, “Now’s your chance to prove me wrong. I’m too tired to fight you, Val. It's only gonna be a matter of time before someone else turns me in for the reward— so, why not now ?”

Rooting through the front pocket of the sweatshirt, he slapped down a strip of photos taken from the instant printing machine at the mall. Danny took his chewed rat claw of a nail and pointed to the subjects in the frame, “This girl is not a killer!”

Silence fell around them again.

Danny bounced back into his chair.

The bounty hunter picked up the photographs. Her gloved thumb caressed each of the subjects in the strip. Val could be stoic, but she had become entirely unreadable. She was flooded with emotions, too many to be precise. Gaze shifting to each of her friends that she had abandoned so long ago, she softened. Danny was right. This girl wasn’t a killer.

This girl’s biggest worry was college. Her issues were parallel parking and student council drama. This girl didn’t have two jobs to balance with her extracurriculars. This girl hadn’t heard breath of the name "Vlad Masters." This girl had a house and a yard she hoped to inherit. She had a future.

Against her will, the film in her fist crumpled. She had smashed it into a ball of nothingness. Twisted with her rage.

Yeah, Danny was right. This girl wasn’t a killer. She’d never dream of hurting anyone. She recoiled at loud noises. She was a vegetarian in middle school. She planted trees on the weekend with her volunteer group. Val ran a hand through her hair along her curls. Her eyes were swimming with unwelcome tears—

Danny Fenton made the killer.

She pitched the ball of film against the wall and stood up with a slam. Val had hoisted up the table, promptly sending it to the ground and out of her way.

Before Danny had a fraction of a second to respond, her hands had already wrapped their way around his windpipe. And she squeezed…

Thinking back on it now, it was impressive that she got him out of the chair and pinned him against the wall with such ease. The back of his head made such a loud crack against the drywall he couldn’t tell if it was the bone or not. But suppose that didn’t matter.

“Don’t make this decision too easy for me, phantom,” Val hissed.

“In a way, it’s kind of full circle, huh? You ruin my life; I end yours—” Her grip tightened.

It wasn’t the lack of oxygen that would do him in, Danny was sure of it— but he’d rather not have a ruptured neck. He really liked talking. Fenton writhed against her grasp, choking for his voice, ”R-Ruin? How—?”

Howling wildly with laughter, Grey’s tears caught her mascara and left thick tracks down her cheeks, “You and goddamn family are nothing but a plague. You’ve done nothing except break everything you touch! Everyone who comes within reach is infected!”

What was she talking about?

“Me, Sam, Tucker, Dash, the Westons, Vlad— Everybody in Amity Park!”

A blackness crawled along his sight, distorting her grinning face—

“You ruin everything, yet you’re the only left standing? And for what? What does that earn you?”

Danny tapped her wrists with his sleeve-covered hands. Trying to wiggle what little distance he could. She was smart to attack him with her suit on— couldn’t phase through it.

“Here you are, not a hair out of place.” Val demanded, not from Danny but from whatever higher power was willing to give her an answer, “What’s so special about you?!”

She repeated, hushed— “What’s so special about you, huh?”

Truthfully, he wished he could tell her why. Danny wanted to tell her everything she wanted to hear, so she could stop looking at him like that. It pained him to look at her like this. This isn’t how he wanted to end things. Danny wanted to say whatever he could to ease her mind. He wasn’t anything special— stubborn, maybe.

His eyes were—his eyes were bulging out his sockets. He could feel it. Danny croaked out, “V…al… plea…se.”

The hunter’s eyes remained fixed on the ghost boy’s neck. Her goals were unclear, but whatever she was doing was effective in shutting him up. What was her plan? Squeeze until she severed his spinal cord, effectively draining all life from him? Cut his jugular open to see what was inside? What was for damn sure is that she had enough of being haunted!

Glancing up, Val saw blue eyes and a black hoodie. In an instant, she was transported to last Christmas. She spent her winter break with her friends because her dad was away on business. It was the same story every holiday season. Loneliness filled her heart. Dash was in a similar boat. The quarterback was wearing this exact hoodie. She recognized the bleach stains around the collar from where she dotted it with the brush because Baxter made her laugh too hard. Val was his go-to for bleaching his hair; his hands shook too much. Paulina would come over with leftovers from whatever grandiose meal her family made… saying they wouldn’t even notice she was gone. The memories were hazy, nearly colorless, and desaturated. They were on a muted loop in her brain, but she could taste the peppermint and hot chocolate that burnt her tongue. The hoodie still reeked of bonfire smoke.

Some things couldn’t be washed out.

Releasing, Danny dropped to the floor like a stone. His boney knees hit the hard floor.

Val clasped her hands together as if trying to talk herself out of repeating the mistake. She held her fists to her forehead, sticky with perspiration. Chest heaving, her body, racked with shudders. It was like the air itself had become too thin, like she was isolated on a mountain of her own making, screaming for help that would never arrive.

Why’d you stop? Fenton nearly blurted out— but no legible noise would come out.

“You have to live… ” Val exhaled and strolled to the balcony door. Narrowly throwing the glass panel off its metal track, “You have to live with what you did to me. To us.”

Her arms fell to her sides, and her hands squeezed together again, aching for the hold on his neck. The bounty hunter placed her palms flat on the glass, “You know what you did. And You want punishment. I’m not under anyone’s orders.”

Replacing her crimson hood, she gathered her hoverboard, “I’m not going to give you the satisfaction.”

Danny was sure his ears were in the next room over. The ringing returned, and the thundering of his undead heart swirled with his adrenaline. The only thing he could see was spots and color. No details. The ghost boy folded in on himself and remained on the floor long after Valerie left.

Fenton didn’t know it, but somehow, Dash Baxter had saved him twice.

“Shit. Shit. Shit .” The wind whipped his ivory-white hair out of his face at Mach-speed.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Why did he do that?!

Why did he say all those things?!

The Phantom kept chanting his mantra. Tree branches meant nothing as he bulleted by as an invisible entity— the only visible evidence that something was indeed traveling around the forest canopy was the snapping of twigs and the intense gust. Without a shred of doubt, he knew that was his fastest getaway yet.

Oh, he just wanted to go home and lock himself in his room— that was beyond embarrassing! How could he lose control like that?! He wanted to crawl into a shallow hole and just die.

Ghostwriter was right where Danny left him. The hiking trail behind the pond in the central valley. The Phantom came in for a rough landing. Narrowly taking out the spindly author in the process.

Ghostwriter glared down at his junior, “What’s— what’s happening with your face?”

Hunched over his knees, Danny held out his hand, “Give me my earpiece.”

“It would kill you to say—”

“STEPHEN!”

Without any more commentary, Ghostwriter tossed the device by flicking it from his thumb.

The Phantom snatched it out of the air and ordered, "We have to get out of here."

Jazz spoke up through the crackling noise on the other end of the line, "Well, it sounds like someone had an eventful pee."

"Huh?" Danny exclaimed sharply.

"I just got done telling you're approaching Dash's neighborhood, and then you suddenly yelled 'I have to take a leak!' in a way that wasn't too loud and too much information—"

The ghost boy shook his head, "Right, sorry. I'm back now. Uh, continue your thought, Jazz."

"Right." The elder Fenton tutted, "I've managed to use a sample of Johnny's hair to break down his ecto signature. I've managed to track down his frequency to the park."

"Should I be concerned about why you have a sample of Johnathan's hair?" It suddenly occurred to Ghostwriter that he was in the presence of ghost hunters—highly incompetent ghost hunters, but still.

"Uh, long story short," Jazz hit a few keys on her keyboard, "We, kind of, sort of, dated."

The author squinted at this, "Yikes."

"Yeah, anyway, it turns out he was trying to use my body as a vessel for his real girlfriend."

"Mega Yikes," Danny restated.

Jazz informed while double-clicking a spot on the map to zoom into, "I broke up with him, in case you were wondering."

Ghostwriter wasn't. But if the game was hating Johnny Thirteen— play ball. He ran a hand through his goatee, "Uh, You go… girl."

Paying the older specter a glance, Danny didn't say a word. But his eyes held an unwavering disappointment.

"Sorry, I'll try not to do that again." Ghostwriter mumbled.

Jasmine's voice squeaked through the speaker, "Alright, just keep walking down this trail. I'm sure you'll run into something eventually."

Still tight in the chest and reeling from the encounter with Dash in his room— Danny wasn't exactly prepared to run into something else.

Dash looked at him like he'd seen a monster.

He wasn't all here. He never was. Parts of him were in that room back there; some were still at that table with Val. On that stage at that end of year televised concert. Some of him was still in that basement; hand posed over the start button of the Fenton Portal.

Danny had done his best to patch up those holes in his chipping armor. But it felt like one of those nights where he couldn't predict what would happen next. Apprehension was blinding him. It was thick like a fog. What was he going to do tomorrow? How was he going to explain that ? What about any of that was marginally okay?

Stay away. Just stay away from him. Focus on your job, soldier.

It sounded easy enough on paper. Just stay away from Dash. Fenton's solutions started off reasonable, like ditching their shared classes together, and then bloomed into full-on teen dramatics like moving to a new content and starting fresh with a new identity.

What made it difficult was that the guy followed him around like a beat dog, searching for any shred of kindness. How could you stay away?

What is wrong with me?

Danny kept his mouth shut as his mind screamed at him to get a grip. He was brought back to reality by his sister's voice.

Both ghosts passed through the park, occasionally stopping to interrogate something suspicious about their surroundings. More than once, Stephen cowered behind Danny at the sight of a goose.

There was something to be said about what was wrong with The Phantom, it wasn't nearly as funny as whatever was wrong with The Ghostwriter.

The lights along the crunchy gravel path flickered with each panicked breath Stephen took. He wasn't lying. He was a quick study. The Ghostwriter was visible… not totally in color. It was like his voice and body were out of sync, like an imported karate movie from the seventies. It was hard to fathom in a purely scientific language. Danny hypothesized that Ghostwriter was on the lowest setting possible, like a dimmer switch. He would shudder in and out of focus. When he seemed particularly riled up, his colors would saturate and nearly burst off his body with a harsh glow.

Sidney often occupied that uncanny valley between corporeal and not. Often just honed in on one person's energy to make himself visible to that one person. As if setting a frequency on a radio. It was about finding the right channel, so their forms weren't just incompressible masses. Though Sidney had numerous years of experience walking the Casper High halls and getting a feel for his surroundings to get his presence just right.

It was clear Stephen was floundering with no real goal other than to be tangible and interact with things larger than a headphone. He looked winded, just walking a few feet. It was hard to buy from his getup and general constitution that he was alive during the Reagan era and not the Victorian age. Everything about him shouted, 'I'm a nebbish lad over-encumbered with diseases and frailties. Look at me faint!'

They walked.

And walked.

Danny's footsteps were the only thing keeping back tidal waves of horrid and intrusive thoughts. A lot were just violent colors flashing across his mind's eye. Just when it felt like he reigned in his twitching and impulsiveness—

A hand pressed onto his chest, stopping him, but just barely. Ghostwriter's claws dug into the elastic fabric of Danny's jumpsuit. It was a warning—a nearly paternal gesture.

He didn't say anything. He just narrowed his eyes. His pupils constricted to two tiny shards. The author's blade-like ears began to move. They folded out and adjusted to the noise of late-night joggers.

The Phantom didn't know they could do that. His attention was split between studying Ghostwriter's reaction and the thing in front of them.

"What's happening?" Jasmine was concerned by the lack of activity on her end.

With a shrug and more honesty than he put forth all night, Danny said, "I don't know…"

Eventually, the siblings got their answer. The Ghostwriter nodded his head towards a bush barred with downed branches, "Up ahead."

Caution snaked his way into Danny's voice, "Do you think he's there?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the brave little flatliner?" Stephen hissed, his forked tongue flailing against his serrated teeth. He was out for blood. It was clear he wanted to do some damage regardless if he had the ability or not. The Ghostwriter snapped, "Go check."

Danny reflexively bubbled his right hand in ecto-energy, "Stop calling me that."

The Phantom made his approach. Slow. Methodical. He took giant sliding steps, careful not to disturb anything around him. Taking down a branch revealed the silver rims of Johnny Thirteen's motorcycle.

Bingo.

The two spirits stilled.

Dropping the branch, the teen took a moment to blow some stray hair from his face, “Hey, you’re basically a walking dictionary, right? What’s the longest word I could carve into this thing with my house keys—?”

“Don’t get overzealous. He could come back at any moment.” The ghostwriter buried his fists into his navy cardigan and pulled something out, “It’s best that we stake out this location and wait for him to return with the element of surprise.”

The object in his claws was metallic and bounced the moonlight back into Danny’s eyes—

“What’re you doing?”

Stephen unscrewed the cap on his ornately engraved flask. The design on the front and back was of the sigil of his manor, the lion, with its jaw open in a roar. He threw his head back— gulping down. Eventually, the would-be author shuddered, “I’m not making the mistake of dying sober twice.”

Danny exclaimed under his breath in wonderment. Ghosts can get drunk. Who knew.

However, his sister was less impressed.

“This is why mom put a shield on the liquor cabinet…”

Just as soon as Stephen downed the flask, it refilled again. His limp hand fell a little with the weight of the liquid. Wiping his mouth with his knitted sleeve, the ghostwriter’s grey skin became darker. His eyes became round and void like a crater on the moon.

“Wow, you almost look relaxed,” The younger shook his senior specter lightly. Stephen’s body sluggishly followed under Danny’s hand.

A loud thud hit the gravel behind them. Disturbing the rocks and dust unfurled into a massive plume. A black shape dropped like a deadweight from the trees, nearly on top of the two spirits. It was fast like a bullet, sending pine needles and cones scattered to the brutal night wind.

The apparitions popped in and out in sync with the bursting of several bulbs down the trail. They evaded the projectile with ease, though they were still expecting retaliation. Without hesitation, the ghost boy prepared his fists ready to fire a warning shot until he saw the faintest flash of ginger hair in between the camera shutter and blinding white snapshot.

Fuck. The Phantom exhaled. Can this night stop scaring me?

It was just Weston.

#fic #phic #danny phantom #dp #swagger bishie #teddy ghost #dandash #enemies to lovers #angst #Danny Fenton #dash baxter

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wordywarriorwrites · 5 years

Text

Chapter 6: Set

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration & Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge. Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities.

Life was all about choices and consequences. Every action or inaction inevitably resulted in an outcome that could be either favorable or disastrous, yet, even with ample preparation, mistakes could be made, and unforeseen pitfalls and blind spots were often the undoing of many well-planned things.

The Families usually got what they wanted because they tended to be prepared for every eventuality, but nobody, least of all Steve, could’ve foreseen how easily something as commonplace as violence and heartbreak could unravel it all. Bucky had been the hazard right outside his peripheral, but by the time it had been acknowledged, it had been too little, too late.

Even though Bucky had made himself perfectly clear – said he didn’t care, wouldn’t leave, and didn’t want him -- Steve had been unwilling to accept it. He tried again because he’d thought if anyone on the whole fucking planet was worth the risk, it was Bucky. Steve had gone to his apartment; climbed twelve flights of stairs; used the key he’d been always been welcome to utilize before.

The grunts and moans should’ve been enough of a warning.

There had been no commitment between them, and yet, seeing Bucky with another man hadn’t just hurt him – it had decimated and eviscerated him. It had been an incomparable, unbearable agony, and at that moment, Steve lost both the will to fight for the man he loved, and the patience to deal with the Family and business he’d been embroiled and embedded in for his entire life.

He’d left the United States. Traded concrete and smog for tropical islands resorts and hot sand. For about a year, he bounced around between Seychelles, Maldives, Ko Lipe, Bali, Fiji, and Tahiti. In the depths of the ocean, in the bottoms of bottles, and in the beds of other men – that was how he’d nursed his broken heart and it had been liberating.

Even when the money ran out, Steve still considered himself rather fortunate, because he’d wound up in Bermuda – home to banks, tax-avoiding businesses, and the obscenely rich. The islands were the ultimate luxury destination for the affluent, and they were always coming and going without caution or care. Amongst the pink beaches, coral reefs, and pastel-colored mansions was where he sharpened his skills and discovered being a thief was very lucrative. From St. George Town in the east to Somerset Village in the west, along the the coastline, and on secluded beaches – he survived and thrived on the absent-mindedness and vices of others, but as with all good things, that, too, eventually came to an end.

Steve had always gotten away clean with trinkets and cash, but his luck ran out when a man named Nick Fury, who he would later learn was the head of his own crime syndicate in the West Indies, had caught him red-handed. Death seemed a likely outcome given what Steve had taken and who he’d taken it from, but Fury had surprised him. The man somehow knew exactly who he was, and instead of being gutted on the spot, Nick asked if he wanted to stop being a petty pickpocket and earn some real money.

Fury was an infamous man and his stock and trade was the exchange, purchase, and sale of information. He had the power to ruin lives for generations, which was why people simultaneously respected him and were terrified of him. On the off chance someone stepped out of line or tried to cross him, they weren’t given a second chance – they were made to disappear and never mentioned again.

The world of espionage hadn’t been wholly unfamiliar to him, but with Fury’s crew, it hadn’t taken Steve long to realize he wasn’t as well-versed in the art as he’d originally thought. They were superiorly cultured, uncompromisingly loyal, and possessed a combination of qualities and skills that allowed them to easily maneuver their way in and out of damn near everything. While Steve was no slouch and nobody could ever accuse the Families of being ill-educated or under-funded, the circles they ran in, the jobs they did, the information they got their hands on, the amount of money they played around with…

It made the Families look like a bunch of amateurs.

Trade secrets, favors, bribes, real estate, yachts, money, jewels, art, stocks – white-collar payments for white-collar crime. For four years, Steve earned both his way and his keep, and had gotten a taste of an entirely different way of living. They were bad people who did bad things, and he enjoyed it because it was familiar, and for once, the playing field was even. Equal contribution meant an equal split of the take -- there was no cause for anyone to feel slighted and nobody got greedy.

Steve hadn’t left everything he’d ever known with the intention of falling into a different life of crime, but he had, and it was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him. Fury taught him what it meant to be a true tactician, politician, enforcer, and diplomat. He learned just how powerful of a weapon his mind could be; had been whipped into the best shape of his life, both mentally and physically; was pushed to be who he was, not what anyone thought he should be; and though he’d been a stranger, Fury and his crew had taken him in, dusted him off, and shook the cobwebs out of his head. In a strange, fucked up way, they’d made him stronger and more confident.

When the job in Brooklyn had been presented to him, Steve had been more than a little taken aback. Fury had quietly expanded into the United States, but the senator he had on the hook was also in bed with the Families, which meant the man was serving and benefitting from two masters, and that couldn’t be tolerated.

Both the senator and his wife were to attend an important fundraising event, where all the city’s heaviest hitters would be gathered in one room, and the plan was to use that connection to get intel. Everything hinged on the couple being in attendance, which would allow for one of their team to easily get inside and put them down afterward, but the senator’s untimely death and the wife’s subsequent blabbing to the police had brought everything to a grinding halt.

Everyone knew about Steve’s past connections, which should have been more than enough reason not to put him in, but they were confident he could see it the rest of the way through. Steve had cautioned them; told them they’d have a fight on their hands; that the Families were not easily deterred or distracted. He’d warned them it would be bloody and messy, but in the end, they’d voted to move forward.

He’d never planned to return to Brooklyn, and every decision he’d made since the day he left was designed to take him farther and farther away from it. Yet, somehow, Steve had been brought right back to the start, and the only thing he could focus on was the finish line. The job needed to get done – no matter the cost. They were in the home stretch and the details had been finalized. The hired hands had been paid and all loose ends had been tied up.

Before readying himself for the final stage, Steve retrieved his cellphone, and made a call.

“How are things progressing?” Nick answered.

“As well as can be expected.”

“And the other matter?”

“Taken care of,” Steve replied succinctly. “She wasn’t useful.”

“Don’t get yourself into a situation you can’t walk away from,” Fury insisted. “Get the job done and get your ass back here where you belong – understood?”

“Understood.”

After agreeing to get in touch after he cleared customs, Fury signed off, and Steve headed to the hotel spa. The barber properly shortened his hair and trimmed his beard, but the man in the mirror reminded him too much of who he used to be, and while he didn’t much care for it, it was all part of the game.

Back up in his room, he showered, and continued to get ready. The evening’s battle dress consisted of a Burberry suit, highly-polished shoes, a vest, Glocks, a karambit, and a Ka-Bar. A notification from his phone indicated the car service he’d arranged was five minutes away, and once Steve ensured he had everything he needed for a quick getaway, he headed out.

The drive to Manhattan was a pain in the ass, not only because of traffic, but also because of the fundraiser. When Steve finally arrived at Tribeca 360, he was more than fashionably late, but still had time to get things done before his flight. The guard he’d paid off beforehand met him at the back entrance, which allowed him to bypass the metal detectors.

Glass of champagne in hand, he smoothed down his tie, and casually strolled along the outskirts of the carefully arranged tables. With a 360-degree view of the room, he was able to see downtown, historic Tribeca, and the Hudson River. Steve surveyed the auction display, where the master of ceremonies described the items up for bid, and observed most in attendance had their faces buried in their smartphones. While the bidding was being driven up, he maneuvered his way closer to the employee entrance on the north side. Another payoff, another easy entry, and he was in.

With the building’s floorplans memorized, Steve easily navigated his way through the maze of hallways until he reached the server room, and the tech who manned the area was absent as pre-arranged. After he double-checked the schematics on his phone, it was a small matter of a microchip and an activation code, and within seconds, security camera footage was erased and information was being siphoned.

Most people’s lives revolved around their phones, and now, every, single person connected to the network was feeding their personal data directly to Fury’s servers. When Steve received confirmation that the data was being transmitted, the countdown was on; the emergency exit door should’ve been propped open and the alarm deactivated, but when he reached it, it was shut, and the alarm was active. The microchip only allotted for five minutes of downtime on the cameras before they would automatically be turned back on, and he needed to get the hell out, or else risk being seen by security.

There were four other emergency exits, but he didn’t have time to check them, and that meant Steve was faced with two options: either go forward or retrace his steps. Both choices were less than desirable, but he knew if he triggered the alarm, the police would be called, and the surrounding area would most likely be shut down. Unwilling to risk being caught or hauled in for questioning, Steve made his way back, and managed to get out just before the timer on his phone indicated the cameras had gone live again.

Nearly everyone was on their feet, either drinking, dancing, or talking, which made it easier to blend in. Steve kept his head down and pretended to be focused on his phone as he weaved his way to the back entrance. Along the way, he pilfered a security badge, and used it to get through the side exit. He’d gotten a few steps away from the building and was headed toward his pick up vehicle when Bucky suddenly stepped out of an alleyway and right into his path.

Steve hesitated to reach for a weapon and was made to regret it.

A crackle and a buzz, followed by a paralyzing electric current that drove him to his knees. A sharp pinch, and then, the sting and side effects of a sedative as it was injected into his neck. He was dragged some distance before he was tossed into the trunk of an SUV, and the last thing Steve heard before he blacked out was a command that chilled him to the bone.

“Do what you want, but keep him alive,” Bucky instructed. “I want to take care of him myself.”

Chapter 7: Match

Everything: @jennmurawski13 @nerdy-bookworm-1998

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @captain-rogers-beard @lilliannaansalla

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setoangel01-fanfiction · 5 years

Text

Duet

Rocker and the Mechanic - Chapter 18 (Previous Chapters)

Rated: T

Fandom: Sing 2016 AU

Pairing: Johnny x Ash (Jash)

Chapter Summary: Johnny's solo performance behind them, Ash finds out Johnny is a better duet partner than Lance ever could dream of being.

Fanfiction.net

A03

The roar of the audience slowly drowned out and Ash still couldn't take her eyes off of him.

A part of her was still somewhat peeved at his brazen move but most of her was just so fucking proud. To show it, Ash flashed him her first genuine smile in quite some time - and Johnny instantly returned it. If you told Ash yesterday that she'd meet and subsequently perform with a ridiculously handsome gorilla - she would have flipped you off and called you crazy but where she was standing now - she couldn't be more pleased at how her night turned out.

The way the corners of his eyes crinkled or how he smiled with his white canines on full display, she didn't bother masking her own smile and could care less at how seeing such an expression on his handsome face was something she wouldn't mind seeing everyday…

Shaking her head slightly to rid her of such illustrious thoughts, she instead asked, "Ready, Johnny?" while switching her microphone on. The gorilla did the same - not realizing or caring that his end was on before answering her.

"Hell yeah!" His voice echoed loudly throughout the auditorium and even in his mild embarrassment, no one seemed to care. The audience merely laughed and clapped while the cat-calling of Noodleman's geriatric group only intensified as he flashed the crowd an a shy smirk.

Ash just chuckled under her breath before strumming the familiar chords of the first song on their set. A number her and Lance sang together at one point in time but with their relationship crumbled to dust beneath her feet, it held a completely different meaning to her now. Yet this time as the lyrics poured from her throat and Johnny joined in effortlessly for the chorus, she found the pain that was usually there when she sang this set by herself was completely absent. She denied it was because of how Johnny locked eyes with her as they sang; their voiced melding into one and even in the drowning beat of music and the pounding of her lungs from the proximity of the speakers, but even she didn't believe that lie anymore.

Taking a moment, Ash flashed Johnny a tight smile as he continued his verse and she didn't even fight back her blush when he suddenly winked at her.

---------- o0O0o -----------

It seemed like only seconds had passed, but one song turned into five - the set more than halfway complete and it was during that time when Ash realized how different it was to sing with Johnny.

With Lance, it was always a fight.

Duets for them was more a struggle for dominance. Fingers bruised against the steel strings, proud voice growing hoarse and raw to be heard above the increasing volume on his microphone and speakers until it was glorified screaming over the other. It was not a duet, it was a struggle to come out on top - to prove to him and mostly herself that she deserved to be heard even if he refused that notion one too many times. Pushing her to sing backup rather than by his side even if she fought tooth and nail to stay next to him - a battle no one, especially her, ever won.

Yet a few songs with Johnny proved to be the complete opposite.

Ash didn't have to fight him. His voice was strong, yes, powerful and sensual in his smooth rhythm of his mouth but not overwhelming. His steady dulcet tones and gentle rhythm melded with hers. His voice was working with her - not against her - both of them staying at the same level or giving and taking fluidly unlike the battle waged between her and Lance's every time they performed together. She internally argued perhaps it was because their varying styles and Johnny's milder tone but she knew it was a farce.

Johnny was simply doing what a duet partner was supposed to do - and it shook her to her core that she didn't have to fight anymore. Johnny may have been a talented novice but he even understood how a duet worked...something Lance in all his self-proclaimed "musical genius" never could comprehend. And as they continued, their voices melding effortlessly, Ash slowly felt the hole Lance had left inside of her heart slowly start to stitch itself back together.

---------- o0O0o ------------

The latter part of their set quickly was coming to an end and Ash had no idea how or why she decided she was comfortable enough with him to humor Johnny with his piano prowess she didn't know existed until he touched the ivory keys. But here she was, nearing the end of their performance, sitting atop the piano and strumming her guitar while Johnny playing along as they shared the microphone between them.

All too soon it seemed, their latest song ended. The last note giving way to the excited audience and their claps and cheers drowning out the abrupt lack of music.

Ash flashed Johnny a quick smile from atop that piano, ready to climb down and finish the last song of their set when Johnny suddenly leaned forward.

In that split second, Ash wondered what he was doing; his handsome face quickly nearing her own. She wondered if he was going to kiss her and she knew right then that even if they were still basically strangers, that she would let him but he pushed past her, his cheek brushing her own and she held back a shiver when his soft gray skin brushed her thin fur and his hot breath skirted over her ear and spines. Something akin to disappointment swirled in her chest but she ignored it when he suddenly spoke in a hushed whisper.

"Hey, uh, before we finish off the set, would ya mind if we sang 'Love Me Anyway'? I-I think we'd do it well and I know how to play it." Johnny's request was made quietly against her ear and away from their shared microphone where no one but them could hear.

Ash's spines bristled and she swore to herself it was the question and not how good his heated breath felt against her throat that caused it.

But in that horrifyingly abrupt moment, she realized that Johnny must have found her personal playlist she forgot she had on her phone. All her mopey romantic love ballads she found herself listening to; her 'sobbing sad sack' list she made when Lance broke up with her when she was desperately trying to hold on to something as her heart shattered like glass in her chest. A sudden anger at him flared up when she realized he'd seen that list and went through it but she knew if she refused, he wouldn't fight it. She argued that perhaps he requested it simply because it was one of the very few actual duets on that list - but that didn't make the sudden pain constricting in her chest to lessen.

But she reasoned that maybe singing something off that list would finally coerce her to finally delete it and surreptitiously wash Lance out of her subconscious…at least for tonight. And Johnny had been a great sport singing some of her rougher rock pieces so she supposed she could humor him with one song he wanted.

"Sure." she sighed, "Just don't fuck it up," she slowly pulled back from his warmth and she felt her heart slam against her chest when he sent her a dizzying smile.

"I'll try not to," he chuckled.

Ash, realizing this song was purely piano, turned down her guitar before resting her hands on her well used Fender and watched silently as Johnny looked down at the ivory keys for only a moment before his fingers found their perch and he started playing the song flawlessly.

Would this guy ever cease to amaze her?

"Even if you see my scars, even if I break your heart; If we're a million miles apart, do you think you'd walk away?" Ash slowly sang into their shared microphone, her voice increasing as she grew more comfortable; she was so unused to singing such tender ballads but she pushed through. Left to simply look at Johnny's face and his long fingers moving beautifully over the white keys.

"If I get lost in all the noise, even if I lose my voice… Flirt with all the other boys, what would you say?" She sang with a smile when Johnny's coffee-tinted eyes rose to meet hers and she was surprised she could keep singing with the intense look he was giving her. Astonished was the only word she could describe the look but she doubted that would do it justice.

"Could you? Could yooou? Could you…love me anyway?" her voice tapered off and she opened her mouth to continue, but bit her tongue and held back a smile when Johnny broke in, changing the lyrics flawlessly to the obvious female part.

"Is it for better or for worse, or am I just your good time boy? Can you still hold me when it hurts, or would you walk away?" He sang beautifully regardless, sending her a cheeky smile, his canines gleaming in the intense spotlight and she wasn't sure the ache in her chest was from nervousness anymore.

"Even if I scandalize you, cut you down and criticize you - " She joined him and it still shook her the harmony their voices took on even as they neared the end of their set.

"Tell a million lies about you, what would you say?" she sang by herself before he joined in, "Could you? Could you? Could you? …Could you love me anyway?"

"Aww, could you?" Johnny's voice broke away to follow her. "Could you?"

"Could you love me anyway? ...Could you?" she finished by herself and listened as he played them to the outro of the song. Mesmerized at his talented fingers and surprised when his eyes were on hers even as the piano and its chords intensified to the bridge of the song.

"Could you?" she sang as Johnny echoed and followed with, "Ooh, could you still love me?"

"Could you?" the same pattern continued, their voiced growing stronger, "Pick up the pieces of me?"

"Could yoooou?" Ash vocalized the last word loudly, falsetto vibrato melding with Johnny's raspy tones.

"Could you still love me?" Johnny tapered off, their eyes locked on the others as they continued.

"Could you love me anyway?" she sang before they repeated that same bridge. "Could you?"

"Could you catch me when I fall?" Johnny's vocals increased as the song demanded and she fought the urge to smile, nearly shaking her head at just how incredible he sounded when he wasn't holding back.

"Could you?" Ash increased her volume, a push and pull as Johnny lowered so her voice would shine through. "And we rise above it all!" their tones and words blending as if they practiced this song a hundred times.

"Could you?" she rose above his cadence until he throatily sang his final verse. "And hold me when it hurts…" The look in the gorilla's eyes as he completed the last line to leave the rest to her as the song demanded, his fingers pressing on the final chords and watched her with bated breath as her powerful voice echoed through the room.

"I can't stay here in the world - could you?…Could you…?" She finished the song alone, the soprano note she hit echoing and fading with the piano. Chest heaving, Ash watched the shifting emotions in Johnny's eyes and the soft upturn of his lips as he returned her gaze. His fingers slowly tapering off the piano until silence reigned only lost to the pounding of her heart and the deafening roar of the audience.

#sing 2016 #sing movie #sing #sing 2016 fanfiction #sing johnny #sing ash #johnny #ash #johnny x ash #jash

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hari-writes · 6 years

Text

Break It In Two And Keep The Pieces For Yourself - Chapter 1

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Pairings: Marinette/Nathaniel, Adrien/Marinette, Chloe/Nathaniel Summary: When Marinette and Nathaniel start dating, everyone is happy for them. Except for Adrien and Chloe. Chloe has a crush on Nathaniel and Adrien finally realises his feelings for Marinette. They decide to work together to split the happy couple up, but it's not as simple as it seems.

Read on A03

“Here’s to crippling student debt, unpaid internships, working for ‘exposure’ and massive insecurity,” Nathaniel raised his glass.

“To following our dreams, no matter how soul-destroying it is,” Nino lifted his.

“To pursuing careers in the creative arts,” Marinette added and the three of them clinked their glasses together.

The cafe had been crowded when they first arrived, but the 11pm show at the Moulin Rouge had caused the place to suddenly empty, making finding a table easier. The three friends had pushed their way to the back of the cafe and found a free table. Nathaniel removed his trusty blazer and slung it over his chair and rolled the sleeves of his red shirt to his elbow, revealing muscular arms. Marinette double checked that Tikki was content inside her bag before slinging it over the back of her chair, covering it with her jacket. Nino’s blue hoodie was laid over the fourth seat, in case anyone else arrived later.

They were expecting others to join them, but life after university was more hectic than ever and it was hard to predict who would be available. Rose and Juleka popped by but left after one drink. Max sent a text to say he and Kim were held up at a party, and nobody else bothered to reply to her messages.

“Where’s Alya?” Nathaniel asked.

“On a date,” Nino winced.

“Yikes, sorry man, I didn’t know you broke up,” Nath said.

“They didn’t,” Marinette rolled her eyes. “They have an open relationship.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Nathaniel began, uncertainly.

“Only if both sides are okay with it,” Marinette pointed out. “And Nino here...”

“...Is not okay,” Nino finished.

“Shit, sorry. Why did you agree to it then?” Nathaniel picked his glass up, absentmindedly running his finger across the rim as he looked earnestly at Nino.

“It was that or lose her and that seemed worse,” Nino stared into his own glass, not wanting to make eye contact.

Marinette looked between the two men, one face a picture of awkwardness, the other regret and sadness. When Alya told her about the decision, Marinette was surprised that Nino agreed to it; now he confirmed her suspicions about why he did. Alya and Nino had been together since collège and Alya had wild oats to sow that, apparently, she couldn’t do with Nino. She suggested the open relationship option as an alternative to breaking up. The couple had a flat together, a split would be messy financially as well as emotionally.

“Okay, I think it’s time for another drink,” Marinette said, looking around for the waiter. “Maybe something to eat, too.”

This wasn’t what she had in mind when she tried to arrange this class reunion. She knew her friends all had lives of their own and they didn’t owe her anything, but she’d hoped they could set those aside for one night.

“It’s on me,” A cheerful voice cut through her self-pity.

“Adrien!” Marinette jumped out of her chair to greet him.

The chair tipped backwards and Marinette somehow got her legs tangled in the legs of the chair and she fell forwards, slamming into Adrien. He caught her around the waist and pulled her close to him to steady her. Lifting her up, out of the clutches of her seat, he set her down next to him and picked her chair up and replaced it under the table.

“Are you hurt?” He turned his gaze on her, hands on her shoulders. Two emeralds sparkled at her from his perfect face, currently the picture of concern.

“No, are you?” She said, feeling the old stammer threatening to surface at her crush’s proximity. It was something she got over in lycée when she resigned herself to be nothing more than good friends with Adrien, though the crush never faded.

“I’m fine,” He smiled.

Yeah, you are. Marinette thought.

The commotion had alerted the waiter to the newcomer at the table and he came over to take their order. As he was doing so, Alix arrived with Mylene and Ivan. Followed closely by Sabrina, apologising profusely for her lateness. They pulled spare chairs from willing donors and all squished together around one small table. Marinette was very aware that Adrien’s thigh was pressed against hers. Their hands brushed a few times and she felt a thrill tingle up her arm when they touched.

“So, what are we celebrating?” Ivan asked.

“Nothing,” Nino replied, still grumpy about the reason for Alya’s absence.

“We don’t need to be celebrating something to get together do we?” Marinette said. “I just missed you all.”

“Aw, we miss you, too,” Mylene held her glass up and Marinette clinked hers against it.

“You’ve always been so thoughtful, Mari,” Adrien said, placing his hand on her forearm for exactly 4.5 seconds (not that she was counting).

It was a sweet moment, abruptly ruined by Alix making fake vomiting sounds.

Three more drinks later, Marinette was outside the cafe, hugging her friends goodbye. Promises to see each other more often were made and in her a-little-more-than-tipsy state, Marinette was proclaiming her love for all of her oldest friends.

“Do you need a lift home, Marinette?” Adrien asked as they waved Mylene, Ivan, Sabrina and Alix off in a taxi.

Marinette looked towards Nino who was slumped against a lamppost, looking sorry for himself.

“Thanks, but I think Nino needs you more right now,” She nodded towards their friend. “I’ll walk. Nathaniel lives near me, we’ll stick together.”

For a second, she thought Adrien might argue with her, but another look at Nino took the fight out of him. “You’re right. I should stay with him. Be safe, okay?”

Marinette turned to find Nathaniel waiting for her, leaning against the cafe wall, arms crossed. She smiled at him and he grinned back.

“Ready to go?” She asked.

“If you are,” He held his elbow out for her and she took it.

Neither of them were particularly steady on their feet, but with each other’s support, they staggered across the road toward the Cimetière de Montmartre. It was a place they occasionally spent time together, seeking out artists’ graves and sketching some of the more elaborate headstones and tombs. They turned up Rue Damrémont towards Rue Lamarck, where Marinette and Nathaniel each rented a studio flat. Marinette’s was fifteen square metres in total, with a loft bed, tiny kitchen, small sofa, folding table and not much else. Nathaniel’s was a little larger, with a bed that he folded against the wall to give himself more space, and a balcony he sat on to draw when the weather was good.

“It was nice of Adrien to pay the bill,” Nathaniel said, glancing at Marinette, searching for a reaction.

“He’s a nice guy.”

“Hmmm,” He sounded like he wanted to say something, but was holding back.

“That was a loaded ‘hmmm’, Nath. Speak your mind,” Marinette stopped walking.

Nathaniel carried on for a few steps before he realised she wasn’t there any more. He spun around and faced her.

He sighed, “I just think that maybe he was trying to impress you.”

“That’s unlikely,” Marinette laughed. “He’s a famous model and I’m a struggling wannabe fashion designer, I’m not even on his radar.”

“You’re a talented, beautiful, caring struggling fashion designer,” Nathaniel corrected. “And he’s a straight male with eyes, he can see how amazing you are.”

Marinette started walking again, taking Nathaniel’s arm when she reached him. They wandered in silence for five minutes before she spoke.

“Thank you,” Marinette said, sliding her hand down his arm until she could weave her fingers through his. “For seeing me as talented and caring.”

“And beautiful,” Nathaniel added and squeezed her hand.

He didn’t see her blush in the yellow glow of the streetlights but he felt her move closer to him. When they reached the door to his apartment, he lingered, still holding her hand.

“Are you sure I can’t walk you all the way home?” He asked.

“I’m sure, it’s not much farther,” Marinette assured him.

She leaned in to hug him and he finally let go of her hand to wrap his strong arms around her. She nuzzled her face into his chest and sighed happily. Nathaniel bent his head to hers and breathed in the vanilla and rose scent of her hair. Marinette moved away from him in surprise. Lips parted, she almost said… something... but at that moment, she forgot the words. Instead, she tilted her face towards his and kissed him. His eyes fell closed as he returned the kiss and his hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer. Soft kisses deepened and Marinette’s fingers raked through his red hair, grazing his scalp with her nails.

When they finally broke apart, they stood staring at each other, panting for breath. Emboldened by adrenaline and alcohol, he nodded towards his apartment door and cleared his throat.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?”

Caffeine and positive feedback fuel me, buy me a coffee?

#ml fanfic #ml fiction #ml fic #ml fluff #ml angst #fluff and angst #marinath #adrienette #adrinette #chlonath #marinette x nathaniel #marinette x adrien #chloe x nathaniel #my writing #my fiction #BIITAKTPFY #ao3fic #miraculous ladybug

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djarin-skywalkers · 6 years

Text

The Newest Solo - A Star Wars Fanfiction

Title: The Newest Solo

Rating: M - for slightly sexual themes.

Word Count: 8384

Pairings / Characters: Han/Leia

Summary: On a trip gone awry, Leia and Han receive some surprising news.

Notes: Hello there! This is my very first attempt at a Star Wars story. I am very new to the fandom and the very large universe that is Star Wars but I love it all and wanted to write some happiness into the lives of these poor people. It’s definitely post ROTJ but diverges from the canon that leads into TFA….because I need happy Organa/Solo family feels. It’s a one-shot for now but I have planned more and it definitely can be expanded upon if requested! I hope you enjoy!

Read on A03

Read on Fanfiction

Leia awoke with a splitting headache. Any attempt to open her eyes was thwarted quickly by a bright, blinding light. She groaned and as she came to realized her entire body ached.

“You are awake Miss?”

There was a kind, quiet voice of a woman beside her, speaking in a thick accent.

She finally cracked open her eyes, wincing against the light but soon the room came into a blurry view.

When her vision finally cleared, she was met with the smiling face of a purple faced woman, dressed in bright white robes.

“Hello Miss.” The stranger greeted warmly.

She tried her voice but found her throat was dry and there was the taste of dried blood in her mouth.

What happened?

She was in a daze as she tried reaching for memories.

“Here you are Miss.” The purple woman grabbed a glass from a nearby table and handed it to her. “Please drink, you will feel better.”

Leia groaned as she slowly sat up, wincing at the sore muscles in her abdomen. Her hand flew there to steady herself. She thanked the woman as she took the glass and gently but eagerly sipped the water.

She let out a small sigh of relief, the water like heaven to her parched throat, and rested back against the bed.

“Thank you.” She said after she finished, her voice a little hoarse. She looked up weakly to the woman, who must have been a nurse if her care-taking was anything to go by. “What is your name?”

The nurse bowed respectfully. “I am Shilere.”

“Thank you Shilere.” She offered the woman a small, polite smile and then took a look around the small room. There was a wall full of shelves of what looked to be medical supplies. The wall closest to her on her right was filled with monitors of a quality she had never seen before. Wherever she was, the technology was advanced.

The furthest wall to her left was blank and the wall behind her was only filled with more medical supplies.

The room seemed to have everything except one very alarming thing - a door.

She took another careful sweep of the room and her heart lurched at the confirmation. There was no visible door.

“Where am I?” she asked politely, trying to keep herself calm. There could be a very reasonable explanation for all of this.

“You are on Maszdar, Miss.” said Shilere, once again bowing politely.

She didn't recognize the planet’s name but who knows how far they had gone while flying through hyperspace.

“Why? What am I doing here?”

“Your ship, it crashed here, Miss.”

“What?”

Her chest tightened and suddenly the dull ache in her body, every injury flared to life with pain and she gasped as the memories flooded.

She had rushed into the cockpit after a few sudden jerks, preparing to knock Han one over for once again messing around and showing off.

Instead of finding her husband laughing and his trademark smug grin, the cockpit was a frenzied mess of Han and Chewie out of their seats, frantically pressing buttons and alarms ringing.

“What's going on?” She demanded.

“I don’t know!” Han exclaimed, grunting as he slammed his fingers down on the controls. “There was some kind of force field and then she just started fritzing out! Come on baby.” He growled, tugging desperately at the control stick.

Leia accredited herself to many talents but flying was not one of them. Han had taught her to fly the Falcon and even Luke gave her a few pointers and she could fly the Falcon pretty well considering the Falcon was the Falcon, but as she approached the control board with every intent to help she knew she was helpless. There were no two better who knew the Falcon than Han and Chewie.

“Han.” She gasped, looking out the window as the two pilots frantically tried to get the ship to function.

“Kriff!” Han shouted as a burst of electricity shot out of the control panel above his hand. He shook his hand, wincing but quickly returned to work.

“Han!”

“What?” he snapped in frustration.

“I'm not a pilot but I think that planet is getting a little too close to us.” Leia thrusted her hand out, pointing at the large silver planet quicky getting larger.

Han froze, his eyes following her hand. His eyes widened for a moment and then he sprung to life, shouting orders at Chewie.

She was stuck in between a flurry of fur and man as Han and Chewie worked furiously to get the ship back in control to no avail.

Han took another quick look through the window, where nothing but the planet’s quickly approaching surface could be seen.

A look of horror spread across his face and he looked quickly over his shoulder.

“Leia, get out of here!”

She frowned, planting her feet. “No way in hell.”

“Leia.” His voice was sharp and usually she wouldn't take that tone from him but she knew his fear, she felt it too and couldn't blame him for snapping.

She locked eyes with him. “If we go down, we go down together.”

He stared back at her and there was nothing but the sound of alarms and the controls short circuiting, and the sound of crushing metal as the ship hurtled toward the planet.

His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing in panic and anger for a moment but then softened and he nodded. “I love you.”

She reached forward, her hand finding his. “I know.” She kept their eyes locked for another long second and then broke contact, looking down at the controls. “Now focus flyboy, you've got us out of worse."

His hand slid out from hers and back to the controls and hers moved to a comforting place on his shoulder.

If she wasn't in a panic, she would have been in awe at the ease and skill at which his hands sped across the dashboard, knowing exactly which buttons to press, that in any other situation would have had them slowing down and turned around away from harm.

“It's no use,” Han whispered, his head lifting, his hands freezing on the controls. “We’re going to crash.” His tone was definitive in it's hopelessness and that alone was enough to strike fear into her heart. If there was something to count on, even in the most dangerous situations, it was Han’s confidence in his own ability to get them out of it.

Han quickly stood from his seat, turned to Leia, wrapped a strong arm around her and tugged them both to the back of the cockpit. Leia fell into her husband's arms, burying herself in his chest as she watched the planet’s surface only getting closer and closer. They had already broken through the atmosphere and she could start to see the detailed rock formations they soon would be hitting.

Chewie gave a last few good natured tugs at the controls and then let out a resigned whimper and left his seat to come over to them. He threw his larger body over them both, shielding them and blocking their view.

Leia’s stomach rolled and she buried her face into Han’s chest, the fear of near certain death rising in her.

She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, inhaling his scent and taking in every bit of him she could.

She suddenly lifted her head, reached up with both hands, grabbing his face in hers and planting a hard, desperate kiss on his lips.

His hands tightened around her, his mouth moving roughly, passionately against hers.

She pulled away after only a few seconds, the roar of the falling ship becoming near deafening.

She looked into his fear filled, teary eyes and despite the fact she was trembling, matched it with an opposite look of love.

“I love you.” She whispered and she knew he couldn't hear her over the noise but he nodded and kissed her again before pulling her to his chest.

The next thing she knew, there was a loud, deafening screech as the Falcon made contact with the ground and then there was nothing but dark.

“Han.” She gasped and her heart leapt into her throat. Fear coursing through her veins and tears suddenly blurring her vision, she sat up frantically. “Where is he?” she demanded of the nurse.

Shilere slowly reached her hand out, guiding her back to the bed. “You must rest, Miss. You have had many injuries. You and your child are safe but you must rest.”

She pulled sharply away from her touch. “I don't care about that. I need to know where my...” she trailed off as the nurse’s words finally sunk in. “My... what?”

Shilere moved towards a large monitor on the wall beside her and Leia followed her movements.

Shilere tapped the screen and it flickered to life and a few images appeared. Several different test and scan results littered the screen, none of which Leia could make any sense out of with her heart in her throat and those words echoing in her mind. Shilere tapped one in the right corner and it expanded to fill the whole screen. Shilere indicated to the image in the center of the screen with a reassuring smile.

“Your child, it is not hurt.”

Leia gaped at the screen, at the image of a pea sized object just below the woman’s gloved finger.

As Shilere lowered her hand, she raised hers and reached out a shaky hand towards the screen, brushing her fingertips across the image.

Her hand was covered in bruises and scrapes but she couldn’t concentrate on her injuries with the shocking image sat before her.

A child.

She snapped her hand away as if the image would burn her but couldn't take her eyes off of it.

Your child, it is not hurt.

You and your child are safe.

Your child.

She had been feeling unwell over the last few weeks but she attributed it to eating at the pit stops Han claimed were safe. Granted, he never got sick but he was used to constant travel and she always ribbed him for his diet.

But a baby.

Without even realizing it, her hand found its way to rest over her abdomen.

She looked down, threw the blanket off of her and lifted her shirt.

There was a large bandage on her right side and dark black and blue bruises covering almost every inch of her left.

Your child, it is not hurt.

She brushed her fingers lightly over her damaged skin, her eyes watering.

All of this time, she had been so careless whilst her child grew unbeknownst within her. A little life that she and Han had created.

Han.

She snapped her head up, her eyes narrowing. “Where is my husband?”

The nurse stared at her blankly and she felt her fear growing.

“My husband, Han Solo.” She repeated and nearly growled in frustration at the continued blank stare from Shilere. “A man of my species, brown hair, this tall…” she raised her hand a good few inches above her own head.

He had to have survived, he always survived. He was a survivor if there ever was one.

“Miss you must rest.” Shilere repeated, reaching out to her again, completely ignoring her questions about Han.

Leia growled and ripped herself out of the bed and out of any medical monitoring. The alarms shot off and Shilere gasped.

“Miss!”

Leia whirled to her furiously. “If you tell me to rest one more time I will not be so nice." She hissed at Shilere looked a little taken aback but didn't move to stop her. Leia moved as quickly as she could around the room, trying to ignore the pain in her legs and stretching across her abdomen. She pressed herself against the blank left wall. “How do I get out of here?” she moved her hands slowly up and down the wall. “Where is the door?”

“Leia!”

She gasped, her eyes flying toward the direction of the distant sound of her husband's voice.

She searched the wall until finally she found the crack in the wall that was the hidden door.

She felt around until she finally found a small lever and flicked it.

The door hissed open and she stumbled out into the hall. A sharp pain shot up her leg but she ignored it, turning her head in either direction. The corridor was long in either direction but she saw a familiar head of brown hair disappear around the corner to her right.

“Han!”

Seconds later he appeared in the corridor, dressed in the same white outfit she was. Even in the dim lighting and at the distance she could see his face covered in bruises but relief flooded through her at the sight of him.

She limped toward him as fast as she could and noticed his usual brisk pace was also dampened by a limp. They finally met and stopped only inches from one another.

Han gently reached out, cupping her face in his hands. “Hiya Princess,” He cooed quietly, frowning as his thumb gently caressing her cheek, under the bruise around her eye. “Are you alright?”

Her hand found his and she leaned into his palm. “Yes, I'm alright. Are you?”

She gave his face a careful lookover, he had a gash across his forehead, covered with a bandage and various other scrapes and bruises.

“Better now that I've found you.”

He smiled at her, his classic grin and she wasn't sure why, perhaps it was the fear of having lost him, the relief of seeing him and the newest of revelations that she was carrying their child, but tears filled her eyes and she fell into his arms in quiet sobs.

“Oh, Leia, darlin…” Han gently wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. “I'm here, we’re safe, we’re okay.” One of his hands combed through her hair as he sighed. “Not sure if I can say the same for the Falcon, however...”

She couldn't help the small laugh that bubbled from her lips.

“Hey, there is nothing amusing about the loss of that ship.”

She sniffled and lifted her head with a small grin. “The Falcon has been through a lot. It's tougher than you at times.”

“Hey!”

She laughed again and shook her head before she leaned up on her toes to kiss him. His large hand cradled the back of her head as he returned her kiss softly, both of them cautious of the other’s injuries.

She pulled away and looked into his eyes and longed to tell him what she had found out. Her stomach twisted in anticipation, and she knew the baby was small but she could almost feel it's weight like a knot in the center of her.

It wasn't the right time, they needed to be certain they were safe and she wasn't certain of that at all. Wherever they were, they had been saved and mended, their wounds attended to. A full scan had been done on Leia, providing the proof of her previously unknown pregnancy.

His hand once again found her face, his thumb brushing over the bruised, scraped skin of her cheek.

“How did we survive that?” she wondered.

“I have no idea.” He murmured with a frown.

“Have you seen Chewie?”

Han’s frown deepened and he shook his head. “No, haven't even heard him which doesn't bode well.”

Leia sighed and dropped her hands to his forearms. “If we survived he must have too. He must be around here somewhere.”

“Wherever here is.” Han muttered, his eyes narrowing inquisitively. “The nurse was particularly unhelpful in answering my questions.”

“You're telling me. I asked about you and she looked at me like she didn't know what I was saying.” She sighed deeply. “I was afraid, Han…after that crash I thought…”

Han looked back down at her, his lips twitching up. “You think you can get rid of me that easily?”

Her lips twitched at the corners. “I must admit, if I did want to rid of someone sending them crashing down into a rocky planet's surface might be a good option.”

His face softened and he leaned in to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “I thought I'd lost you too.”

They spent another long moment just taking in each other’s presence before Leia pulled back.

“It does beg the question, however, what is this place and why did they take down the Falcon?”

Han raised a brow. “You think she was sabotaged?”

“Han, I've seen you manipulate that ship through storms and every kind of malfunction you could name. By the stars, I know the Kessel run story as if I were there and done it myself.” His eyes sparked with the familiar smugness of that particular story.

“Yes,” She confirmed with a solid nod, “I believe someone or something fried the Falcon.”

Han’s smile faded and his eyes narrowed. “I think it's time we find out who's in charge around here. Nobody crashes my baby and gets away with it.”

Leia’s heart jumped at the word and her hand drifted to her abdomen. An action that had not go unnoticed by her husband who raised a concerned eyebrow at her.

She smiled and shook her head. “I'm fine, just a little bruised.” She dropped her hand to find and squeezed his.

He eyed her suspiciously but any questions were interrupted by a call from down the hall.

“Miss!”

Leia groaned and turned around, Han furrowing his brow, standing protectively behind her.

“I do not need to rest!” She snapped at the nurse now standing in the corridor. “I am fine and since you so purposely kept my husband from me I would like to know why. I would also like to know where our Wookiee friend is and why you took down our ship.”

Han smirked proudly from behind her. “What she said.”

“Miss,” Shilere slowly walked towards them and Han’s hand slid protectively on her hip.

“I am General Leia Organa of Alderaan.” Leia announced. “This is my husband Captain Han Solo. I will not ask again, where is our Wookiee friend?”

Despite telling Han of her assurance of his survival, she wasn’t so certain of the fact and feared the worst. Chewie had shielded them, no doubt taking the full force of the crash as the Falcon nose dived onto the planet.

A few other nurses, dressed similarly to Shilere came running down the corridor in the direction Han had come from.

“We’ve got more company.” Han muttered, looking grimly over his shoulder at the three nurses who now had them surrounded.

“Sir, you must come back to bed.” One of the nurses said urgently.

Han scowled. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Shilere.” Leia addressed the nurse as she approached and she once again bowed respectfully.

Leia resisted a small sigh. “Please, there was another passenger aboard our ship. You must tell us where he is.”

The species was so far not hostile and there was no immediate threat but Leia was losing patience with the lack of answers.

“He’s a tall, furry fellow?” A new male voice entered the scene and their attention was drawn behind Han to where a purple skinned man, dressed in navy blue robes, parted through the nurses.

“A Wookiee, yes.” Han corrected tensely.

The man nodded once, long and deep. “We have your friend. I am Kalipo, the chief medical physician.”

“Oh good, a doctor,” Han turned to face him, keeping a protective stance in front of Leia though she stepped out from behind him. “Finally, look, we have been trying to get some answers-”

“Thank you for saving our lives.” Leia cut in gently and Han gave her a side-eye. She squeezed his hand gently, keeping her attention focused on Kalipo. “As my husband was about to explain, we’ve been trying to question Shilere and the others about our reason for being here.”

“Ah, yes...you must pardon my nurses, they are highly skilled in their field and caring after their patients is what they do best….and you were all gravely injured.” His eyes, a bright green color, shifted between the pair of them. “Not to mention, of course, they are not used to seeing strangers.”

Leia frowned, her jaw tightening. “Survivors, you mean.”

Kalipo’s green eyes flashed with delightful alarm and his lips pulled into a slow smile. “We mean you no harm.”

“Somehow I’m not sure I believe that.” Han remarked.

Kalipo ignored his snide comment and slowly extended his arm out. “Come with me, I will take you to your...Wookiee.”

He slowly turned around, the nurses bowing around him as he walked down the corridor. Han and Leia exchanged silent glances and then Leia lifted her chin and followed behind Kalipo. Han cautiously followed behind her, their hands gripped tight.

---

They were led first to Chewie, who had sustained a few more injuries than either of them, but he was recovering.

They then met with the security team who then led them to one of the governors of the planet.

After being fully interrogated and being cleared of all threat, they were finally led to the crash site where the Falcon lay broken but not irreparable.

Han refused to let anyone else but himself or Chewie touch the Falcon and a two man team to rebuild an entire ship took it's time.

It had been over three weeks that they were stranded on the planet and it wasn't easy for Leia to keep the secret of her pregnancy, especially with the over caring nature of the nurses.

She and Han had been given their own private room but she felt the only right place to tell him was on the Falcon. It was their home, where they had begun their family and where it would continue to grow.

Besides the matter, Han was exhausted by the end of the day. A hot and sweaty, sometimes grumpy mess and certainly not in the frame of mind to learn he would be a father.

One of the first nights after working on the Falcon, he was so tired and sore, still recovering from the crash itself, she led him into the bathtub to share a bath.

He was tired but they took turns slowly washing the other, each wincing as they brushed across a sensitive, painful area.

When Han brushed his calloused hands over her sensitive, bare abdomen, she shuddered against his touch.

He went to withdraw his hands, an apology already on his lips but she stilled his hands, quietly shushing him.

Her eyes closed as she relished in the feel of his warm touch, his large hands unknowingly cradling the place where their child lay.

She longed to tell him in that moment and almost had but held back as he sighed with exhaustion, kissing her shoulder and then rested his head on her back.

Almost every night, Han almost protectively cradled her to him, his hand resting on her lower abdomen as if he somehow could sense it.

She still could hardly believe it when Shilere had run each weeks test on her and that little object was still there and was growing.

Shilere told her after a few questions, that she had been carrying the child for approximately six weeks.

For over a month she had unknowingly been pregnant, going on dangerous treks with her husband. She wondered how she went so long without realizing her monthlies had stopped.

Every week she had another scan and every week she watched her baby grow. By the third and final week she was there the baby had grown into something small and vaguely human shaped and she could even see it's little heart beating.

She saved a copy to.her datapad to show Han but wished every moment she could share with him. She hated she was keeping three weeks of their child's development from him but it was her body doing all of the work and not much to see of the baby up until that point. And now that she knew of her pregnancy, she felt it. The extreme fatigue, the nausea, her tender and swollen breasts, the near constant need to urinate...she knew she would not be looking forward to another six or more months of that.

Between the two of them, with her pregnancy hormones and his exhaustion from working all day, it was any wonder they fell into each other's arms at night and didn't try to tear each others heads off.

Finally, after three long weeks the Falcon was finally flight ready. Not perfect, but enough to get them home where Han could do more proper repairs.

She let her mind drift to Luke, wondering if he had any inkling they had run into trouble. She often traveled with Han and Chewie for months at a time, so their month stay on Maszdar wouldn’t shouldn't have worried him. Still, she and Luke always had a way of knowing when the other was in danger.

Nearly six years after learning about Luke's relation to her and she was still a little baffled by the strength of their connection. They were entirely different people, raised entirely different ways, yet Leia felt a connection to him like no other.

Han was her husband, her lover, her friend.

Luke was her brother, her confidant and best friend. He was the one she ran to when Han got on her last nerve. She told him everything, which had been new for her. She never trusted someone so blindly. Not that Luke hadn’t earned her trust, even before she knew that they were twins, she spent three years caring about the sweet young boy who was too short to be a stormtrooper.

She had had her parents, Bail and Breha Organa, and she loved and missed them dearly. She still had trouble coming to terms with the fact that Vader had been her biological father. She knew hardly anything about her biological mother but Luke was a real and constant presence in her life. They saved the galaxy together, they were friends and siblings.

She grew anxious to see her brother again, to let him know they were alright and to tell him their exciting news.

As Han appeared with a satisfied grin, she shook off the thoughts of her brother and focused instead on telling Han.

Her heart pounded at the thought and she hated that. She looked Vader square in the helmet and hadn't felt as nervous.

It was Han and it was good news. It was ridiculously silly of her to be nervous.

They thanked the governor of Maszdar, with Leia thanking Shilere specifically, for their hospitality and then Han took her hand and led her out to the hanger.

She had watched the Falcon’s progress and even helped on occasion but she still felt relief to see the ship (almost) whole again.

Han certainly was beaming with pride and she briefly wondered if he would show the same love and pride to their child.

Another silly thought she brushed off, because of course he would.

Han loved the Falcon, it truly was his pride and joy, but Leia had become his heart and he told her as much. He had come along way since that cocky smuggler who only cared about his payout.

He was still cocky and still smuggling but his heart was open and full of love for her, for Chewie, for Luke and she knew soon for the baby.

They met Chewie at the ramp and she stood between them, nodding with a smile. “Let's go home boys.”

After settling in, Leia joined them in the cockpit, watching with a small proud smile as they readied the ship for take off.

When the ship hummed to life they all lit up in relieved smiles, Han flashing a grin over his shoulder.

The take off was a little shaky but they left the hanger and headed towards the sky. They held their breath until the Falcon cleared the atmosphere and they were safely drifting in space.

“And we’re clear.” Han let out a sigh and rested back in his seat, hands still on the controls but now relaxed that they were safe.

Leia stood up and approached the back of Han’s chair. She slipped her arms around him, draping them onto his chest. “Captain Solo…” She purred against his ear and his brow raised, a smirk forming his lips.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Would you be able to step away for a few minutes?”

His eyes sparked to life, as he grinned, grabbing gently onto her arms.

“Chewie, you're in charge.” He told his friend and co-pilot and Chewie answered knowingly, giving him a nod.

Han spun in his chair and rose to meet her. She met his eyes and smiled, sliding down her hands to grab his.

She led him out of the cockpit and as soon as they were out of Chewie’s sight, he saddled up behind her, pressing against her, attacking the nape of her neck with kisses.

“Han…” She whispered breathlessly, quietly giggling against the tickling sensation of his lips.

He hummed in response and she felt the vibrations and it sent a familiar fiery warmth to the pit of her stomach.

She knew she had to stop him before they both got caught up in the heat of the moment. Part of her longed to take him to their room and celebrate their freedom and safety but she knew she had to tell him before anything else now that they were finally alone and on the Falcon.

She suddenly cut him off, whirling around to face him. She almost laughed at how her sudden actions left him gaping like a fish.

He blinked, confused and furrowed his brow, finally opening his eyes.

“You know, that isn't nice…”

She smiled softly and rested her hands on his chest. “I'm sorry but there's something I need to tell you.”

He frowned, taking in her serious look.

“What's wrong?”

She smiled wider to pacify his nerves and shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing's wrong…” she looked around the corridor and softly bit her lip. “Not here…”

“Leia…”

She reached down to grab his hands. “Trust me, there's nothing wrong. It's just a conversation I would prefer to have in absolute privacy.”

She led him to their bedroom and closed the door behind them. “Sit, Han, please.”

His frown only deepened. “You're asking me to sit down? This must be serious.”

“It is but there’s nothing to worry about.”

She motioned again for him to sit on the bed. His eyes narrowed but he obeyed and fell back onto the bed.

“Leia, I have never seen you act like this. You claim nothing is wrong but your pacing says otherwise. What is it?”

She shook her head and stepped closer to stand between his open legs. “There's nothing to worry about.” She repeated and took his hands in hers and then let out a sigh. “There's something I've been hiding from you and I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you weeks ago but with both of us injured and the Falcon needing repairs...the time needed to be right. We needed to be here.”

“Leia,” She could hear his patience waning, “What is it?”

“On Maszdar, when they found me they did an entire scan on me, to check all of my injuries.”

He nodded, they had done a few for him too.

“Well they found something, Han.” She slowly led his hands to rest against her abdomen, which had grown the slightest with the growth of the baby. “Or should I say, they found someone.”

“Someone?” Han’s brow shot up in alarm. “What does that…”

She smiled at him, pressing his hands further against her abdomen. He frowned and looked down at the action, to her hands covering his over her belly.

She watched, holding her breath, as his mind worked. Then slowly his eyes widened and his eyes darted back up to hers. “No.”

She smiled and nodded. “Yes,” She whispered in confirmation, and said the words for the first time aloud, “I'm pregnant.”

He gaped at her and then glanced back down to her abdomen.

He gently moved his hand across and then down, slipping his fingers under her shirt.

He rolled up the fabric to reveal her bare, healing skin. His head turned, his eyes widening in wonder as he traced the soft swell of her belly. It was barely noticeable but it was there especially on Leia who always was rather trim.

He slowly leaned in and pressed his ear against her skin. The longer he sat there in silence, she laughed, happy tears stinging her eyes and she threaded her fingers through his hair.

“You can't hear him, Han.”

He slowly lifted his head up to meet her eyes. “Him?”

She smiled softly, moving to caress his cheek. “I don't know. We won't know until he’s born but I have this feeling…”

A small smile of disbelief tugged at his lips. “This is real.”

She laughed again. “Yes, it's real. I've known for weeks, I've watched him grow, I've seen his heart beating, I know…”

She let out an undignified squeal as Han suddenly pulled her into his lap and sought out her lips.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him, laughing against his mouth.

“Are you happy?” She wondered, looking down at him.

“Am I happy?” He echoed with a laugh. “Am I happy that I married the woman I never thought could love me. Am I happy that she’s safe? Am I happy that my best friend is safe? That my ship is functional and we’re on our way home? Am I happy that my beautiful, strong, wonderful wife is going to have a child? Our child. My child.” His voice softened with every word and she smiled at the emotion in his voice as his hands once again landed on her bare abdomen. “Yeah, I'm happy.” He grinned up at her. “Are you?”

She nodded and shifted so she was straddling his waist. Her fingers tangled in his hair. “Han, I know we didn't get the chance to really talk about this part of our life together and I knew it would happen sooner or later I just didn't expect it to be so soon. It was a surprise to me and I'm sorry I didn't tell you at first, I could hardly believe it myself and with you working on the Falcon I didn't want to distract you…” she narrowed her eyes, trailing off as he grinned at her.

“What?”

“I have never heard you ramble on like that, Princess.”

She rolled her eyes and pinched the back of his neck to which he only laughed.

“Leia,” he continued, more seriously, “it may have been a surprise but it's the best kind there could ever be. You,” he kept one hand on her belly, the other moved to the strands of hair sticking out from her braid. “Are going to be such a wonderful mother. And,” He shook his head, “don’t apologize for not telling me sooner. If you had told me on Maszdar, well...you’re right, it would have been a distraction that didn’t need. You're telling me now and that's all that matters. You, me, the little one...here in the room he was conceived.”

She laughed. “You don't know that for certain. Over the last eight weeks, you have been very handsy.”

“I have been handsy? Who was it that pulled me into the circuit closet?”

“Are you suggesting our baby was conceived in the closet?”

“I told you, I think it was right here and I think…” his hand traveled to her back and hitched her hips closer. “We should give him a brother.”

“That's not how it works.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know that, I'm just trying to be a little seductive here.”

“You’re the father of my child, I have been waiting to tell you for three weeks. My pregnancy has not been overly kind to me with how it is affecting my body but..” she moved her hand to her face, tracing over the sudden frown on his lips, “It has also made me very, very attracted to you.”

His smirk returned and he tightened his grip on her and gently rolled them over to pin her to the bed.

“Your Worship…” he leaned over her and tenderly kissed her lips. “My wife…” he smothered tiny little kisses across her jaw and down her neck and she gasped, arching her back at the sensation.

His hands grabbed the edges of her shirt and quickly worked to remove it, leaving her exposed to the air.

His eyes trailed down her body, pausing at her chest and his brow rose. “I definitely should have noticed that.”

She whacked him across the chest and he grinned, and continued the path of his mouth downward.

She gasped again, wincing slightly as he worked her tender breasts. “Han, be gentle….”

He paused only for a moment and then continued, softly kissing one and then the other and continued down to her navel. “Leia,” he kissed it again and again, “Thank you for this. For bearing my child. I love you.” he kissed it again, more gently. “I love you.” he whispered again and her emotions swelled as she realized he was talking to the baby.

The love that filled her soon turned to hot desire and she suddenly sat up, briefly meeting Han’s curious eyes, before securing her lips feverishly to his.

He deepened the kiss, one hand moving to the back of her head, the other securing to her hip. Her hands worked quickly tearing off his clothes, first his vest, then his shirt, all in between fevered kisses.

She latched onto his back, and he wrapped his arms around her and they fell back onto the bed in the heat of desire and love.

---

A while later Leia lay on her back, Han’s head resting gently on her belly as he drew small circles with his fingers and she played with his hair.

“He really is okay?” Han asked, his fingers brushing over her almost completely healed skin. There was a long pinkish scar on her right side and the last remnants of yellow bruises on her left.

“So they say.” She breathed, a hint of a smile on her lips. “It's a miracle really. He’s small but tough. He’s a survivor.”

Han hummed, smiling against her skin. “Gets that from his Mamma.”

Her smile widened, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “He gets it from both of us.”

Han lifted his head, his eyes soft and tired but full of joy and amusement. “What if he is a she?”

“We will love her just the same.” she said simply.

He hummed again and lowered his head back to her belly. “Another little princess for me to spoil.”

“You do not spoil me but I have no doubt you'd spoil our daughter. You'd spoil our son too. As soon as he's old enough, maybe even before, I can just picture you sitting him or her in the cockpit and teaching them how to fly the Falcon.”

He tried to look offended. “What sort of reckless father do you take me for?”

She raised an eyebrow silently and his lips twitched up.

“Fine.” He relented. “I won't put him or her unnecessarily into any danger.”

She scoffed a small laugh. “Oh, that's comforting.”

“He or she is a Solo, it will be in their blood. The Falcon will belong to them.”

“Our family legacy.” She hummed with a small smile. “This broken, old, piece of junk…” she laughed as Han gently, jokingly tickled her sides.

He lifted his head and narrowed his eyes, hovering over her. “Don't talk about my baby that way.”

She looked up at him with a grin. “I say it with the utmost of affection of course.”

“Oh of course.” His eyes narrowed further and she laughed, her hand moving to his cheek. “You and your brother…” he sighed and shook his head and then settled back down at her side, his hand covering her belly. “Don't you getting any ideas from your Mama or Uncle Luke you hear me? There is no grander ship than the Falcon and it will be all yours one day. You'll take great care of her, I know it.”

With Han gently stroking the slightest swell of her abdomen, talking to the baby, talking about the future made it all so very real. She blinked away tears and took a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions at bay.

He lifted his head again, furrowing his brow. “Are you alright?”

She smiled and nodded. “I'm fine.” She softly caressed his cheek. “I love you, you know.”

His face softened into a smirk and he leaned up to kiss her softly. “I know.” He whispered against her mouth.

“Leia…” He frowned as he pulled away, bringing his hand to catch the tear rolling down her cheek.

She shook her head. “You better get used to this, I’m sorry to say it's only going to get worse. The sickness, the moodswings, if you thought I was bad before…”

“Bad? You? Never.” He leaned in to kiss her again. “You’re growing another person inside of you. A person that will be our child. Whatever it takes to get him safely into our lives, I’m in full support of you, just as I always have been. Lest not forget how much you detested me when we first met. If I fell in love with you then…”

He slowly grinned as she narrowed her eyes playfully. She forcefully shoved at his shoulders, pushing him off of her and onto his back beside her. Then she rolled over him, straddling his waist and grinned wickedly, pressing her hands to his chest.

“Lest not forget how annoying you were when we first met.” She slid her hands up his chest, her smile growing as his muscles reacted, shuddering against her touch and his breath caught in his throat. “You stuck up,” his breath released in a shudder as she pressed her bare chest to his, still keeping their eyes connected, “half-witted, scruffy looking…”

She gasped as his hands gripped tight onto her hips, pressing her against him. He lifted his head, barely brushing his lips against hers. “Who you calling scruffy, princess.”

His hot breath against her mouth sent a pleasurable tingle down her spine. She closed the remaining distance between them with a smothering kiss.

They kissed slowly, tenderly, letting hands wander freely.

It was only when Han’s hand brushed across her abdomen, his hand lingering there for a few seconds did she remember there was something she needed to show him.

She sat up quickly, breaking their kiss and he frowned, first in confusion and then in alarm as his eyes opened to look up at her.

“What is it?”

“There’s something I need to show you."

He smirked. “Oh?” he asked suggestively but his smile faded as she rolled off of him. “Oh. You have to show me something right now? We were kinda in the middle of something.”

Leia looked over her shoulder, first at his face and then lower to his waist and her brow lifted.

“It doesn’t seem that way to me.”

His frown deepened and he huffed rolling onto his side as she laughed and started toward the edge of the bed.

“Give it a little more time, Princess, you wiped me out earlier.”

She now stood by the bed and threw a smirk and a wink over her shoulder before heading to the other side of the small room. His eyes followed her, enraptured by every move of her swinging hips as she walked to where she had discarded her belongings upon first getting on the Falcon.

She reached down and rifled through her bag until she found her datapad.

She stood up and went to head back to bed but froze at Han’s intense stare.

“What?”

A smile slowly spread across his lips. “You are beautiful, Leia.”

She had never felt self conscious in front of Han, and she was used to his compliments but in that moment she felt the burn in her cheeks and was acutely aware of her bare form.

“Get your looks in while you can.” She said quietly, walking back to the bed. “There will soon come a time when I won’t be so desirable.”

Han reached for her as she approached and she gave him her hand. He gently guided her back to the bed and he rose up to meet her, kissing her.

“There will never be a day that you are undesirable.” He muttered against her mouth, his voice deep and husky.

She smirked against his lips and then pulled away.

“You say that now,” she said as she settled her back against the pillows. Han cuddled to her side, bringing the blanket up to cover their legs. “I've heard many women complain how their husbands wont so much as touch them during their last few months of pregnancy."

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Those men are foolish and clearly do not love their wives. As long as you want me, I will always want you.”

She turned her head and they shared a smile.

“Now what was so important you had to show me?”

She gave him a look at his almost mocking tone.

“You'll thank me in a minute.” She told him as she turned on the datapad and flipped through the various files until she found the one she was looking for.

An image flickered to life on the screen, an image of the last scan done of the baby just the day before they left.

Han narrowed his eyes curiously, scrutinizing the screen and Leia held back a laugh as he tried to work it out.

The image was grainy and not as clear as the one on the high tech monitors in the medbay on Maszdar and the baby itself barely looked human yet.

“I feel like I'm supposed to know what this is but I have to confess I'm really not sure.”

Finally a small laugh bubbled from her lips and she kissed his temple before he turned to her in confusion.

“It's the baby.” She told him and his eyes widened for a moment. He took the datapad from her hands and brought it closer to his face to get a better look.

“Leia…” he started slowly, his voice dripping in skepticism and a little concern and he peered over the data pad to her. “Darlin, how tired are you? That is just a black blob on some other grayish blobs.”

She stifled a giggle. “No, Han, it's our baby.” She told him patiently. “There.” She traced the so called black blob on the screen, drawing his attention back to it. “I know, he doesn't look like much yet but he’s grown a lot in the last three weeks. Look, there are his legs just beginning to form.” She pointed to little whispers of darkened color jutting out from the dark blob in the center.

Han’s hand moved to cover hers, his fingers brushing across the image, his face dawning in realization and then awe.

“It was a better image on Maszdar and I wish I could show you that but…”

“This is perfect.” Han cut her off quietly, a smile tugging at his lips. “This is amazing.” His eyes remained glued to the screen, quickly flickering back and forth as he took in every little detail. Finally he looked up at her, “Did you know this was possible?”

Leia shook her head with a smile. “No, but the technology they have on Maszdar, well, you saw, it was extremely advanced.”

He nodded dumbly and looked back to the screen. “That's a real, living being….that's ours, we made that.”

She laughed again at how dumbstruck in awe he was, smiling in affection, remembering when she felt the same. She was still in awe of the miracle of that image.

“I told you you would like it.”

He turned to her with a bright grin and it was so full of love and joy, she had to lean in and kiss him.

“I can't believe I would ever say it but thank the stars we crashed on Maszdar. We wouldn't have known for who knows how much longer you were pregnant and we wouldn't have this…” he brushed his hand lovingly over the image.

Then he dropped the data pad onto the bed gently and slid himself down until he was eye level with her abdomen.

Once again, he ran his hand gently, in awe of the slight swell of her abdomen as if he were seeing it for the first time. In a way he was, connecting the image he saw on screen to the real being that rested inside of her.

Then he smiled and dropped a soft kiss to her navel. A shiver ran through her at the tickling sensation and he turned his head toward her with a grin.

His bright blue eyes were shining with joy, the only other time she had seen him so happy was on their wedding day.

There were moments where Han got on her last nerve but then there were moments like these, gentle moments, loving moments, happy moments that made every argument they have had or would have in the future count for nothing.

She was filled with such a love for him in that moment it was almost uncontainable. She reached down and lovingly ran her fingers through his messy hair.

She wished for nothing more than to have Han at her side for the rest of their lives, as her husband and now the father of her child.

The universe was a frightening place, there was so much still to be done and she had no idea what kind of world their child would be born into or what he might become….

She shook off all thoughts of worry. There would be time for worry.

For now it was just them - herself, Han and the little one, the newest Solo - and that was all that mattered.

#star wars #han x leia #han/leia #fanfiction #mine #han solo #leia organa #ben solo

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asimbelmyne · 7 years

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Two Halves of One Whole

Fandom: Star Wars VIII: The Last Jedi.

Pairing: Kylo Ren/Rey.

A03 Link

Summary: Her breath hitched and she closed her eyes, fighting the urge to look at him, to truly see him for what he had become, afraid that if she met his stare, she'd lose herself in all of the moments in between.

Rey didn't think that she'd ever question herself so completely, doubting every decision she had made since her departure from Jakku. She had always been so sure of herself, placing one foot in front of the other on a path that seemed predestined for her feet alone, comfortable in the knowledge that her life would remain as constant as the shoes she'd wear or the sand she'd find in her hair. When she had gazed into Jakku's azure skies as a child, stepping into someone else's life for a mere instant, she didn't think that she'd find herself fighting over Luke Skywalker's lightsaber years later, trapped in Kylo Ren's icy stare as though she belonged there, permanently trapped. Her life had become disjointed, a puzzle that required solving, yet she wasn't sure whether she was ready to grasp another piece of it. She didn't know where she'd put it once it had found its way into her hand.

Rey glanced at Luke's broken lightsaber, observing the kyber crystal flashing from within. Everything she'd tried to do to fix it had failed. Her hands bore the scars of her transgressions, cut in places where she had pressed a little too hard, prying it apart in an attempt to steal the secrets stowed within. For such a small device, it yielded both too much and too little for her liking, embodying everything that she had tried so desperately to hide from herself. Without it she felt naked, vulnerable in a way that only Kylo Ren had made her feel, and with it she felt ignorant, unprepared to handle its importance. Each half represented a side of her that she was reluctant to acknowledge. Her uncertainty had grown, bruising her heart and everything she had placed within it, seeping into her mind as slowly as Kylo's presence, making its home in the spaces she had reserved for herself alone.

When she felt this way, he'd bleed into her peripheral like a ghost.

His fingers found her face first, barely grazing her skin, jumping from freckle to freckle in silent admiration, afraid that she'd slip away from him as easily as she had done so before. His hands were always warm in these shared moments, always gentle, and always searching for something she refused to give a name to. She didn't want to think about any of it. The weight of his proximity had become too much to bare, breaching the walls she had erected as though they hadn't existed to begin with. She stifled a cry of indignation, throwing herself against his chest in an attempt to push him away, to shut him out, to simply escape the searing heat of his physical presence, but he had become as unbreakable as a sheet of reinforced glass. His breath brushed against her mouth instead, spilling across her lips like words left unsaid, sharing his desire for her in the same way that they were sharing air. His eyes brightened, more alive than they had ever been in person, kindling an unknown flame somewhere deep in the center of her being, setting her on fire. This feeling tugged at her ribcage, pulling the air from her lungs, threatening to snap. Her breath hitched and she closed her eyes, fighting the urge to look at him, to truly see him for what he had become, afraid that if she met his stare, she'd lose herself in all of the moments in between.

She opened her mouth, trembling in light of it all, allowing his name to slip from her lips.

For a split second, Luke's lightsaber felt whole. Kylo Ren became Ben Solo again, filling every crack and crevice of her soul with a feeling far brighter than anything she had ever felt in her life. The decisions she had made didn't feel so incoherent, falling into place like the puzzle she had lost hope in completing, stretching out to form a path that she felt comfortable in following. His fingers felt safe, shielding her from whatever it was that pulled at her consciousness like a string, drawing her away from his eyes, his mouth, and his touch. For a split second, Rey felt complete.

Her will was stronger than he'd ever give her credit for.

She pulled away before his mouth could brush against her own, opening her eyes to find herself alone, confused, and lost. Luke's lightsaber remained where she could see it, broken in half, glowing softly, repelling the darkness that surrounded it, filling her with doubt. She stared at each piece until she had grown angry again, wondering why she couldn't fix it on her own. In silent affirmation, she'd tell herself that Ben Solo was gone. Kylo Ren remained.

It was impossible to put two halves of one whole together again anyway.

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angel-gidget · 7 years

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Permutations (Tim Drake fic, Gen)

Title: Permutations

Fandom: DCU, Batman

Rating: PG-13 | Words: 3k approx | a03 link

Summary: There are five Batmans in the room and one Robin. It sounds like the start of a horrible joke, but Tim isn’t finding anything funny about it.

In honor of days 6-8 of Tim Drake Week (AU, free for all, and birthday) we have a Convergence-style crossover! If convergence were more of a messy free-for-all involving time travel and not, y’know, an ostensibly fair battle of multiverse pairs. I may have taken liberties. Enjoy them.

There are five Batmans in the room and one Robin. It sounds like the start of a horrible joke, but Tim isn’t finding anything funny about it. Apparently, they were all consumed by a cosmic light that dragged them to this extra dilapidated version of Gotham that’s stuck under a dome. Tim was the only Robin physically holding onto his Batman at the time, since Bruce was helping him into the jet to make things easier on his cracked rib.

 The Batman with the least armored costume—it’s a Dick Grayson under that cowl, Tim would swear it—is controlling his panic over where his Robin might be. Said something about how the kid was refusing to leave his sword behind and had gone after the perp even after he had been ordered to regroup. Robin with a sword. Tim gets the distinct feeling that that Batman’s Robin is a bird of an entirely different feather.

 The other three make no mention of Robin.

 Which is just as well, since two of the three cannot be trusted, and the third is a wildcard.

 Jean-Paul Valley’s tendency to beef up his armor with red accents and nods to his Templar obsessions makes him immediately identifiable, even if he’s (probably) from a completely different universe. Tim hopes so, but the next Batman is the one who has him on high alert and makes his heart sink, because he knows that one.

 His fists clench as the Batman with the darkest armor narrows his eyes in Tim’s direction.

 “Hello, Tim.”

 He feels Bruce tense next to him, prickling at both the stranger and the use of names in the field.

 “Go to hell.”

 His voice is more horse than he would like—he was taken from a fight that involved a little too much smoke inhalation—but it’s firm. It’s the voice of Robin, refusing to be cowed.

 His old enemy just gives the faintest smirk before replying, but a shift of his shoulder moves his cape. There’s the faint glint of a Glock at his hip, and he knows that it will put Bruce on high alert. And hopefully, identify him to B as well.

 “We both know that you could make that happen, but you won’t.”

 He would honestly rather go up against Killer Crock and Bane at the same time with both hands tied behind his back than deal with this. Deal with himself. His crazy future self who grimly justifies every drop of blood on his hands with words that always hit too close to home. At least the psycho doesn’t have his equally evil band of grown-up Titans with him. Small favors.

 He feels a flicker of relief when Dick—not his Dick perhaps, but close enough by the look of alarm on his face—inches closer to his and Bruce’s side of the room in a protective stance.

 The final Batman doesn’t move an inch.

 Tim can’t tell for the life of him who is under that cowl. First off, it’s not exactly a cowl. It’s sure as hell not a mask. It’s more of a full-body everything that flows nearly seamlessly from toe to ear-tip. No cape. Enough height in the boots that the space between foot and floor contains something, though he’s not sure what.

The bat symbol across the guy’s chest is a bright splash of red, and the tech of the suit is something Tim doesn’t even have the creativity to dream of. Said tech includes a rather effective voice synthesizer which is… frustrating.

 “Incoming.” The synthesizer mutters.

 The light that transported them is back, but this time with a voice attached. They’re supposed to fight each other for the fate of their universes? Seriously? A look between himself, Bruce, and Dick affirms that they don’t accept this premise. No one’s earth should have to die.

 But of course, Jean-Paul immediately launches a volley of razor-sharp batarangs at the lot of them. Overconfident idiot. The fight moves to the empty streets in a hot second.

 Tim tries to keep track of where the other two players are, but his shady adult self has already slipped into the shadows to find high ground.

 Capeless Batman with his fancy suit is similarly scarce.

 Until Robin momentarily looks up and realizes that those mysterious boots were, in fact, hiding jet packs. Jet. Packs. Batman Red-Breast is hovering over them all, observing like a creepy stalker.

 Takes one to know one, whispers an internal voice that sounds too much like his other self.

 Speak of the devil. He hears the sweep of a batarang moving towards him from behind, and tries to turn and slide. His rib slows him to the point where he takes a new wound to the arm, just above his elbow.

 “Robin!”

 Dick is at his side in an instant, offering his own cape as protection, launching a counterattack in the form of smoke pellets that give them cover to move.

 Dick is chattering about how his own (Red? What?) Robin back home is too tall to be carried the way Dick is picking him up now as they take a grapple line to one of the lower roofs. Tim has the feeling Dick is no longer talking about the Robin with the sword but about… him? Unclear.

 But Dick’s cape is still covering him when the bomb goes off.

 “Batman!” he screams.

 It doesn’t matter that every head here would turn at the name. Tim means his Batman. He means Bruce. Bruce who was down there when Jean-Paul decided to escalate things by getting trigger-happy with a grenade in his belt.

 Bruce who is now an unmoving bloody shadow against the pavement six stories below.

 “No. No no no no…” he breathes.

 Dick is still trying to hang onto him like a mother hen, but joint locks work on pretty much anyone, Batmen included. So Tim dodges him, reaching for the bandaging in his belt as he takes the fire escape down to the ground.

 He tries not to think about the fact that if he had pulled out said bandages sooner, and maybe used them on himself, perhaps he would have moved faster. Might have still been at B’s side when… irrelevant. No.

 He tries to ignore the blood, but the smell… the burning retching smell tells him before he even gets his fingers where the pulse should be.

 Where the pulse should be. But isn’t.

 A nauseous wave of déjà vu rolls over him. Tim knelt like this three weeks ago over his father’s body. He had been trying to pull the murder weapon out of the corpse. Bruce drew him away and held him.

 There’s no clear murder weapon to grasp here. Just his finger tips digging into the tattered neck that has blood everywhere except in the veins where it should be. Yet that awful feeling of familiarity hits full force once again as Dick pulls him away and wraps him in cape-covered arms once more.

 “Robin… Tim. Oh baby brother, I’m so sorry.”

 He can barely make out Dick’s choked whisper into his hair. There’s a ringing in his ears that somehow messes with his sense of time.

 Once he’s able to make sense of the seconds again, he realizes that way too many have passed. Dick got him away from the street and back into one of the abandoned buildings, taking shelter from the rain that broke out after Dick confirmed that Jean-Paul had taken himself out of the equation as well. Along with… with…

 With the whole world.

 The light was meant to summon Bruce. With Bruce gone, the champion for their earth is fallen. Their home is forfeit.

 He can only be grateful that it doesn’t feel real.

 Dick looks out over the empty cityscape before straightening his shoulders in a way that asks Tim to be strong. It’s time to get down to business.

 “I’ve think I’ve got your rib taped well enough, and the arm’s gonna be okay. But is there anything else? We need to take care of it before we deal with evil Jay again.”

 Jason?

 Tim’s brow furrows before the realization hits.

 “The Batman with the guns… isn’t Jason.”

 Dick’s head cocks to the side, and Tim realizes that maybe Dick didn’t get a good look at the darkest Batman. That blacker-than-pitch cape has a way of making a body look so much bigger than it really is.

 Not to mention it has a way of making Tim, in the moment, feel very small.

 “It’s me. Other me. He’s… he’s what I…”

 I'm you. And I'm inevitable, he used to say.

 Dick’s hands on his shoulders focus him out of it.

 “You’re not him. You’re not him, and we’re gonna stop him. We’re gonna find him and Space Boots, and we’ll take them out…”

 And then what?

 “… And then I will find a way to take you home with me.”

 ——

 The city isn’t quite as empty as they thought.

 The sounds of engines and fans draw Robin and Batman—he still has to fight the mental temptation to call Dick Nightwing, but he does fight it—to the scene.

 There’s an entire department store running on an emergency generator, and cries for help emanating from a window on the building’s outer edge. They dive in, glass shattering under their boots.

 There’s more than one cry in different directions, so they split. Tim heads for the woman who’s yelling from the furniture section and Dick runs towards the man in electronics.

 Maybe it’s his brain still reeling from the shock of several hours ago, or the oddness of suddenly having some noise amidst the silence, but it takes a moment for Tim to realize what was off about the cries.

 No interaction. Two people in an empty city calling for help, and they weren’t communicating. No listening to each other, no back and forth.

 “Damnit.”

 He tries to turn around when he finally sees the speakers connected to the laptop running the audio-splicing software.

 BOOM.

 It’s a small explosion that triggers a latticework of incendiary chemicals on the ground. The resulting fire is instantaneous and intense, cutting him off from the department entryway. Even with his resistant cape and cowl, Dick won’t be able to go directly through.

 It’s the exact sort of divide-and-conquer trap Tim would have devised himself under the circumstances.

 No duh.

 He barely gets his bo staff out in time to counter the batarang aiming for his still-aching ribs.

 Hate you, Tim thinks, Hate you so much.

 He follows the ‘rangs to the source and comes at the man with head-strikes, one after another.

 He doesn’t want to let the man talk. Talking just lets him dig his hooks inward, lets him hit twice in the same breath. Robin won’t give him that opportunity now.

 But he can’t breathe like this.

 Tim breaks away, and smashes his staff through the west window. Oxygen is pretty crucial for both of them at the moment, and the fire is sucking it up like a sponge.

 He hears the cocking of a gun and dives.

 The deluxe queen size mattress on sale for seven hundred dollars doesn’t hold up very well against the bullets, but thankfully, its headboard does.

 He’s momentarily surprised by his older self’s attempts to kill him before it occurs to him that this… convergence-thing… has probably taken them both outside of the contexts of their time.

Even if his timeline is still connected to this Batman’s life, the man will probably choose the possibility of surviving Tim’s death over the certain doom of losing the battle.

 It takes 2.5 second for the headboard to fail him. Or maybe, his villainous self’s aim is just that good that he can group the shots to finally penetrate the metal.

 The cover gives way as Tim takes a bullet to his kevlar vest… right over the bad rib.

 Hate. You.

 The pain makes him dizzy. Practically passing out levels of dizzy.

 “Playtime’s over. Sorry this was necessary," says the grim-cold voice, a few shades deeper than his own.

 Tim blinks and realizes that the twisted Batman is changing out his weapons. Of course. Because while Dick and Tim were recovering, he was scavenging and scouting. The laptop. The chemicals. The battleground. And now he’s pulling out a small supply of what looks like armor-piercing rounds.

 He’s going for Dick next.

 Tim can’t move.

 Tim can’t move and this monster that is also him is going—

 The dented window completely breaks, smashing inward as the last of the Batmen flies through, straight for Tim’s grown self.

 “You’re done.” The synthesizer croaks, and Tim can hear pain and anger in those disguised inflections as two patches of black duke it out against a backdrop of pale curtains.

 Two shots. Three.

 The capeless Batman pulls them both towards what looks like a carefully placed jug on the ground. Jet boots meet remaining chemicals, and at once, the psycho’s cape is on fire.

 The asshole should stop, drop, and roll immediately, but he chooses to keep fighting instead. His gun makes an empty click, and with no time to reload, he’s adjusting stance, preparing to go hand to hand by the window.

 The door of the employees-only stairwell by the side of that window smacks open as Dick bursts through, hitting Tim’s adult self full-on.

 The man slips against the window, but the flames licking from the bottom of his own cape cause his feet to jerk upward, and a moment later, he’s falling backwards.

 He screams, and Tim can see a hastily-shot grappling hook catch at a broken edge of glass too week to hold it. It takes less than half a second to give.

 He hears the crack of bone and more followed by silence.

 “Tim!”

 Dick’s at his side in a heartbeat. He’s battling his own instincts and refraining from hugging Tim, trying to check his injuries first.

 Robin moves slowly, but as efficiently as he can, fighting the aches that insist he stop trying to sit up. He grabs Dick’s hand and squeezes, “I’m oka—“ but the coughing undermines him.

 Voice failing, he points.

 Red Breast is on the ground, breathing unevenly with three bullet holes in his abdomen.

 Tim can already tell that two of them are fatal.

 With Dick’s help, he limps towards his dying rescuer.

 “Always,” The synthesizer is shorting out, “Always hated that guy…”

 And something about the voice makes time and the universe halt inside of Tim. Because he could have sworn that the same voice was in his ears only seconds ago.

 “… Hated him. So much.”

 Dick places a hand on the fellow’s stomach, trying to slow the flow of blood. Tim bites his tongue about the pointlessness of it as he fumbles and finds a catch in the man’s suit. Capeless Batman is muttering something about a guy named Terry, and how this is probably going to haunt him forever, when Tim finally bypasses the suit’s security.

 The face of the black uniform peels back, and Tim holds his breath as the same flat, dark-blue eyes that greet him every morning in the mirror blink up at him from purple hollows of sleeplessness.

 This one is younger than his evil Bat-self. But not by much. The angles of his face are sharper, his cheeks more hollowed out. The shadows under his eyes are just as dark, but he’s messier, with a five-o-clock shadow bordering on six-o-clock stretched along his jaw, interrupted by an angry yet long-healed scar at his throat.

 He hears Dick choke on air behind him, and when he turns to see the look on Dick’s face, it occurs to Robin that maybe this Timothy Drake looks even more like the one Dick left behind in his own world.

 Dick’s hands over the bleeding bullet holes are still pointless, but Tim places his own palms over them anyway.

 Those mirror eyes seem to regain some coherency.

 “M’sorry about your Bruce. Should’ve… ngh… intervened sooner.”

 “You were trying to save your own world.” Tim offers.

 “Yeah well,” He hisses through the pain, and Tim can feel Dick’s hands beneath his own clutch tighter, “It’s…ngh… not really mine. And there was never much left to save…”

 Tim is left to puzzle that as Red Breast’s gaze shifts up and behind him.

 “Dick. Stop eyeing the med kit in your utility belt. Can’t… can’t fix me.”

 Tim doesn’t want to look behind him again. He can hear the pained inhuman noise coming from Dick’s throat just fine.

 His older double continues, “Dick. Let me… let me enjoy this, kay? Haven’t seen your face in… such a long time. S’good birthday present.”

 It’s not important. It’s really, not, but it’s out of Tim’s mouth before he even—“How old are you?”

 He squints thoughtfully before closing his eyes, as if he’s just resting them and not, well, dying. “Twenty-eight. Wow.”

 “Wow.” Kinda surprising any Robin makes it that far. Considering.

 Red’s eyes crack open just enough to meet Tim’s eyes and he knows they’re both sharing the same thought.

 “Hey,” His voice is growing weaker, and it draws Tim in closer, until Robin can feel the whispered breath along his ear. “You… you will never be that. Not after this. I promise…”

 Now Tim is the one making inhuman noises, but he can’t help it.

 “But you’ve got to try not to become me either, okay?”

 This Tim has not seen Dick’s face in a very long time. This Tim is also losing his entire world, but doesn’t believe he’s losing much at all. Robin looks at the shadows beneath his eyes once again, and recognizes the loneliness of them before nodding so he won’t have to look anymore.

 “Okay.” They sit and wait until the ragged breaths stop.

 Dick says something about a burial, but Tim shakes his head, and takes Dick’s hand, pulling him back outside. Towards the street, but away from the burned black-caped body.

 That damn discarnate light reappears. Rambles some sickening platitude about victory and the last Batman standing.

 Dick shakes off his stupor in time to pull Tim close, gripping like a vice as the light draws closer.

 He makes sure it swallows them both.

 e.n.d.

#timdrakeweek #fanfic #batfic #gidgeblog #tim drake #convergence au #dick grayson #bruce wayne #titans of tomorrow #I do believe I'm quite proud of this one :)

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